#he's never going to forgive himself for this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reignpage · 21 hours ago

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Gotta Give To Take

Synopsis: in which roommate!choso hides himself away and you have to coax him out Warnings: smut, a little angsty, plot is just an excuse to be horny I won't lie, no penetrative sex, edging, femdom, manipulation, not proofread Word Count: 4.8k

You’ve fucked up.

Really fucked up.

But it wasn’t your fault. Choso, your roommate, wasn’t supposed to be home. He wasn’t supposed to be in your bedroom, hiding in your closet when your friends piled in, drunk and laughing about the pair of panties they found in the living room after the party had moved from the bar to your place.

Having asked him if there would be any surprises waiting for you, you relied on his promise that the apartment was spotless.

So, really, it was his fault that he heard them mock his weird, emo disposition. That he heard them call him your ‘creepy, pervy roommate’ who’s ‘probably been sniffing your panties behind your back.’ What he hadn’t heard, however, was your defence of him. Your lack of a monologue about how he’s more than just your roommate apparently hurt him.

Now, he isn’t speaking to you.

“Choso, you can’t starve yourself,” you warn, trying to reach him through his locked door. “Just take the fucking food and quit moping.”

There’s no response — no, scratch that, there is a response and it takes form, not in words but, in heavy rock metal blasted on concert-grade speakers.

“Ugh, fuck you, asshole.”

It’s been days since. You haven’t seen him. Not a glimpse of him heading to the bathroom or to the kitchen. The trays of food you’ve been leaving by his door remain untouched after hours and your nails have been dulled by your constant biting. Even the carpet’s grown worn down by your incessant pacing.

You’ve tried baiting him by leaving his favourite pairs of your panties on top of the laundry basket but they lay there just as you left them when you come back. His own brother hasn’t heard from him. Awkward as hell in the apartment, you don’t dare leave your room anymore either. Perhaps he’ll feel more comfortable coming out to eat if he knew for sure he wouldn’t run into you.

This has never happened. Sure, there have been times where it’s been frosty between you but that was usually from your end. You’d tell him off for one thing or the other and he’d follow you around, hair all droopy and with a rain cloud over his head as he pouts and begs for forgiveness.

Impossible to know how to deal with him like this, you just leave him be. Or at least you were planning to.

Because, at two am, you hear his door click open. The padding of socked feet heading down the hallway and into the kitchen reaches your ears. To hell with boundaries — he never respected yours to begin with. It’s that exact thinking that prompts you to sneak, in the dark, from your room to his.

The place looks just as it usually does: messy black sheets that are deceptively soft to the touch, big ass speakers in the corner, bass guitar propped up by a wall, and clothes thrown all over the place. Bouncing on the bed, you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the only thing you’re wearing, as you anticipate his reaction.

Truthfully, you have no plan; this is impulsive as hell. But waiting for Choso to grow a pair and use his words might be as fruitful as bottling the sun.

He’s coming back. You can hear the footfall getting louder. Heart beating faster in time with the sense of pending doom screaming that things are going to shit, you clear your throat just as he steps back in. With the moonlight streaming from the window, you hear, rather than see, his surprise — sharp intake of air, clumsy shut of the door, and the clinking of his rings as he wrings his hands together.

“Choso,” you say.

There’s no response.

He’s unsure of what to say, how to approach you, probably doesn’t even know what’s going on. Shuffling on the cold, wooden floors, he holds his breath.

“Sit.”

Your roommate carefully slides into the desk chair right opposite the bed where you are. At your command, he also turns the lamp on, a warm glow bathes you both and from your place, you see his permanent dark circles have grown darker, his hands shake as they dangle over the armrests, and his hair is flat, they’ve lost their shine.

Sighing, you ask, “What’s happened to you? Why did you disappear?”

“I was upset,” he begins, hesitantly, like he’s approaching a bear. “Your friends called me all sorts of names and you didn’t defend me.”

“What does it matter what they think? You’ve quite literally never cared about other people’s opinions.”

The man dresses like a rock and roll star, picks his brother up from school paying no mind to the stares he gets from all the parents and teachers alike. He doesn’t smile back at polite servers, gives out cold rejections to blushing girls, and sprints through supermarket aisles, mowing down innocent shoppers, to find you. And considering his own group of friends, a ragtag collection of delinquents, social rejects, and morally dubious individuals, he hardly seems in a position to judge your friends back.

Slumped in his chair, he fiddles with a paperweight. “I don’t care about them and what they think. They don’t know anything.”

“Right, so then what’s the fucking problem? Why haven’t you been picking up my calls, replying to my messages, or answering the door when I knock?”

“No reason,” he mutters.

You groan. You’re fed up. It’s all complete and utter bullshit. Angry, your feet carry you over to him in a blink of an eye. His chin is gripped in your hand and you force him to look at you. He’s tired. Besides the dark circles, there’s redness in his eyes, a tightness to his lips and dullness in his skin. Clearly he hasn’t been eating properly and who knows when the last time he’s had a drop of sunlight was. “Choso…talk to me.”

A pinching echoes in your chest when he shakes out of your grip.

“I don’t care what they think. But you…” He sucks in a breath, flexing his jaw. “You’re different. You’re supposed to be different, supposed to understand, to be on my side. I felt alone that day and I don’t know what to say to you because I’m not mad. I can't be mad ‘cause I know I’m a little weird. I’m just…hurt, I guess.”

Gulping, you try to defend yourself. “I didn’t know what to say to them. We have a complicated relationship, Choso, and you know it. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand.”

“I think maybe we should uncomplicate it.”

You gasp.

This can’t be the end. He can’t have switched it off, that thing that tethers him to you, that makes him wholly yours in a way that would baffle others. Just the thought is making you nauseous — you don’t know what he’s done to you to send your blood pressure skyrocketing, your palms clammy and breath short at the prospect.

You have to do something.

You can't let him win, can't let things unfold like this.

He's your roommate, your weirdo, your Choso.

Confused, he watches you walk back to the bed, keeping your eye on him.

Decisively, you declare, “You don’t get to decide when this is over, Choso. I do. And I say, we’ve barely begun. So, don’t look away. Don’t you dare.”

Somewhere, deep inside you, you know you’re doing something stupid, something crazy, something you’ll completely regret later but in the blanket of the night, with this growing distance between you, you can’t seem to care about words of wisdom, about sanity, or the future. You exist in the now and damn it all if he gets his way.

Laid back, you spread your legs, the cool air tickling your bare skin. His sheets feel good under you and when you inhale, you’re overwhelmed with his masculine smell, musky yet sweet.

Not even wearing cute panties, you make a show of running your hands up and down your thighs, feeling your slit through the material.

Slightly panicked, perhaps worried this is a test and he’s failing, he hurriedly asks, “W-what’re you doing?”

There isn’t a hint of insecurity in your voice when you casually reply, sing-songy tone piercing through him, an arrow finding its way home. “Oh, you know…just reminding you why exactly it’s my panties you jerk off with.”

Wasting no more time, you pull said cloth off and circle your clit. The flimsy material stays with you; he’s not quite deserving of it yet. You’re already a little wet and you cling onto that shred of desire, desperate to lose yourself in utter insanity if that’s what it’ll take.

“I’m getting wetter, Choso. I’m spreading it onto my clit so I can rub at it.”

He clears his throat. “This isn’t right, Y/n. W-we shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.”

Working two fingers in immediately, you’re growing breathless. The ceiling is all you can look at, maybe because you don’t know how you’ll fare if you dare sneak a glance and he’s not looking at you. “You can go, Choso. You can walk away. I won’t get in the way. But nothing you can do will make me stop until I’ve soaked y-your sheets.”

You’re working your tentative digits in, smothering it in your warm wetness, hoping the minimal light from his desk lap does the job in showing him just how wet you are.

“What have you even been doing in h-here?” Without sensing it, you know the conversational tone of your voice is baffling to him; who finger fucks themselves and asks about things on the same subject line as the weather?

A conflicted noise comes from your roommate. He’s torn between leaving for everyone’s sake and staying to see this through. “Sleeping.”

The man has a talent of hibernating at will – his younger brother boasted, when you used to babysit him, how he can sleep anywhere, no matter how uncomfortable the environment. And since he’s moved in, you’ve been able to verify, on numerous occasions, that talent. So you believe the bastard when he effectively says he’s been weaponising said talent against you.

Keen to not dry up from your annoyance, you ask, with a slightly pornographic voice, “Are you looking, Cho? Can you see my pussy? Is she pretty?”

Raspy, he replies, “Yeah…she’s pretty.”

Voice much closer than before, you have no idea where exactly he is and you can’t look. You’re not brave enough to find out, so instead, you slide a hand up your shirt, nails teasing your skin which rise with the cool air that you welcome in. Groping a tit, you realise he’s never seen your body in great detail, not even now that you’re laid out like a buffet he won’t touch.

Sure, he’s seen glimpses of your bare body – he saw a lot after a nude was mistakenly sent to the wrong person, or the right, depending on who you ask. Not to mention all other ‘accidental’ run-ins you’ve had in the bathroom before and don’t talk about, not even when you can hear low grunts and wet sounds coming from his room shortly after.

It’s clear Choso is no stranger to your body, how could he be when he routinely gets off on the scent of your panties, sucking the gusset into his mouth like it’s his last meal?

But this is different: those other times had been mere peeks, slivers of parts of your body then hastily covered. Now, he’s seeing the direct source of all those panties he covets so much and he’s seeing it wet and swollen, hearing the growing squelches, can watch exactly how you like to be touched, what makes you moan the loudest, your back arch up suddenly, and can note just how many circles he’d need to rub on your clit to have your legs shaking. This has to be enough to get your way and if it isn’t, you don’t know what you’ll do.

“She’s upset with you, Cho…”

A pained noise escapes his lips. “She is?”

“Uhuh. You’ve been neglecting her, ignoring the -ah- panties she’s left for you. Do you h-have any idea how much work she’s put into them, getting them real wet after she got all messy for you?”

You gasp, eyes flying open.

He’s there.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, towering over you.

Almost as if you can sense him on a deeper level than visual or auditory, you, or rather, your body, knew he’s come closer, unable to stay too far away. Only appearing as a shadow, you can’t quite see his exact expression; the desk lamp is behind him, casting you in a barely-there warm glow whilst leaving him void of any light. Suddenly too aware of the absurdity of it all, your legs quiver, pulling shut like a reflex.

Arms dart out.

Prying them open, his cold hands grip your knees. “Don’t close them. I can’t tell her I’m sorry if you hide her away, right?”

“You w-want to see?” Collecting your wetness with wobbly fingers, you lift them up to show him, parting your digits to display the translucent stringiness of your juices.

Something heavy thumps to the ground.

Choso’s on his knees, ring-clad hands sliding down your thighs, so close to where you’re hottest. Much closer to you now, literally within a hair's breadth away, you can see him better; eyes glazed over and mouth parting, you recognise that look. It’s the look he gets when he’s deep in pleasure, reason and rationality no longer orbiting his world.

No, you’re not dealing with normal Choso right now — the Choso that picks you up from wherever you are, no matter the time, that brings home plushies he won for you, who won’t eat dinner unless it’s with you, who can’t seem to fucking sleep unless he hears a goodnight from you.

The one between your legs is an animal, driven completely by instincts, chasing a predator he wants as prey. His fingers, much longer than yours, dig into the plush of your thighs, squeezing to feel the smooth flesh welcome him. He can break your bones, can pin you to the bed, against the wall, can smother your face in the pillow, ignore your begging, and sink his cock in mercilessly if he deigned, if he thought you’d want him to.

“You wanna say sorry, Cho? To her? To me?” He nods with no hesitation, loose locks of hair flying with the movement. “Then, tell her how good she tastes. Tell her how much you missed her. Plead your case.”

Diving in, your fingers are swallowed into his mouth, tongue parting them so he can get in the nooks and crevices, suckling all of your essence and being sure not to taste a drop. His eyes roll back just as vibrations tickle your skin; he’s groaning, sucking hard, clutching your wrist in an iron-clad hold in case you tease him by pulling away. “S-sweet. She tastes sweet. Missed her….missed you. So much. Ah, fuck…she tastes so much better like this –fresh a-and warm. I c-can’t think, can’t –hah, I need to taste from the source, need more, p-please.”

You snatch your fingers away, smearing his own saliva all over his face when you grip his chin to stop him from face-planting into your cunt. “No, Choso. That’s too nice for someone who mopes instead of talking through his problems. You’ll stay there and watch me touch myself. You won’t get to feel how hot and tight I am inside, not with your tongue, your fingers, and certainly not with your cock.”

“I just watch?” He scoffs, downright offended.

Playing with your clit again, you work yourself back up. “If you’re a well-behaved puppy, then maybe I’ll let you clean my fingers.”

“Yes,” he promises, scooting closer and keeping his eyes trained on the way your slender fingers rub in tight circles. “I’ll be good.”

“Prove it.”

Choso knows what you mean and his audible gulp brings a smile out of you. What you’re asking is cruel, mean, and possibly beyond evil but you know he’ll do it. He’s proven time and time again that there are no limits to the lengths he’ll go to to satisfy his depravity, nothing is too shameful, too humiliating when it comes to you. Even when he’s supposed to be mad at you, he can’t take his eyes off your body, can’t resist thumbing the drop of sweat running down your thigh and drinking the taste of you, and he won’t leave, though the door’s unlocked, not when you’re here, finally in his bed.

He barks.

Once.

Twice.

It’s enough. Your back arches off the bed, fingers sliding down to curl inside you once more, pressing up, hard, against your gooey walls.

Sniffing your hand, he sure does act like a dog. He’s chasing your scent, drooling over it actually, and you can tell by his grunts, and the sounds of violent shuffling, that he’s fisting his cock, timing it to your thrusting. “When I take my fingers out to rub my clit, are you rubbing your slit, Choso? Hmm? Are we in sync? Are you imagining it’s my hand, my tongue on your dick?”

“Yes,” he confesses. “Your hand’s too small for me, you’ll probably -hah- struggle to wrap it around my cock, but it’s okay, you can use your other hand a-and your mouth.”

“Do you -ngh!- think about that often? Do you imagine f-fucking my throat when you use my panties to jerk off?

His face falls on your thigh, cheek smushed against your flesh. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your sloppy cunt. Long lashes graze your skin, and when he turns ever so slightly to place a kiss there, you feel your walls squeeze around your fingers. “S-sometimes. The other times I imagine you riding my face — oh, you sound so pretty. I’ve heard you before, y’know? You touch yourself most right before your period. I-I listen outside the door.”

Laughing, you say, “You’re not exactly very quiet when you jerk off, Choso.”

“Hmm, you sound much better up close. Smell and taste better too.”

“You should remember that next time you decide to lock yourself away.”

Sneakily, he licks a stripe up your thigh, and when you don’t say a thing, focusing instead on the rhythm you’ve set inside yourself, he sucks up the droplet of pussy juice threatening to disappear between the cleft of your ass, groaning. “There won’t be a next time. Days without you felt like hell. I can’t do it again.”

“Hah, good,” you tease, unable to help yourself, “‘cause I. Missed. You. Too.”

Choso growls and, with your revelation, casts all niceties away.

Oh shit.

Brutal hands spread your legs far, suddenly bending you in half and baring you to his gluttonous gaze. Rings dig into your flesh, warming up. He’s eyeing your pussy, not with adoration and worship any longer, but with a voracious appetite – you’ve laid out a feast for him and he won’t deny himself any longer, not when you practically offered yourself on a silver platter.

A most welcome sacrificial lamb.

“So fucking pretty.”

Fingers still inside, you’re frozen with shock and fear at the sharp glint in his dark eyes. That’s all the warning he gives you before he begins lapping at your covered pussy, tongue delving wherever it can reach, seeking whatever you can’t hide. Wet appendage slithers in gaps you can't cover fast enough. The tip of his tongue grazes your clit, your fluttering hole, your fucking ass until you hurriedly obscure every inch he manages to reach.

It’s forceful, feral, and there’s not a hint of humanity left in the man you see. Clamping your hand down onto your cunt, you attempt to do damage control. “No! Stop! I take it back.”

“Move your hand," he growls.

You don’t.

Can’t.

“Move, please. I want to -hngh- taste you, want to f-feel you on my tongue.” He’s manically licking and sucking with no thought, face pressed as tightly between your legs as he can, like if he could burrow himself inside your pussy, he would. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you cum, baby.”

Your other hand flies down, desperately pushing his head away but he shakes you off. “Choso! Stop! This isn’t what we -ngh! oh fuck!- a-agreed on.”

Wrenching your arms away, he’s just about to smash his face into your sloppy pussy when you resort to using your feet, kicking him away by the shoulder.

“No. Bad, Choso!" Legs pressed tight together, huddled by the headboard, you hold a pillow between him and yourself, hiding your body from his lustful glare. "You can’t just be a prick, ignoring me, starving yourself and then try to eat me out. That’s not how this works.”

His knee falls on the bed, then the other, and soon he’s crawling over to you, muscles on show rippling with barely restrained desire. Silky, black hair messy, out from their usual pigtails, contrasts with the shiny silver of his piercings. God, if he wasn’t baring his teeth at you like some kind of wolf on the prowl, you’d be knuckles deep in your cunt, intent on cumming to the sight…maybe you still can.

“I want to taste you. Let me and I’ll forgive you.”

You smack him in the face with the pillow. “We’re way past that, asshole. Back up, you’re scaring me.”

Squealing, you’re dragged down the bed into a starfish position by the ankle. Choso slots himself between your legs, hands sliding underneath your thighs and bending them back so he can clearly see everything. His touch is firm, unyielding, but his thumb is rubbing soothing shapes into your skin. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Growing breathless again, you watch him lie down on his stomach, hand coming down to, where you can only guess to be, his cock, hidden under his boxers. “But I can’t trust that you won’t get all scary again and try and fuck me.”

He smiles. “I won’t, not until you beg me.”

“Hey, fuck you, asshole. That’ll never ha–”

Interrupting you, he gets back into serious mode and says, almost cooing, “You didn’t get to cum, right? I’m sorry. I won’t get in the way anymore. Touch yourself. Cum on my sheets. I want to sleep with the scent of you around me."

When did the loser get so bossy?

Rolling your eyes, you do as he says but only because you were going to anyway. Fingers swirling in your essence, you focus on your swollen pussy, clit hard and throbbing.

The bed is shaking a little; he’s rutting his cock into the mattress, eyes rolling back a little every time he takes a good inhale of your tangy scent.

Still wet, getting back into the rhythm isn’t hard, not when he’s keeping his promise and you’re given the space to work yourself back up again.

“Why didn’t you -hah- use the panties I left for you?” Embarrassed that your bribes hadn’t been accepted, your question comes out meek, shy, and totally pathetic. Choso doesn’t notice.

He grunts, bed rocking a little faster when you rub at your clit with one hand and thrust inside with the other. “I did. I’d come out w-when you’re in your room or you’re out and -oh, God you’re so wet- smell them. They were the only things keeping me sane. K-knowing that you’re missing me too made me so happy.”

“H-how much longer were you even planning on going without seeing me?”

Sheepish, he answers, “I was seeing you. Just when you were sleeping. You snore a little. It’s cute. I like it when you sleep in those tank tops – it’s easy to pull it down and see your tits. They’re so pretty, by the way. So soft and heavy.”

Pussy pulsing, you know he can see the cream overflowing out of you at his confession. You’re already close, driven further and further by every word he uttered, by every reluctant flutter of his lashes, like he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

You need more.

Just a little more and you’ll both get what you want.

“Eat me out.”

“But you said I can’t.”

Back arching, you whine. “I know what I said but if you want me to -ngh!- cum all over your sheets then lick me. Suck on my clit. Fuck! I need it.”

Choso doesn’t need to be told again. He circles his arms around your thighs and wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves, making a nasty slurrrrrp! sound. You both roll your eyes at the same time. The vibrations his satisfied groans make sends lightning bolts up your spine. Oozing more wetness, his mouth descends down to lap up your juices, using his tongue to spread it around. It’s nasty, messy, and so so so good.

A gasp is pulled out of you when his fingers worm their way inside your pussy at the same time he hollows his cheek to suck hard at your clit.

“Fuck, you’re so -hngh!- tight inside. I’m too -slurrrrp!- big for you b-but you’ll let me fit it in anyways, right?”

You’ve seen his dick before – he’s big. Huge. Even soft, fresh from the shower, from having jerked off to your dirty clothes, it was still impressive. You’ve also seen his sinful grasp on his hard and leaking cock, albeit just a quick glimpse, when he had purposefully left the door open for you. The dangerous sight had been the subject of many of your self-care sessions; you’ve thought about how hard it’ll be to fit him in your mouth and especially in your pussy, how good all those veins would feel rubbing your walls, how many orgasms that pretty cockhead would pull after kissing your g-spot again and again and again.

“Tastes so good, you’re -fuck, fuck, I’m close- amazing,” he rambles. Your essence is like a drug, forcing him deeper into madness, until he can no longer tell what he’s even saying. “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!”

“FUCK!”

You cum hard. All over his face. All over the sheets. Your legs squeeze his head tight, threatening to suffocate him. He doesn’t mind. He’s still sucking at your clit, pistoning his fingers inside of you, grinding it inside so he can bask in the gooey feel of your gummy walls. “Delicious…could d-die like this…”

A long groan trembles against you. The bed is rocking like crazy and when it stops, so does the spasming of your body. Through his orgasm, he elongates yours, pulling you to the very peak of pleasure. You both come down from your highs, panting desperately.

"Oh, shit, that was good..." You're delirious, limbs beyond limp.

Shivering, you smack him on the head.

“Choso! S-stop!” He’s still sucking at your clit, making loud squelches. “Enough!”

When you pull him off by the hair, the sight has you clamping down on his fingers; his face is soaked, glistening with your pussy juices, his lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, and his eyes are completely glazed over. Shuddering, he doesn’t fight when you pull away and clamber off the bed.

The man shakes, hips still humping the bed, driving himself into overstimulation as if on autopilot. His head falls onto the wet puddle, which he mouths at like a fish out of water. “Hmm, more…more…”

Tingling hard, you cup your poor pussy and wince at the soreness you don’t usually get when it’s just you. The asshole really did a number on you. He was lapping up your wetness for his own pleasure, drinking like you're the only thing that sustains him, like an addict finally getting their fill, like life is only now worth living because he had you in his arms, in his bed, held up to his face.

With a sigh, you retreat into your bedroom, leaving him in your combined mess. Emo can clean it up himself.

In the morning, he greets you with a full breakfast spread on the kitchen counter and a beaming smile. Gone are his dark circles, his hair’s tied up neatly, and he rambles about plans for the week like nothing had happened. "We should totally go watch that horror movie on Friday! And then we can have dinner after."

"Sure, but it's on you."

He pouts. "It's always on me."

"Are you complaining?"

Choso grumbles, "No..."

You eat like normal, joking and teasing.

And you think everything’s fine now, that you’ve gone back to the days before, and the depravity you two got up to last night can be stored away along with all the other shameful things that have gone on in the apartment that neither your friends and family, nor his, will ever come to find out.

But, then he gets up, gathers the plates, gives you a peck on the cheek and asks:

“Same time tonight?”

#roomie series #roommate!choso

624 notes · View notes

sacredsorceress · 8 hours ago

Note

I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure for more bob content. How do you think Bob would be with intimacy both NSFW and non-NSFW?

☆.°*Physical Intimacy w/ Bob HCs*°.☆

a/n: oooo idk if you meant intimacy in general but since you mentioned NSFW, im going to focus on physical intimacy!! no smut though. also forgive the first bit just explaining my thought process word count: 1.0k warnings: sexual content but not smut, regardless 18+ Minors DNI!, also mentions of drugs and insecurities. just anything that would've been in thunderbolts.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Knowing Bob's background, I believe that he would deeply crave intimacy, but be very hesitant to initiate it himself.

He had a rough childhood that probably didn't consist of a lot of affection from his mother and if you read the file that Valentina had on Bob, it says that his drug addiction started in middle school and that he dropped out in eighth grade because of it. After that, he had a juvenile record a mile long from breaking & entering, robbery etc.

With this information, I'm going to guess that he hasn't had many (if any) relationships and if he did, they probably weren't very healthy. Overall, he has a negative history with trust and intimacy.

BUT despite all of this, being with the team has had a positive impact on him- showing him that he isn't alone, what it's like to be sober and that vulnerability can be a good thing. For once, he can let down his walls and be his true self.

Unfortunately, physical intimacy is a whole other battle with the void lurking between the surface.

Before you had even begun dating, you had made the mistake or brushing his hand. Once simply gesture- a subconscious one really- threw you into one of your worst memories with Bob as a viewer. When you both came back to reality you didn't pull away, or flinch. He did.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Bob said tearing his hand from yours. "I can't control it. I- I didn't mean-"

And even though you just relived your own past, you reached for him.

"Bob, I know." You said, squeezing his hand. "It's not your fault."

You didn't leave, didn't scream at him. Just held him. And from that day on its like the barrier was lifted.

He would never make the first moves touching you before you were dating- that's where you come in.

It would start slow: hugging him after a mission, playfully shoving him as you joked around. Before you knew it, you were laying your heads on each other's shoulders when you sat side by side.

Your first kiss was slow. Your hands cupping his cheeks, guided his face to yours and for a moment, as your noses brushed, you could feel his breath against your lips. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek as you hummed, then his lips were on yours.

It wasn't hungry- no. There was none of that carnal desire or devouring. Instead it was thirsty, desperate. He reached for your lips as if they held the last drop of water in a barren desert and held you close like you'd evaporate if he didn't. Your lips dragged painfully slow against his until he reached to meet you.

Cheek and forehead kisses are a hallmark of your relationship.

As much as he absolutely adores kissing your lips and making out with you, those kisses are simply so pure that they held such a sacred place in his heart. No one gave him those before you.

Before you left to go anywhere, you'd find him in his little reading nook, brush his hair from his face and kiss his cheek from behind.

Even after months of dating he'd still blush after you did that and touch his skin to make sure it was real.

"I love you." You said.

And sometimes he'd catch your hand before you turned to go, pulling you in for a kiss on the lips.

"I love you too." And he always said it with a smile.

Bob doesn't hold hands in the traditional way out in public, but he does lace his fingers with yours. Your palms aren't touching but your digits remain interlocked, leaving him room to run his thumb along your hand.

He's not big on PDA. It makes him self conscious, not because he's not proud of you because he is, but because it feels as if he's putting his heart on display. Although Bob knows those from his past aren't around anymore to hurt him, it's a lasting scar that isn't healed so easily.

For my self-conscious girls, I mean this so genuinely, I don't think Bob has a physical type whatsoever. If you were a curvier women and felt insecure about in comparison to him and his physique he wouldn't even be able to comprehend it because to him you hung the stars in the sky. You're ethereal and anyone who tried to take that from you because of something as silly as your weight, or hair or nose is ridiculous. You're a goddess in his eyes.

Like, being insecure is reserved for him and him only. If you started speaking poorly about yourself he wouldn't even be able to stand listening to it and would probably cup your face in his hands and kiss you to make you stop

Is a big-time cuddler. Bob's favorite way to fall asleep is tucked in your arms. Although, that wouldn't last for long because he runs hot and once he was unconscious he'd toss and turn, kicking all the sheets to the end of the bed. He'd only cuddle you once more when he woke in the morning.

NSFW

Now, as I mentioned earlier I don't think he has a lengthy relationship history, however, I do believe that he's had sex before.

Most of the other times Bob had sex he was high and doesn't really remember much, which only makes this moment with you even more significant- and a bit anxiety inducing. With a high, he wasn't as worried about how he did or how he felt. Now, he was hyperaware of all of his inadequacies.

I think he's submissive or vanilla. The only time he's dominant during sex is if he's bolstered by the sentry persona and as we know, that may lead to the void so it is a VERY rare occurrence.

And when I say vanilla, that doesn't mean boring or satisfactory. Bob feels everything so strongly that his love for you would almost be overwhelming for him. You were just intoxicating. His kisses are so deep and soft it makes his head spin.

Loves being called a good boy.

I just imagine sex with him either being the definition of lovemaking: slow, passionate, raw.

Or, so giggly.

He's also a munch. What?? Who said that?? He may be sober but he gets drunk on the taste of you all the same.

He adores looking at you. To him, it's almost the only way. He has needs, sure, but what makes it so special and otherworldly is the love he has for you.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

this is by no means a comprehensive list and I would love to revisit these ideas more. if you have more headcanons you'd like to see my inbox is open

#bob x reader #bob headcanons #bob fluff #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts fanfiction #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds x you #mcu fanfiction

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monstacheol · 2 days ago

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Did I write this the day after the Met Gala? Am I still obsessed with Scoups's look? Do I love the look? Yes, and the fact that it's inspired by Korean traditional hanbok and modern, and that it looks so good. And aren't I supposed to be posting my 400 celebration? Yes, but that's for another day. I HAVE AN IDEA. And I can't stop thinking about it. Here is my thought. Also, this isn't proofread and was posted out of excitement, so if you see any mistakes,. I'm sorry. As always, this may or may not be in a book in the future. This was at 1 am. I'm going to bed.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who was known across the galaxy as the fearless leader he is. Seen as the embodiment of strength and wisdom by the younglings and Padawans.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵 who was born in Corellia but raised within the Jedi Temple on Coruscant since he was a youngling with the Force by the Jedi Masters

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who had a strong connection with the Force, was trained by the Jedi master before he could even get his own saber.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who, the day he got his saber, began a Padawan training under his Jedi master.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whose saber color is a yellow-gold color, a rare color that symbolizes wisdom, loyalty and combat. And he was proud of it. (He may have cry a little)

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who knows the Jedi code and knows it well. And is loyal to the Jedi Order and is determined to bring justice, balance, and peace to the galaxy.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who was given an assignment to keep watch and protect a certain senator, Padme, by order of the Jedi Master.

"A senator?" he questioned as he stood in front of the Jedi Master.

"Yes. A Padmé," Master Windu spoke. "Right from Naboo,” Windu spoke.

"In trouble she is in," Master Yoda spoke. "Must be protected she must."

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whose brows furrow so lightly, not out of anger but out of concern. He knew that being assigned to such assignments like these, protecting important figures of the galaxy was rare and yet delicate and not an easy task. But Seungcheol— he didn't question. He didn't hesitate. He nodded and bowed in silent acceptance. It was duty before doubt. Service before self. After all, that was the way. The Jedi way

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱��𝓸𝓵, who arrived at Naboo on the cruiser as assigned. His robe rustled softly in the breeze, his golden saber by his side as he observed the new, beautiful surroundings of Naboo.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who wanders around in the Naboo garden. He had only heard stories of the certain senator that he was assigned to protect from his Jedi friends but they had never seen her in person.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who saw you in the garden and thought you were just… an ordinary citizen of Naboo. And introduce himself.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who heard you say your name so sweetly with a smile on your face. You blankly ask if the order had sent him here and he answers,

"Yes. They sent me to protect a senator, a Padme they say."

"I see," you answer. "And what have you heard about this senator?" Continue to attend to the garden.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who lists all the things that were being said about her and she just chuckles.

"My, those are some words," you comment. "She sounds like such a controversial figure."

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who heard the sudden call of "Padme," noticed that a handmaid was coming over, and her eyes flicked between you and him as the handmaiden spoke that you were needed for a meeting.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who stood there in awe as he realized who you were, thanks to the handmaiden, and apologized for his rudeness. "Please forgive me. I did not—"

And you just softly chuckle and forgive him. Of course he meant no harm and told him that you look forward to working with him.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who after a while being your protector, saw how passionate you were at your meeting. Passionate about the future, for peace across the galaxy.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who protected you from any harm and threats that were leaking in the shadow.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who got to hear your stories from your childhood and he told his.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵 who walks beside you as he questions everything that was going through his head. He knew the code. And he knew it well. The code warns him of such things. But why … why is it that you… you pull him out of his focus?

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who for the first time, wasn't sure if the Order. Them had prepared him…for you.

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universefcb · 2 days ago

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ANATOMICAL PIZZA LOVE, PAU CUBARSÍ.

→ Summary: You're home alone and decide to make pizza! But Pau had never made it before.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff. Romance.

→ Author's note: To ease the pain of losing the final yesterday... And forgive me for my inactivity! I promise to come back with a calendar full of fics!

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

She left the bag of flour on the counter as she looked at Pau. His parents had gone out for dinner—a rare romantic date on a Saturday night. His sister, Irene, had texted him that she was going to sleep over at her boyfriend’s house. It was just you and Pau in the house now. A house that had always had people, noise, some pot on the stove. Now it was full of silence.

“Do you really want to make pizza?” he asked, leaning on the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, his hair messy as if he had taken a shower in a hurry.

“Better than asking. And it’s all here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’ve never made real pizza.”

You gave a half smile and threw the flour onto the counter with more confidence than you actually felt.

“Then let’s do it together.”

Pau raised an eyebrow, but smiled back. He picked up his apron—the one his mother sometimes wore, with a bell pepper pattern—and tossed another one to you.

The atmosphere was light, with that good tension of their relationship, which was just beginning.

“Heart or round?” you asked, as you rolled out the dough.

“Sweetheart, sure. Let’s make it the cheesiest tradition possible,” he replied without hesitation, leaning his hip against the counter next to her. “We deserve it.”

You laughed, and he looked. That way. A second longer than necessary. A look that made him embarrassed, turning his head away with a slight blush on his face.

He approached you from behind while you were still rolling out the dough and wrapped his arms around you in a light hug, his chin resting on your shoulder. You stayed like that for a moment, breathing the same air.

“You smell like flour and apple shampoo,” he muttered, before letting out a small chuckle.

“It’s an irresistible combo,” you replied, feigning pride, and he pressed your body lightly against his before letting go.

You cut the ingredients, he assembled them. You bumped into each other all the time. Every touch seemed to last a little longer. Every excuse to help became another reason to stay close. Sometimes your eyes met by accident. Other times, on purpose. He smiled at the corner of your mouth, and you looked away, but the smile remained.

“It’s crooked,” he said, looking at his pizza.

“Yours too. It looks like a liver.”

He laughed. That short, sincere laugh that he only gave when he forgot to control himself. And his heart filled with love.

“We should patent this. Anatomical pizza of love.”

You laughed too, trying to hide the heat rising in your face.

When the oven finally dinged, the kitchen was warm, smelling good, and full of shards of conversation. Pau grabbed a towel and theatrically waved it at his face, sweating slightly. You threw an olive at him, and he pretended to be offended.

“We’re good,” he said, sharing a slice of the prettiest, or least ugly, pizza.

“We make a good pair,” you added without thinking. When you realized what you had said, you looked at him quickly.

Pau was already looking.

And he didn't deviate.

Silence fell, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was full. Almost electric.

“You know I like being with you, right?” he said quietly. As if he didn’t want to spoil the moment.

You swallowed hard. And nodded.

“I like being with you too.”

He approached. Slowly, without rushing. His hand touched hers, and stayed there. A simple touch, but direct.

“This here”—he pointed to the messy kitchen, the half-eaten pizza, the low music playing in the background—“could be our routine, you know?”

You smiled. Not the shy kind. The knowing kind.

“It is, right?”

Pau moved closer, his eyes on yours. His forehead almost touching yours. His breath mingling with yours. He brought one of his hands to your face, his fingers sliding lightly across your cheek.

“So can I kiss you now?”

You didn't answer. You just pulled his apron and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was calm, warm, with the taste of tomatoes and something new. His hands found your back, pulling you closer. One hand on your waist, the other still on your face. You laughed in the middle of the kiss, awkwardly, and kissed again. Because it was easy. Because it was right. Because it was already you.

When your lips parted, he still had his eyes closed, as if he wanted to prolong that moment a little longer. You rested your forehead against his, feeling your heart beat fast and calm at the same time.

“That was the best dinner I’ve ever had,” he whispered.

You smiled, your eyes shining.

“It wasn’t even a full dinner.”

“So we can do it again, right? Tomorrow. And the day after.”

“And then,” you repeated, like a small, whole promise.

He pulled you closer, again, and this time it wasn't a kiss, but a hug. Tight. Warm. Smelling of baked dough and his expensive perfume.

" I love you"

“I love you too, Barsí”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

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killmeleatherface · 2 days ago

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It Had to Be You

Part 1

Dr Michael Robinavitch x f! resident (turned attending) OC

AN: hey everyone! This is the 1st part in my multiple part series. I’m still very new to this and slowly learning how to format and edit so bare with me not being able to always link everything together :) but it’s all on my profile and very easy to find! As of 5/9/25 there is 4 parts out and a one shot!

Warnings: smut, so much smut. P in v, handjob, shower sex, lots of kissing, cheating, age gap relationship (not defined but reader is assumed to be in late 20s and Michael is early 50s) mention of kinks. Pls let me know more!

Established relationship/Engaged.

Dr Robby x F! Attending

Summary: You and Dr Michael Robinavitch started as friends, attendings exchanging information. Until he asked if tou wanted to go to a diner to talk about an especially hard shift. The rest was history. That was years ago and your forbidden fling became an actual relationship, boyfriend and girlfriend. And then the love of your life proposes. Life couldn’t be better, until it comes crashing down. You catch the person you couldn’t be more in love kissing his ex girlfriend in a trauma room when they obviously thought no one was looking. You instantly react with fight of flight instinct and flee home, using all your vacation and sick time. You escape, leaving behind no call or text for your fiance and get the first flight out of there. Now you’re back. And life didn’t wait for your arrival, it just kept on coming like a freight train at The Pitt.

——-

Fuck.

You couldn’t believe you were up at this hour, let alone 2 hours before. It never gets easier, especially after a prolonged vacation. You were on the day shift because The Pitt was severely lacking in staff and you were happy to cover when you could. And you definitely could, because you owed a majority of the day staff a big favor.

You walk through the metal detectors and give Ahmad a smile. He returns after a facial stutter. Ugh. Already?

You pull your bag tighter over your shoulder and keep going. Past the full chairs of the waiting room, past the eyeing nurses seated at intake. You just ignored their looks and said thank you with a smile as they buzzed you through the double doors of the emergency room.

“Well you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Dana immediately beams as she sees you walking in. “It’s good to have you back, kid.” You walk over to the short blonde nurse that is like a best friend and second mother to you. Langdon walks around the corner the same time you’re dropping your bag under the counter and says, “Oh! Didn’t realize you’d finally choose today to be gracious enough to offer us your presence, Spencer” in a very annoyed tone.

Fuck. How many more times were you going to say that today? You really should stop cursing you think, but maybe that habit can die another day. Today was definitely going to be a day where a substitute word wouldn’t suffice. “Hi, Langdon. Yes I’m back and yes I’m sorry. I owe you and Dana and pretty much everyone else in the department on days pizza.” Langdon looks at you still very unamused.

“That’s a start.” He walks away, picking up an iPad and heading away into a patient room. Dana walks next to you.

“Ignore him for now. He’ll forgive you. He’s more annoyed with you know who then he is with you. He’s been let’s say, less cheery than usual.” You pull your long black hair halfway up into a claw clip and turn to your friend, silently eyeing her to continue.

“Look, I don’t want to get into your business, but he’s been a wreck for the past month and a half. He definitely hasn’t been sleeping, I don’t know if he even goes home half the time. I know what he did was and is majorly fucked up and I’m on your side. I’m not saying forgive him by any means but just be warned, he’s not himself without you.” She reaches a hand up to put it on your shoulder.

“Also, you picked a hell of a day to come back because he’s on shift.” She eyes behind you.

————

10 weeks ago

The way Michael Robinavitch kissed you was electric. You’d never felt something so substantially soul taking until you knew his lips on yours. He was a drug you wished you could have more of, always itching for a fix of when you weren’t together.

Right now he was placing soft kisses up your neck, gliding by your clavicle, up to your jugular and finally nipping at your ear and whispering “is that right sweetheart?” When you moan in want. More. More. You could never get enough.

“Michael” you gasp.

“Tell me more” He replies through lips kissing back to yours. He leans back and looks at you in admiration. Like a proud hunter who’s bagged his prey.

You reach up to cup his face. His beard longer than usual, just the way you liked it. You raked your fingers through his facial hair and back to his hair, grabbing a gentle hold and pulling, just a bit of roughness to add to what you were hoping was foreplay.

Robby closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Oh you’re naughty baby. Okay let’s see.” He says with a wicked smile. His large hand cups your jaw and you manage to suck his thumb into your mouth, causing him to pause momentarily, watching your pink lips wrap around his thumb.

He doesn’t stop long and instead glides his hand down your throat, putting pressure where he knows will make you feel a sort of dizzy but not cause any problems breathing. You moan and he responds by dipping his head to your shoulder, moving your oversized t shirt down. He kissed down your arm and said “I think we should lose this.” As his hands moved from your neck down and head under your shirt. You happily let him and he pushed himself up, straddling your waist. You pulled your shoulders up and he easily lifted the shirt above your above your head, throwing it in a random direction, taking his off and doing the same. Now you both were in your underwear, an obviously hard Robby beaming down at you.

“Beautiful girl. My beautiful girl. I could look at your forever.” He says in a gravely low voice. Sounding like he’s trying not to break. Trying not to rip your underwear off. Trying not to claim you in the most savage ways.

You bring your left hand into both of your views and smile.

“Well good thing you put a ring on it, baby.” You say, eyeing your large engagement ring that he surprised you with 6 months ago.

“Mmm I did, didn’t I?” Robby runs his hand back down your neck to your chest and palms your right breast, holding on to a nipple and twisting it. He eyes you and says “Baby I hate to do this but if we both want to get what we want then we need to have a quickie or you can let me take care of you in the shower.”

So that’s what you do. Immediately pushing him off, simultaneously saying shower and stripping your panties off. You run to the shower, turning it on to a warm temperature and feel Robby behind you. He glides his hand down your stomach and before he hits your most sensitive spot he says against your neck, “Before we get in, condom or no condom?” You crane your neck and close your eyes. You’d talked about going condom free since you guys were going to be officially married soon, but never got around to actually practicing it. You thought about it for a few seconds and you knew you wanted to feel him all the way. As an answer you turn around smile and reach down to his shaft. He’s so thick, your hand barely fits around it. You give it a few strokes and kiss him. Cupping his jaw and slowly waking backwards, into your steaming shower.

Robby senses what you’re doing and smiles through the kisses and moans. He pushes you against the wall and crashes into you. “Fuck baby I’m wound up, if you keep going I’m-” he says as you twist your wrist. He plants a hand against the shower wall and lets the water stream down his head and enjoy the moment. Finally he pulls your hand away him and in one quick motion he’s leaning down and grabs your ass, pulling your legs around his waist. He kisses you hard and walks the 3 steps to sit down. He has a larger shower in his apartment, one made of stone that’s about 10 feet by 10 feet. It’s very spacious and appreciated in activities such as what you’re partaking in.

Robby sits himself down and positions you on top of him. You tease the tip of his hard cock, rubbing yourself on it with your slick wetness. You make small circles with your hips, doing a sort of secret dance to entice your partner. You feel his cock jump.

“Come on baby, you’re killing me.” Robby moans with ecstasy. You don’t listen and keep going, but don’t get far when he puts both his hands on either hip and pulls you down slowly.

“That’s right baby. You know who’s in charge.” He slurs in a sex fueled drunken state.

You start riding your fiancé up and down feeling every inch of him until you hit 100% and you both groan. It’s amazing. He’s amazing.

After just a few more movements of your hips a familiar heat makes its space known in your belly. Wow, this is fast, even for him.

“Fuu-I’m gonna” you moan.

“Good baby, good. Me too. Let it go” he kisses your neck and thrusts up to you. You lose it and your heat spasms around Michael’s cock and you scream. It feels like it goes on forever and then Michael follows suit, finally erupting and filling every spasm of his cock be let go into you. His orgasm is loud and beautiful and you love watching him unravel.

It feels like an eternity has passed when your vision returns to normal and you sit yourself up. Robby hazily looks at you and smiles.

“Let’s finish this shower before we’re both late for work.” He says.

——

You couldn’t believe it. Of all days. Of all fucking days. Ugh! You should’ve checked with Dana about starting today, but you also felt if you called anyone and said anything, you’d lose your gumption and never come back. You still wouldn’t be here today, but you’d ran out of time to take off and you needed a job.

Whatever. If Robby is here, you’ll avoid him. It’s just for a day, you can make sure you’re on opposite shift of him after that. You stay in the back of the group for rounds. You’re an attending, it’s not like a resident who needs to impress anyone.

Mohan slides up next to you.

“Hey stranger.” She whispers as she bumps your shoulder. You look over to your best friend and smile.

“We’ve missed you here.”

You don’t know about that. From what you’ve already heard it’s been almost a shit show, more than usual, at least partly because of your absence.

“Thanks dude, but you’re a bad liar.” You smile.

“Well, I missed you. That’s not a lie. It’s so much more fun working a case with you than it is with anyone else, especially he who may not be named Mr Grumpy Pants.”

She’s talking about Robby and trying to be nice about it, since you’ve told her you don’t want to hear his name.

“Speaking of him, what are you going to do about it? Have you talked to him?” She inquires.

You look past the small crowd and directly at the man you’re talking about. He’s in a black hoodie and his signature cargo pants. He has his stethoscope around his neck and he’s talking with his hands about a case that the previous shift had. He always does that, he’s always doing something with his hands. It’s almost endearing, like a nervous tick. Like he can’t let them sit still or they’ll come off his arms and fly away.

You look at your friend who’s waiting for an answer. “No, no I haven’t. And I don’t plan on it. He doesn’t deserve it.” You say matter of factly.

Robby claps his hands and says have a great shift. Your immediately turn around trying to disperse with the group, meaning to sneak away, and you’re almost successful, until you realize you’ve left your phone in the kitchen on your last coffee run. Ugh. You head that way.

You open the door and you’re looking down at something on your badge when you come face to face with the last person who ever want to talk to.

“What the fuck.” Robby says almost too loud.

You roll your eyes and don’t make eye contact. “Just left my phone in here, that’s it.”

Robby puts his coffee mug down on the counter and says “You just left your phone in here?! You. Just. Left. Your. Phone.” He rubs his hands down his face. Another signature move with a part of his body your body is way too familiar with.

He’s malfunctioning. You don’t blame him. His fiance who he spends almost every waking moment with is right in front of him again. The same fiance who disappeared without warning 6 weeks before. It’s like you’re a ghost. A ghost of all things good that’s come back to haunt him in a way to hint at what a good life you can have. And he could’ve. He could’ve had you as a wife, a partner, a best friend, a confidant that will do anything for him. But he lost that privilege.

You don’t say anything to him. You try to turn around and he grabs your shoulder. “Come on, Y/N, that’s all I get? You disappear for 6 weeks and don’t answer any of my calls or texts and all I get is some bullshit about forgetting your phone? You show up back here without even an acknowledgement to me and I don’t get a simple explanation? I have to find out from Dana that you’ve gone home to your moms and you’re safe. I even called your mom, you know that? I never thought I’d have to call your parents on you. Like some sick fucking daddy daughter joke because of our age gap. It’d be almost comical if it was another situation. And now you’re here in front of me and can’t even-Youre my fiance and you won’t even speak to me!” He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. He leans his head down on his arms placed on the counter. He looks up at you. He’s eyeing you as if he’s searching for something. Searching for words you’re not saying, things he can help, anything. He needs something. Hes silently begging you to stop. But you haven’t really done anything. You can’t stop what’s already in motion, no matter how desperately you wish you could.

He’s unraveling. Actually, he’s already lost it. He’s broken. You broke Michael Robinavitch.

But you don’t care. You really couldn’t care less. You cross your arms and for the first time ever you wish someone would interrupt you and the man in front of you at work. Anything to get you out of this situation. You didn’t know what to say to him. You didn’t even want to look at him. You thought your vacation away would allievate the pain you hold in some fashion but you realize now it hasn’t even touched it. Robby has you seething with anger. The man you said yes to spending the rest of your life with. The man you dreamed of getting a house and picking out every little detail with. The man who could say sweet nothings to you as long as he was stroking your hair and laying next to you in bed. The man that at some point became someone who felt like was your missing piece without. Like you weren’t whole unless he was there. Now, standing in front of the tall doctor who’d you’d just decided flower choices for your wedding with made you physically ill. Or actually you were really nauseous. Ugh.

“Please, I’m begging you. Tell me what’s been going on. I’ve been this close to checking myself into the 9th floor. Please baby.” Robby steps closer.

He’s reaching for you. You step back.

“Robby, I’m not doing this now. Not here…actually, ya know for a really intelligent guy you’re being a huge idiot right now. Think about it bud.” You point to your head. “And I’m not your baby anymore.”

You turn and head towards the door feeling instantly more nauseous. Fuck. Fuuuck. You cannot puke right now.

Robby again reaches for you. He manages to grab your wrist and flip you around. Your almost toe to toe with him touching shoes and you finally allow yourself to look up at his deep brown eyes. Man, you let your self think for a moment, how truly handsome he is.

Then he cups your jaw as he’s done dozens of times before and you grab his wrist, pulling his hands off of you. Something you’ve never done before. Robby tenses. He closes his eyes. In your relationship, you don’t just take your significant others hands off of you. He doesn’t know what to do. There’s always been such clear boundaries before, something you’ve had since your very first actual date. Where you learned Michael was a dom and wanted his girl to be comfortable being a sub. You weren’t at all unfamiliar with what he was asking for, and something ignited in you to prod him with your extreme interest. You weren’t surprised either. He had to be demanding for his job. He had to be in charge. He couldn’t lose his cool. That’s what a dom is. And right now he has no semblance of having it together. You know what he wants to do. He wants to pin your wrists above your head and leave tingling bite marks down your neck to claim his territory. He’s wondering how dare you take your hands off what’s his but he’s also tired and confused and seemingly malfunctioning. This is brand new territory for both of you and you wish you weren’t here.

Something ignited in you suddenly and you have the sudden empathetic bone you didn’t know you still had for Robby. You’re fully aware this man was your everything. And you were his. It wasn’t always such a clustered mess.

You step back and look at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry.

You can’t break down. You can’t puke. Your body is fighting so many things at once. You put your head down and meet your match’s eyes. He’s watching you. Waiting. His mind still reeling.

“Listen, just box up whatever’s mine at your place and drop it to the girls at intake. Tell them to let me know it’s there.” You throw your hands up in defeat.

“Y/N, we’re supposed to get married here soon. What do you mean put everything in a box? You don’t want to get married anymore. What a fucking day.” You eye him.

“What a fucking day? What a fucking day? How about what a fucking month? What a fucking life I’ve wasted! Of course I don’t want to marry you!” You scream.

“You disappear for over a month, I almost put an amber alert out on you, I get no information , and now you’re calling off our engagement?” He steps closer to you.

“If you don’t want to marry me, why are you still wearing my ring around your neck?” He inquires. He’s reaching. He’s assuming. He’s calling your bluff. He’s doing anything he can to stop this conversation but still keep you in the room. You reach into your scrub top and pull out the chain, exposing a circle pendant with the letter of your first name. Not your engagement ring that you usually kept on a necklace while working because you loved to show you were claimed even if it wasn’t outright obvious. You reach into your scrub pocket and feel the cold of your engagement ring. You pull it out and hold it out to him.

“Here.”

Robby’s eyes widen. He doesn’t take it, but you’re not putting it back in your pocket, so you put it on the break room table in front of you.

“Besides I thought you’d be shacked up with Collin’s and my shit would be thrown away by now.” You say coldly.

That was it. That was what truly broke him. He lost it and tears formed in his eyes.

“Collin’s? What?” And then it dawns on him. “You saw that didn’t you? Please let me explain. I, uh, she, she kissed me and I froze. I know I shouldn’t have and I should have pushed her away immediately and I’m so so incredibly sorry.”

You don’t hear the rest of it before you feel bile race up your throat and you sprint to the trash can, pulling your hair back by instinct. You throw up whatever’s left of your breakfast and wipe your mouth.

Robby’s hand is on your lower back, rubbing circles. He’s over you obviously concerned. “Y/N, please let me..are you okay?”

“No. No I’m not okay.” You look up at him. Whatever, it’s not the perfect time but he doesn’t deserve perfect. You didn’t get it.

“But I am pregnant.”

AN: this will definitely be a series don’t worry! Idk how many parts but between flashbacks I have in mind and the future possibilities, it will be at least a few more parts :)

#the pitt #dr robby #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch x reader #Michael Robinavitch m #dr robby the pitt #Dr Robby t #smut #dr Robby smut #the Pitt smut

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apomaro-mellow · 2 days ago

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CC Ransoms Steve 7

Part 6

Eddie went up the stairs after Steve, leaving the other three to explore the kitchen and rustle up some grub for dinner tonight. When he got to the top landing, he realized he didn't know exactly which room was Steve's. He remembered which was his parents', so he avoided that when he heard the sound of running water. He went towards that and found himself in a room with dark blue and white wallpaper.

Steve came from another door which Eddie realized was an en suite bathroom where he could hear the shower running. Any thoughts of bitching about how rich Steve was right now were thrown out the window at the sight of his shirtless chest.

"Ever heard of knocking?", Steve crossed his arms, bringing attention to his pecs and biceps.

Eddie had to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. "I uh, I came up here to uh..."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Don't even think you're getting lucky after what happened down there."

Eddie snapped back into focus and closed the bedroom door. He didn't think there was any real danger of the others hearing and thus finding out about him, but well, he didn't get this far without being at least a little cautious.

"That's not why I'm here", he said. "I'm here to say that while that was a huuuge hiccup, you handled it well."

"Yeah. I did", Steve said, his tone turning agitated. He turned to go back into the bathroom, presumably to finish undressing and actually get into the shower but Eddie couldn't let him do that. For more than one reason.

“Look, you’re plenty useful”, Eddie said in a placating tone.

“Yeah, I know. Question is, do you know that? Do your friends know?”

“I’ll straighten them out.”

“Not enough”, Steve said. “I want an apology.”

Eddie raised a brow and just barely kept from scoffing. "An apology? For what?"

"You remember this started with a kidnapping, right?"

"One you've criticized several times", Eddie pointed out.

"Just because it sucked doesn't mean you shouldn't feel sorry for it."

"Okay, sure, fine, we'll beg for your forgiveness for that", Eddie submitted. He had to remind himself that the only path forward was through Steve right now. In the light of the bathroom, the lines of his body were more prominent. But something else was more visible as well. "Is...is that...?"

Steve raised his arm and the bruise on his side became more pronounced. "Oh yeah and some idiot hit me with his van. I could call the police. Can't remember why I'm not."

Eddie actually felt shitty right now. For all that Steve benefited from his many sources of privilege, he'd never really gone out of his way to hurt someone. But Eddie had slammed his van into him, knocked him unconscious, and Steve had only done the most minimal of bitching. Eddie should be sitting in the back of Hopper's car, at the very least.

"I'm sorry", he said. His sincerity must have shown through, because Steve's shoulders relaxed immediately.

"It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, it hurts like a mother, but I'll survive."

"Shouldn't you get that looked at? Like at a hospital?", Eddie asked.

"And tell them what? The town freak did a hit and run?"

Eddie shrugged. "You could leave me out of it. We could saaaay Carver did it."

"Sure, let's add false accusations to your rap sheet."

"What's one more crime?"

Steve laughed and Eddie felt less shitty. There was this weird thing between them, held together by this harebrained scheme. Eddie didn't know what would happen to them after it was done. But then again, he never was that good at thinking ahead.

"Are you gonna let me shower in peace now?", Steve asked, smiling.

Eddie waggled his brows, because those weren't under his control apparently and Steve laughed again before he closed the door to the bathroom. Eddie was smiling as he came back down the stairs and saw the other three busy with cooking. Eddie lent a hand while Steve showered upstairs.

"Did you handle it?", Doug asked first.

"It's handled", Eddie said simply.

Steve was lured downstairs by the smell of food. Not that he could tell exactly what it was. he was half afraid of coming to a burnt kitchen. But somehow, they had pulled it off. It wasn't anything extravagant. There was a frozen pizza fresh from the oven, a bunch of grilled cheeses, two big bowls of chips, one of popcorn, someone had cooked an entire pack of bacon, and soda.

After the day Steve had, it looked like heaven. He sat down to eat but before his first bite, Eddie held up a hand.

"Gentlemen...", he gestured to the others.

Jeff, Gareth, and Doug all groaned and rolled their eyes, but stood in front of Steve. "We're sorry", they said. Only Gareth looked like it physically pained him to say it.

Steve crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, grinning. "Did you rehearse a song too?"

They grumbled, but didn't bite back, which showed how truly sorry they were. Steve gestured for them to sit back down.

"Apology accepted."

"We should probably really strategize our next steps", Jeff said after a few bites of food. "Like plan for what might go wrong this time."

"What could go wrong?", Gareth asked. "All we gotta do is take this haul to the pawn shop, then make our way to the competition."

"Seems easy enough", Eddie said.

"But we didn't count on those old ladies", Doug pointed out. "And I bet if we don't plan for it, something could happen at the pawn shop."

"You guys are being paranoid. Whatever happens, we'll take care of it, like we did today", Eddie said.

Steve smirked. "You mean by the skin of your teeth?"

The topic quickly changed to which songs they should play and how their lives would absolutely change after. Dishes were left in the sink but Steve couldn't bring himself to care. He stretched and made his way to the stairs.

"Not so fast, don't we still need someone on guard duty?", Gareth pointed out.

Eddie tried to appear casual as he stood up. "Well if I must-"

"Uh-uh", Jeff put a hand to Eddie's chest. "You dropped the ball last time. This time we'll do a real rotation." He couldn't explain it, but there was something in the way that Eddie looked at Steve.

Steve just shrugged and went up to his room, Jeff volunteering himself to go first. Eddie did his best to not look too disappointed. He, Doug, and Gareth got comfortable on the couches in the living room. When it was Eddie's turn, Doug nudged him awake and pointed to the stairs.

For once in his life, Eddie didn't mind being awakened. He got up to Steve's room. It was dark but for the moon illuminating his bed and for a moment Eddie was taken to that one raunchy fantasy romance that he'd huddled up in the corner of a library to read. Steve was very much like the maiden in the story. Face softened by sleep, completely open and vulnerable to the welcome intruder to her room.

Eddie sat at the desk at the end of the bed and watched. Sunrise came in the blink of an eye.

Taglist

@tinyplanet95 @dammitjim02 @chaotic-waffle @missarte-beltane @im-sam-fucking-winchester

@persnicketysquares @estrellami-1 @spookycollectorcandies @chocolateraccoonlights @exasperatedsighohmy

@disrespectedgoatman @yesdangerpls @me-ig7 @imaginary-maggie-waggie @live-laugh-love-dietrich

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #corroded coffin

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weirdassbothers · 10 hours ago

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Truth spell, except it’s with established late season samdean who already know and accept pretty much everything about eachother.

Dean confesses to wanting to lock Sam up and never let him see the outside world again, Sam doesn’t bat an eye, he learned that years ago.

Sam confesses that that he’s wanted to take a gun and shoot their dad multiple times in his life, that he’s gotten scarily close to it a few times. Does it hurt dean a little? Yeah, but he’s had a feeling for a while now.

Dean confesses to wanting to fuck a 14 year old Sam. Sam didn’t know it started when he was that young, and yeah it’s objectively a little creepy, but it doesn’t bother Sam in the slightest.

Sam confesses to being able to forgive anything dean does. He could do the most heinous, disgusting thing and Sam would make excuses for him. Dean didn’t know Sam felt like that, but it doesn’t really surprise him.

Sam confesses to wanting to cannibalize dean

Dean confesses to being kind of thankful that Jess died

Sam confesses to a seriously fucked up gun kink

Dean confesses to sleeping with sams crushes on purpose so Sam wouldn’t date anyone

Sam confesses to hurting himself while Dean was with girls so he would have to leave his date

And each time either they already know, accept and forgive it without hesitation, or just simply don’t care. They realize that their relationship is really messed up, but they also know it’s the best thing they have and that they’re not ever going to leave each other no matter what, so why get hung up on old stuff?

#samdean #wincest #spn #supernatural #weirdcest #seriously guys the possibilities are endless #gencest

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drabbles-mc · 2 days ago

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Invisible Silver Linings (2/7)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x F!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, language, angst, mentions of scars, mentions of self-harm/suicidal ideations

Summary: You signed on to become part of a study when you realized that you didn't have anything left to lose. What harm could it really do? How much worse could it really get? ... You didn't expect to get answers to those questions. You also didn't expect to meet Bob. You'd end up thankful for at least one of those things.

Chapter Index

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: the amount of love i have for Bob Reynolds???? infinite and indescribable. i adore this mess of a man and his puppy dog eyes so much.

You weren't sure how much time had gone by since your conversation with Bob. It had been long enough for the both of you to fall asleep, though. The only reason that you knew that was because you were woken up by the sound of Bob talking. He didn’t sound the same as he had before, though. His voice wasn't that soft nervous whisper, it wasn't how he sounded when he was simply making conversation with you. It was quieter than that, muttered and almost frantic.

Opening your eyes, you looked over to find him curled up into a ball on the floor next to you. His eyes were shut, and you were assuming that he was asleep, but he was whispering to himself at a mile a minute. He was hugging himself, arms pulled tight across his chest. Even with his eyes shut, his face was still pinched.

Part of you was saying to wake him up. Sure, sleep was a precious thing but it didn’t look like he was having what you'd call a restful sleep. Then again you didn’t know this guy really at all. Maybe this was just what sleep was like for him. You had no way of knowing. His hair was sticking to his forehead from sweat, some of it falling down directly in front of his face due to the position that he was laying in.

The thing that pushed you to finally make a decision was when you saw how tightly he was holding onto the baggy fabric of his shirt. He had it balled up in his fists, the human embodiment of white-knuckling it. That was no way to try and get some sleep.

Taking a deep breath, you reached over and gently set your hand on his shoulder. You tightened your grip just slightly so that you could try and jostle him awake without having to shake him too hard. You weren't trying to scare him any more than he probably already was.

You never got the chance, though, because the second that you tightened your grip on his shoulder he snapped awake. Letting go of his shirt, he focused his harsh grip on you instead, fingers curling around your arm just above your wrist. His blunt fingernails dug into your skin causing you to let out a quiet hiss of pain. Your instinct should've been to hit him, to pull yourself away from him, but you stopped yourself from following through on the urge. The only thing that saved him from a black eye or a busted nose was the fact that when he'd shot upright, the look in his eyes was one that you hadn't seen before. He didn’t look the same as he had, almost like he was a different man now than he had been. You weren't going to punish him for that if you didn’t have to, although if he gripped you any harder you might just have to ask for forgiveness later.

“Bob,” you said, unable to hide the pain in your voice. “Bob, it's me. C'mon.”

He was looking at you but you could tell that he didn’t really see you. Whatever was lurking behind those eyes, it wasn't the same guy you'd been speaking to a few hours before.

Figuring that it could only go so much more wrong than it already had, you reached over and place your other hand on top of his. You tried to get your voice back under control, tried to sound like everything was fine and normal. “You gotta let me go,” you said calmly. “You're the closest thing to a friend I've got in here, so you can't do me like this.”

The next few seconds that passed felt like they dragged on for an eternity. Finally, though, something clicked and he let you go. You weren’t even really that confident that it had anything to do with the words you'd said to him. You'd ask later, maybe, if the opportunity presented itself, but you were fairly certain that whatever that had just been, was one of those things that just needed to run its course. Unfortunately for both of you.

You were gently rubbing your arm where his nails had dug into you, but your eyes were focused solely on him. He blinked a few times against the darkness of the room—it wasn't pitch black, but they'd dialed down the harsh fluorescents a bit from what they'd been earlier. That and the sporadic meal drop-offs had been your only way to try and get any grip on the passage of time in here.

He rubbed at his eyes and then looked at you. There was a tiny upward lift of his lips, not quite a real smile but something close to it as he stared at you. “Hey. What,” he tried to fight off a yawn and failed, “what're you doing up?”

Your mouth flattened into a straight line as you tried to figure out how you wanted to answer that question. You didn’t want to sound accusatory since you had no idea what this guy's deal was, but also you hadn't ever been the greatest liar on the planet either.

Still massaging your arm, you said, “You, uh, you were muttering in your sleep and it woke me up—thought you might've been talking to me.”

His expression fell. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. I, I do that sometimes.” He paused for a moment. “Did you hear what I was saying?”

You shook your head. “Not really. You were talking real fast, so it was hard to catch any of it. I tried to wake you, but, uh…” you trailed off, not knowing how to say it.

If the look on his face said anything, it said that he had an idea of what might've happened without you even saying a word. Maybe you were right. Maybe this was just a normal night for him. That'd make the most sense, the more you thought about it. Maybe this is the type of thing that had him signing up for the medical trial in the first place.

“Oh no. What'd I…did I do something?” Even as he was asking, his eyes were scanning you over. He stopped when he saw you holding onto your arm. “Did I—”

You shook your head. “It's fine. I shouldn’t have tried to wake you.” You offered a weak chuckle. “You know what they say about poking sleeping bears.”

He tried to give you a pity smile at least, but even that didn't land. He was reaching for your arm before he could think twice about it. “Can I…” he trailed off as he took ahold of your arm again. This time he did it with a gentleness that made much more sense given what you knew of him.

You were too busy staring at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head, to pull away from him. It was only when you saw the sadness on his face again that you remembered yourself and tried to pull away. He stopped you, not with the same amount of force he had while he was asleep, but enough to make you stop fighting against him.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you looked anywhere but at him. “I told you, it was nothing.”

He was looking back and forth between your face and your arm. Even without looking directly at him, you could feel all that sympathy just rushing out of him and into you as he held onto your arm. It was enough to make you sick, but not enough to make you pull away.

He was staring at your arm again, the divots left behind by his fingers were troubling, and he hated that he'd done that to you. Hated even more that he couldn’t remember doing it. You'd been kind to him, a total stranger in a strange place, and this was how he'd repaid you. He felt bad, but what made him feel worse were the freshly healed scars on your arm. He didn’t have to see your other arm to know that they were a matching set, a deep vertical line down the center of your wrist and forearm.

“I'm sorry.”

You finally yanked your arm away from him. Pulling your sleeve down so that it covered your hand as well, you shook your head. “It's fine. Didn't even break the skin. I just. I wasn't expecting it, is all.” Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look him in the eyes. “Are you good, though? That…that didn’t sound fun.”

There were still a million apologies swimming around in his eyes, but he managed to say something other than sorry. “Yeah that’s ‘cause it’s…it’s not,” he ended his sentence with a soft chuckle. It got tiny smiles out of each of you. Not because it was funny, per se, not in the typical sense. But it seemed you were both the type of people who knew that in some moments, there was nothing else to do but laugh because if you didn’t you’d end up crying. He twisted his fingers in his lap. “I don’t remember what happens when I get like that, though.” He gave a lame shrug. “So I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Just full of silver linings, aren’t you?” you joked.

The conversation fizzled out after that. Both of you were sitting upright now. You were in much the same position that you were before, legs bent and arms draped. Bob on the other hand had his legs stretched straight out in front of him. The one thing that you had in common was that you were both pressing your heads back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

After a few minutes went by, and you were fairly confident that Bob wasn’t about to immediately descend into another episode, you gave into the heaviness of your eyelids. Your breathing began to even out and slow down. You focused on the thumping of your heartbeat, willing it to slow down as well. Just as you were about to sag back against the wall, you felt something pressing against your shoulder. Even before you opened your eyes, you had a feeling that you knew exactly what it was. Who it was.

And you were right. Barely turning your head at all, you saw that Bob's head was dropped down onto your shoulder. A few days ago when you'd first gotten here, you would've tried to shrug him off. Now, though, you were grateful for a tiny shred of connection. The days leading up to coming here had felt so lonely and endless. At least when you'd been tossed in here, the solitary nature of it was expected. It didn’t hurt as much that way. But Bob was the first person in a long time that you'd had anything resembling a real conversation with. Maybe you were just more starved for connection than you realized, or maybe it was the lost puppy look that seemed to be ever-present on his face, but it felt nice to have someone.

You didn’t try to wake him again, didn't try to move him. Your head dropped back against the wall once more. Letting out a long, slow breath, it was the fastest you'd fallen asleep in a long time.

Marvel Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @garbinge @late-to-the-party-81 @blackhawkfanatic @mommymilkers0526 @villainfan

@i-heart-marvel @katt58 @foreverchangingmind @ioonatv @wildtigerlili

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfiction #bob reynolds #bob reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds #robert reynolds fanfiction #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #x reader #x reader fic #mcu #mcu fanfiction #invisible silver linings #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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hedwig221b · 2 days ago

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The the wig that it Hed, can I get some fic recs where Stiles 'dies', not like for real but I read one you recommended, 'Betrayal' by littleredridinghunter where the pack thinks he died but they later find him in a fighting ring. Any chance you know of others like this? Where everyone thinks he's dead but he reappears as a bamf?

You quite literally don't have to go far, Littleredridinghunter has similar fics. Just a few for example (but def check out their profile):

The Ultimate Sacrifice by Littleredridinghunter

The Darach has a plan. One that may cost one pack member their life. When the worst happens can the pack move on? Can Derek? Four years later with Fae murdering in Beacon Hills, a powerful mage may be their only hope. Only it might not be the hope they are expecting.

Set your wolves on me by Littleredridinghunter

Kate set the Hale house on fire, killing most of the pack, their emissary Claudia Stilinski and her child, Stiles. Thirteen years later and Kate is back in town, planning something that Derek is sure will end in disaster for them. Good job he decides to kidnap the gorgeous teenager who smells like her and beat some information out of him. Probably not the smartest move Derek's ever had!

Remedy For Memory by aerowyn

Derek knows he should accept that Stiles is gone; everyone else has and is grieving. But he just can’t escape all the memories of Stiles that follow him wherever he goes. He even dreams in memories these days. He keeps thinking about all the things that might have been, all the missed opportunities that he let pass by because he was waiting for the right moment to finally give in to his feelings for Stiles. And now that Stiles is gone, there isn’t any time left. When Derek starts dreaming about an abandoned warehouse, he thinks he’s going crazy at first. But then he starts to notice that things in his dreams aren’t exactly like he remembered. And he doesn’t know why, maybe he’s delusional, but he just can’t shake the feeling that Stiles really isn’t dead.

this one with Derek presumed dead

The Decay of a Cosmos by Dexterous_Sinistrous

The memory of Derek confessing to him in the quiet of their shared resignation sparked from her words–“A child is leverage to my mother.” Derek knew what Talia wanted. And he refused to give it to her. Stiles’ hands tightened into fists. This was a gift, but not one Derek had given him willingly. He would live with that knowledge each time he held their son close. ~*~ A tale as old as arranged marriage, with a space opera twist.

Ten Years Hiatus (in our love story) by bistiles (alis)

Derek was many things, most of them not at all flattering, but the one thing Derek never considered himself was insane. Stiles though. Stiles was the very reason why Derek was, right in that moment, questioning his sanity. Because after ten long, painful years, he could smell Stiles outside his apartment and that was driving Derek right into the madness alley.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Please forgive yourself. For what? For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out. Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

Bad Blood by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles Stilinski was taken from Beacon Hills when he was ten years old. Now, six years later, he’s a trained hunter, and he’s back to help the Argents finish the job they started.

and, of course, linking the fic anon mentioned:

Betrayal by Littleredridinghunter

Gerard does something despicable and the pack are left shattered after Stiles is killed…. or is he?? Set at the end of season 2 because honestly I have a fascination with that episode! Canon compliant up until then but then everything goes a little crazy! Do not read if you don't like Hurt or kidnapped Stiles because there is a lot of it….

[masterlist link]

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apricustar · 1 day ago

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just had a thought what if—in trying to feel close to bobby—buck is the one who goes to confession and meets with father brian?

what if buck walks into that church—not out of faith, not in search of god—but because he’s trying to find bobby?

buck has never been a church guy. has never been a religious one, either. but bobby was. everyone knows how important bobby’s faith was to him.

in the early days, confession was almost a compulsion for bobby—when he was still caught in that spiral of guilt and trying to claw his way out. but later? it became peace. quiet. a routine of sorts; time for him to just be.

and now we have buck who is full of all these feelings. we haven’t seen him express any of them beyond 8x15 when the disbelief cracked him open and the grief poured out, raw and animal and real. ever since then he’s been holding everything in, stretching himself incredibly thin to show up and be there for everyone else because that’s what he took bobby’s final words to him to mean.

and the firehouse—the place that used to be representative of home, safety, comfort—is just full of reminder of what’s gone. bobby’s seat at the head of the table. bobby’s office. bobby’s apron hung in the pantry. his absence is everywhere. it’s heavy. grief with a name but nowhere to go.

and buck—he can’t walk through a single room without feeling it. without seeing bobby’s shape outlined by what’s no longer there. it’s not just loss. it’s presence, inverted.

so that’s why he goes to church. it’s not about praying or finding god. i think, really, it’s about needing somewhere to put the ache inside him. a place to feel close to bobby in a way that doesn’t feel haunted the way the firehouse does. this is grief trying to make sense of itself. this is buck stepping into a space bobby once held sacred, hoping maybe he’ll feel something.

maybe part of him is hoping for forgiveness—not for something he did, but for what he couldn’t stop. for not being able to save him. for still being here when bobby isn’t. for feeling like he isn’t doing enough for the team. but more than anything, he just wants to feel close to bobby. in any way possible, even if he doesn’t feel like he deserves to.

and maybe, without even planning to, he ends up in the confessional.

sits with his colt legs awkwardly folded underneath him. it smells like dust and old incense and something faintly like cedar. not unpleasant—just old, lived in. he has no idea what to say. no idea how to start. but he blurts something out like i’m not religious! or is there a correct way to confess?

and father brian simply says you don’t need to be or you don’t have to be religious to seek comfort here or there is no right way to start. just start.

and buck says the only thing he’s been holding in since bobby died: i miss him

at the end of the day, it’s not about belief; it’s about missing someone so much that you’ll sit anywhere they once felt whole, just to feel a little less empty.

it’s about finding the one place that still feels like theirs, and hoping—just hoping—that’s enough to feel close again.

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gothamundernightlight · 2 hours ago

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Do you ever think Dick feels guilty?

Like when he looks at that younger generation of heroes, the Titans, Young Justice, and all the sidekicks out there, the ones who started out young and lived and breathed vigilantism in the same way he did?

Because he made that possible. Dick Grayson was the proof of concept, the first sidekick, the first child hero. Everyone who came after him was allowed to remain BECAUSE of him.

Everyone who died doing what Dick has been doing his whole life has got to be a weight on him that he can’t fully forgive himself for. Jason, Donna, Wally…the list goes on.

How many kids do you think Dick has talked out of being heroes because he knows the cost of it all too well?

How hard does he train the ones who do put on the mask, not only because he feels responsible for them, but because he’s still dealing with the guilt over those he couldn’t save?

How many of those kids look up to him, being grateful and thinking that he made this path possible, and he has to look down in horror because he never meant for this to happen.

And as for Robin, do you think sometimes he would wish to just rip that mantle away, not because they don’t deserve it, but because that legacy is tainted with too much blood now because three of his brothers died wearing that mask and he will NOT see another go out in those colors.

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lagooneah · 1 day ago

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Behold- Satoru Gojo Relationship Headcanons as promised!!! This might be my first time REALLY writing him, aside from blurbs or whatever, but I hope you all enjoy!

Gojo is TOTALLY the type to publicly catcall you. He'd just keep doing it, unless if you voiced you REALLY didn't like it, then he'll stop. Otherwise? He's going "DAMN GIRL/BOY/(INSERT OTHER IDENTITY HERE)-" as you two walk beside each other and you and everyone around you is confused because "isn't he with them..?"

The type to spontaneously purchase gifts for you, always stuff you like.

He knows the ins and outs of your likes and dislikes- ESPECIALLY with material items.

You can mention that you prefer silver jewelry over gold and he won't STOP getting you any silver jewelry he can find.

The type to randomly transfer you money.

OR, you say youre going out with friends? He's zelled you like, 500 dollars for no reason.

He's not the type to not let you hang out with certain people, sure, he can get jealous, but hes SATORU GOJO.

And he abuses that.

He also simply trusts you a lot- he knows your loyalty to him, and he returns it tenfold.

PLEASE do not come at me saying hes a "player", let's be fr, hes flirty sure, but once hes bagged i just KNOW that he holds on for DEAR LIFE.

Being the strongest means not much personal connections, and if he does make them? They often get killed, or just flat out disappear.

BECAUSE of that, he treats you like glass, sometimes without realizing it.

"Youre going out? Where? Can I come? Dont go alone-" etc, etc.

"Baby, honey, love of my life- you are going to a large CITY that is PRIME TIME for curses, you will NOT be going alone. Let me bother you for this outing."

He's obviously not the type to restrict who you hang out with, HOWEVER, he will not let you go out alone. He's too scared that you'll be taken by a curse, or worse, one of his many enemies will use you against him.

And it would work, cause like I mentioned, he is loyal to the MAX.

He's the type to take you out on some of the most lavish dates you've ever been on.

Like, expensive ass, intimate ass, buy you and outfit for kind of dates.

He reserves days off for you, hes a busy man but one way to get to him is if you admit you miss him.

Then hes RUNNING because he never wants you to know a time without him.

He knows he can be unintentionally neglectful with how busy his schedule is, so when he schedules and off day for himself, that shit STICKS.

Like seriously, he will not reschedule unless if there is an avengers level threat. People have to be in some deep shit for him to go against his word on you.

Despite the typical "clan destinies" Gojo would never attempt to force you into having a family to "continue the clan bloodline".

He's got Yuta if he really needs a continuation- he will NEVER diminish you to "the mother of his heir".

He's also the type to get you so many overbearing and dramatic gifts when he wants you to forgive him.

He'll grovel at your feet in PUBLIC to make a point, I am not kidding.

But on a more serious note, he tries not to make you genuinely mad. Annoyed maybe, but never REALLY mad.

I know that this man gotta be annoyingly clingy too.

He will literally FLOP on top of you where you are to make you cuddle him.

He's also the type to, if you're shorter than him, he not ONLY leans on you intentionally to make you stumble, but he'd probably call you "shorty" on his particularly annoying days.

He'd also do that thing where he's comparing your height with an obnoxious hand gesture, or saying you "might not be tall enough" whenever you two see one of those "this tall to ride!" Signs.

Love Language? Probably Gift Giving and Quality Time. As freaky as he might seem, he values his time with you and what he can get you/what you get him the most.

Also- humor is a huge thing. If you joke around with him, he is literally obsessed with you (somehow more than normal), and you will fail to understand the monster you've created by giving him the ULTIMATE validation to his antics.

As much as he fucks with you, im CONFIDENT that Gojo is a loyal and loving partner. When it's time to get serious, he will, after a joke or two maybe- but he will. YOU are one of his number 1 priorities in life, his partner, his second half. He lost one of his second halves before, and he'll hold onto you extra tight and do more than just hope that he can keep his new other half.

Alright, that's about it for now!!! I likely have more that i just dont have all together rn, but this is what I'll feed the jjk community for now. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!!!

#fanfic #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #headcanons #relationship

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mystique-shanty · 2 days ago

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Fortunately enough, the Bible surprisingly opens on “Matthew” and your eyes just so happen to land randomly on the verse 18: 20…

In a panic, you don't exactly read what it says, much less process it, you just hope it is enough to remind your friend of his beliefs, convince him maybe. A dirty tactic, really, to use his religion against himself… Not your proudest moment.

“Then- Then Peter came up and said to him, “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?” you raise your voice and even go as far as to raise one of your hands. Was it not for your trench coat, you might have passed as a pastor “As many as seven times?”

You're aware the ‘brother’ this Peter mentions is not a brother by blood and yet your mind drifts to your own… Your twin who may be in trouble. For once you want to be there to help him… it's the least you can do after he helped Bill steer off the [Journal 1].

Fiddleford has that look of shock that you always had to fight not to laugh at, it's silly and definitely not fitting for the situation but it twists into an ugly scowl soon enough.

You're vaguely aware he's reaching for something but your eyes skim over the words on the page and your passionate hand, that had lifted as if you truly cared about the Word, slowly began to drop as you said the words softly to yourself:

“Jesus said to him… “I do not say to you seven times… but seventy-seven times”

The smell of toffee peanuts assaults your nostrils and you scratch your nose despite knowing it's all in your head. You recall the sidewalk you saw through your window and wonder if Stanley had seen the window from the sidewalk…

It's a silly thing to wonder about. Of course he had.

Stanford had forgiven Stanley plenty, really. Stanley had a knack for messing up after all, always getting into trouble in class, with father and even mother.

…

How many times had Stanley forgiven Stanford?

How many times has Stanley gotten into trouble because you were always seen as the well-behaved one? And how many times had Stanley been wrongfully accused of some science project of yours gone wrong or haywire?

How many times has Stanley been ditched for said science projects? How many times had Stan waited for you to turn up at the beach to work on the Stan'O'War, that silly ship you two loved so much, but were too deep in a book to remember to?

And how many times had Stan come and made a problem about it? Had made a fuss?

You… don't recall. There's nothing to recall… Stanley simply never really took it to heart-

No… He simply never confronted you about it.

Suddenly, you're reminded of a young Stan, sitting alone on the beach hugging his knees like he wasn't nearing 16. He refused to sit on his swing, opting for the ground for whatever reason…

You were late. Extremely so.

You two had agreed to meet at the end of school, just after you were done with homework. It was long past sunset.

How many times have you forgiven Stanley?

When you look up, when the smell of the sea water and toffee peanuts leave your mind, you're faced with the memory gun pointed straight at you… What you see, however, is the moisture in your friend's eyes as he shakes in place.

“You dare use my faith against me?!” Fiddleford roars, the gun in his hold making a clattering noise with the tremor in his hands.

“You don't have to forgive me, Fiddleford” you find yourself saying, surprised by how soft your voice sounds to yourself and by the small smile that you feel on your face “I'm pretty sure you've forgiven me far more than seventy seven”

Defeat. Warmth. Grief.

A series of emotions cross your friend's gaze and the judge gently sets the gavel down. There is no slam of a weapon, no destruction or cheer to never go back to it… The memory gun is simply placed back inside his robe.

“Admitting you were wrong and being okay with not having your way” the man before you massages their scarred temple as he steps down from the altar, a weary smile appearing upon his lips “you've changed, Stanford Pines”

“Although” Fiddleford steps closer to you tentatively, it reminds you of a wild animal, checking if you are safe to approach as though he isn't the one with the fangs and claws

“Sure is hard to imagine you came here without anything prompting you to”

#8 #💣︎♋︎⧫︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎⬥︎#📝⌨️#📃 - 🗄

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gaylordscooter · 20 hours ago

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Fleeting Memories

[warning for themes of suicide]

A chorus of disgruntled meows greeted him as he arrived back at the castle.

Yes, he understood. God forbid he come home slightly late and feed them a few minutes later than usual.

He sighed as the group of cats followed him to the kitchen and continued meowing until he finally placed some food on all of their plates.

Ink was supposed to find someone to keep these cats alive by now—or even find a way to deliver them to Killer, but of course that forgetful oaf had that low on their priority list.

It was whiplash, going from torturing people to taking care of cats every day.

Every day he questioned why he bothered. He had no reason to keep them alive. He initially picked these strays off the streets out of boredom, seeing if their emotions affected him or if it were only the emotions of humans and monsters that did. He was quick to learn that they did. So next he tested if his aura affected them. It did, but he had limited control on what it did. Usually it just made them aggressive.

And then he just kinda kept them around. Once Killer found them, he stopped taking care of them since he had that covered now.

Killer is gone now. He “killed” him.

He was supposed to “kill” these cats too.

But oh what a joy—he’d feel guilty if he did that!

It's obscene! All the things he’s done. All the things he does now and killing a few skeletons and cats is where he draws the line?

He's run cults, destroyed people's faith, caused famines, reignited wars!

He is the villain! Why can't he bring himself to do such a simple thing?

He is the Guardian of Negativity—what cruel being gave him the capacity for guilt in the first place? How is he supposed to act as a force when he isn't one?

He isn't supposed to have bias.

Yet he finds himself worrying about them uselessly. They will never know. They will never forgive him even if they knew. Nothing will come of this.

He often finds himself in Killer’s dreams.

He takes on a different form. He doesn't want Killer to recognize him. Unfortunately, his eye was an easy giveaway. For some godforsaken reason he can’t change it to look like normal deer eyes. He just hoped Killer chalked it up to typical dream nonsense.

They weren't aware of his ability to transverse dreams anyway.

He had the power to turn any of his dreams into nightmares, but he refrained from interfering with any of his dreams.

They were mostly incomprehensible, as dreams tend to be. Often people tried finding meaning in them, and while dreams were influenced by thoughts and what they've seen, dreams didn't tell you anything new. At least, anything new to the dreamer. He was able to catch a glimpse of how Killer’s been doing.

He didn't seem as happy as he expected him to be. He was free now. Free to do whatever he pleased. Yet most of his dreams were related to his time under Nightmare's control.

If he focused enough, he could sift through all of the emotions throughout the multiverse and still find the one’s belonging to Killer.

He found it crazy. He wasn't sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see—did he even want to see this? Killer appeared to be doing worse ever since he evicted them.

That didn't make any sense. Ink told him they would be taken to “The Hub”, which he described as a sanctuary. Naturally, he should be happier.

His fear of Killer not being able to recover from what he's done violently resurfaced.

A shiver rippled throughout the slime coating his body.

Oh. He hasn't felt this strongly towards another person since…the first Killer escaped.

Sometimes he wondered how that one was doing. He’ll never have an answer for it, so it was a waste of time to. Yet he did it anyway.

Emotions make you do irrational things. Especially negative ones. He was painfully aware of that.

…

He wondered how his brother lived a life unable to feel negative emotions.

Did he yearn for them like he yearned to feel positive emotions?

No, he knew the answer to this one. He didn't, because he can't.

Longing; that's a negative emotion. He can't even long for what he doesn't have.

He noticed one of the cats wasn't eating. He looked around in a panic, only to see the missing cat lying down on the countertop.

Ah, the old calico.

He gave the old cat a head scratch. “Why aren't you eating?” he mused aloud. He didn't exactly know everything about cats, but he couldn't help but be alarmed.

Dream woke up, not remembering ever falling asleep.

Blue was right there at the edge of the bed. Worry was radiating off of him. Normally, that didn't affect him, but for some reason it stung right now. The relief upon seeing him awake quickly washed it away, fortunately.

“You're alright!” He sprung up onto the bed to give him a hug.

Warmth. It was nice. He didn't realize he was cold until now.

“I always am,” he replied. “What happened?”

Blue looked concerned. “You don't remember? You were badly hurt by—”

Dream woke up, not remembering ever falling asleep. Oh! A false awakening. He should've known. The Blue in that dream was the original one, who wasn't with them anymore because he became an error.

The current Blue was at the edge of the bed this time. He just woke up—that must've been his dream he was seeing.

He doesn't have his own dreams, after all. That would be like fire burning itself.

It would sound ridiculous to say that Dream dreamt!

…

Blue started crying in relief at the sight of him. “You're alive!” he croaked. He got closer, but he didn't spring onto him like the original Blue did in his dream. He was being careful, treating him like he was glass.

“What happened?” Dream asked.

Blue babbled, tears still flowing from his sockets as he tried forming a sentence.

Dream’s never seen him this shaken before. Usually he was so cheerful, even when bad things happened to him. It was when bad things happened to someone else that he was affected, but the only other person in this room was himself.

Why can't he remember what happened?

“Ink…Ink said th-that you—the balance—” he sniffed, “the balance got skewed to positive.”

Dream tilted his head, realizing his skull felt much lighter at the moment. “Wouldn't that be a good thing?” That’s been his goal his whole life, to make the multiverse a positive place to help everyone. Why was Blue crying about a good thing?

Blue looked at him in concern. “you don't remember what happened to you?”

“No. I just remember traveling around universes as normal, and then nothing after. Everything is perfect now, right? The multiverse is finally all positive?” But that didn't feel right. The multiverse wasn't all positive. It felt neutral at the moment.

Blue looked utterly horrified. His current frown twisted into a full on grimace as he pressed his chin into the mattress. His usually cyan eyelights flashed white for a moment. “No, no—we don't want that. That's not good for you. We just learned that. You don’t feel that half of your skull is missing right now?” he sounded exasperated.

So that's why his skull felt lighter than normal. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't control his mouth or eye sockets. He reached his hand to try to touch them, only to touch air. Oh, the hole was much bigger than he thought. His entire face must've been gone right now. Good thing he's not a normal skeleton or else he’d be dead.

Wait.

An all positive multiverse is bad? His skull was broken because of it? That's not…He didn't understand.

“The balance is back to normal right now after you became that star-dragon thingy and…fixed it.”

How can an all positive multiverse be bad? How can positivity be bad?

“Fixed it?” he repeated, not really listening to what Blue was saying.

“Yeah, you fixed the balance…there wasn't enough negativity so you destroyed some of the positive pacifist timelines.”

The shock he would've felt was processed as surprise. “How unusual! So the multiverse is doing good now?”

He didn't understand; it's supposed to be better when it's more positive. He restored the balance himself? He doesn't even remember doing that. He doesn't remember wanting to do that.

“Uh, it's doing better, yeah,” Blue nodded. “What about you? Are you alright?”

“I always have to be,” he said. He can't ever be not alright. Even if he wanted to be!

Something deep inside burns. He knows there's an anger in him somewhere but he doesn't feel it. He can't.

He’s been doing his job wrong, then. If the multiverse is supposed to stay balanced—he shouldn't be trying to make everyone happy.

But that's what he does. That's what he's been doing his whole life!

Something was deeply wrong.

He burst into raucous laughter, sitting up on the bed. The heaves of his nonexistent diaphragm violently jerked his body.

It was hilarious! This entire time he wasn't doing his job right! The job that kept him from keeping his brother company! The job that made him argue with his brother and lose him forever! It was funny! It was so funny all he could do was laugh until his nonexistent throat hurt.

God, Blue was so worried for him. That was great! It means he’s a great friend!

For minutes he laughed. The only reason he stopped was because his voice gave out.

Now silenced, he laid back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling blankly. He didn't feel anything right now because he couldn't exactly process the feelings he would have.

He could only guess. It’d probably be regret, guilt, and confusion.

He noticed Blue left the room. He was grateful. He didn't think he wanted anyone to see him like this.

Dream has lived his whole life pleasing others. He thought it was what he was meant to do.

He was worshiped like a god, but people feared gods. He didn't want people to fear him.

So he put on a cute outfit designed by Ink. He said it was inspired by the kind of dresses that “magical girls” in anime would wear.

Magical girls were cutesy heroes. People didn't fear them. It was a perfect outfit to wear to show the multiverse he was here to help.

He’s been careful with his image, making sure that when he killed, it was only the bad guys he was taking out. He was also sure to use his magic similarly to an actual magical girl, making it flashy and keeping it cute distracted people from being afraid of how powerful he was.

It was more effort than simply obliterating any villain in a single blow, but he had to play along for the sake of the people.

But that's all fallen apart after the balance tilted towards positivity.

There was a gaping hole in his skull where his face used to be and his outfit was ruined, but his skull could grow back and his uniform could be repaired.

The problem was that he lost control while overloaded with positivity. He doesn't remember anything during that, but Ink helpfully explained everything that he did.

It explained why everyone at the Hub has been staring at him weirdly lately—besides his skull being broken at the moment.

They were afraid of him now.

He didn't really go out much while he waited for his skull to heal. He stayed at home in the Doodlesphere. Often Ink and Blue would drop by.

He really appreciated them. Of course, he didn't have the capacity to hate or dislike anyone, so initially he didn't notice this. Now he's realized that, while he can't dislike anyone, he certainly likes these two more than everyone else.

He’s gotten a better handle at understanding his emotions—partly because of those two. Blue was the one that pointed out that he couldn't feel negative emotions in the first place. It took a little while to fully understand how that affected everything about him. It was why he was so cheerful all the time, why he saw the good in everything when that wasn't what he was supposed to focus on.

Since that, he's been trying to guess what he would feel, had he been able to feel negative emotions. He began noticing when he feels less of an emotion—like feeling less happy when his friends are hurt—and interpreting that as a time he would feel bad.

Ink and Blue helped him with this too, describing to him in great detail all of the negative emotions they could think about and telling him when someone would usually feel them. He's picked up a lot of pointers from Ink specifically, given that he had a complicated relationship with emotions too.

He wondered if his brother had someone to teach him about positive emotions.

He immediately forwent the thought. He didn't like thinking about his brother so it always—

What was he thinking about again?

He's forgotten.

Memory issues. That was another consequence of only being able to feel positive emotions. Whenever he's in a situation that would make him feel a strong negative emotion and it, by some “miracle”, isn't substituted by a positive emotion, he’ll forget about it instead.

He doesn't feel happy right now. He doesn't feel much of anything right now, because if he did, he wouldn't be the guardian of positivity.

Sometimes he’d wonder how he'd be if he wasn't a guardian.

In these fantasies, he was much happier. He could feel a full range of emotions, be a real person instead of a god. He could dress however he wanted. Present himself however he wanted. All without caring what others thought or if it made them happy. He’d have hobbies, hang out with his friends more often, have time to slow down and have his own dreams.

It would be wonderful.

Maybe he'd even still have his brother around.

…What was he just thinking about?

He's gotta stop doing that. Thinking about him. It often leads to a loop of forgetting and remembering that is incredibly hard to break out of by himself.

He felt that a universe was under attack. Instinctively, he opened a portal and lept into action.

His skull hasn't fully healed yet, but his clothes were repaired. He felt like he had enough energy for a fight.

He was currently on the surface. This was a post-pacifist timeline of an Underswap universe. These were rarely attacked.

There were bright blue strings strung everywhere. It was Error attacking the place.

All the buildings were on lockdown. Everyone was hiding. It was the typical protocol for Error. He was fairly blind and relied on his strings to sense things. He seemed reluctant to enter buildings too.

It was probably because he hated physical contact.

Dream had an interesting thought. The first Blue left the Star Sanses because he became an error. If Dream became an error, would he also no longer be in the Star Sanses?

Would he no longer be the guardian of positivity?

He misstepped, his foot landing on some of the string on the ground. It latched onto him in an instant, traveling up his leg to keep him in place.

How clumsy of him. It was basic knowledge to avoid his strings at all costs.

Soon enough, Error swung by and landed a healthy distance away from him.

Like being caught in a spider’s web.

Error cocked his head and ended up turning his head a bit too much. He had to use his hands to grab his head and readjust it. He stalked around Dream, never getting closer than his current distance. “N-nice to to ssssee you’re back to your,

back to your nor-normal self,” he said.

“Thank you!” Dream automatically replied, as if the compliment was genuine.

Error frowned, rolling his eyelights. “That was sarcasm.”

He knew that!

What did he say?

“It's a shame. I really liked having someone else destroying universes around. It was unexp-unexpected!” He pouted and hugged himself. “Now I’m all lonely again.”

“Oh! I didn't mean to do any of that…I don't remember any of it either.” Wow, he was oversharing with the destroyer, how funny! Don't talk too much; he was acting too friendly!

Error’s eye sockets widened in intrigue. His right socket remained half-closed as it always was, but twitched a little. He giggled, “You don't—you don't remember? All those universes that you violently, violently scorched off the multiverse are nothing but ashes! You didn't mean to do—to do that? And I thought I was a nut.” He knocked on his skull with a knuckle, “At least I remember which universes I destroy and do it on purpose.”

He took a step closer.

He felt his soul flutter. He didn't actually want to become an error, did he? From what the current Blue said, the old Blue’s transformation was painful.

Maybe he wanted to feel pain. Maybe he wanted to feel raw, unfiltered pain instead of that warm buzzing sensation that vaguely tickled.

Error was still a sizable distance away, one step hardly brought him close enough to be at arm’s length.

“I don't usually do that. It was a one time thing.” He did it on instinct, to restore the balance. Now he knows balance is important, so too much positivity isn't going to happen again.

“Really? What caused it?”

He covered his mouth before he could respond. He wasn't going to tell him.

Unless… He got an idea.

“It’s a secret,” he stated.

“Well, you can tell me, right? After all, we are friends. You said so yourself. Unless you were just using me to get rid of those overly negative universes,” his tone became harsh at the end.

Haa, he forgot he said that. That was a pretty long time ago too. Back when he had that argument with Ink.

At least that made his idea easier.

“Of course! You gotta come closer so I can whisper it to you, though.”

Error crossed his arms. “Why do I have to be the one to get closer?”

“Uh,” Dream gestured to the string currently holding his leg in place, “kinda tied up here.”

“Right, right! Forgot about that, whoopsie.” Instead of untying his leg, he walked closer.

Now they were definitely at arm’s length. He could see small bits of binary flickering around Error’s bones. His hands, even compared to the rest of his body, glitched a lot.

Dream held out his pinky finger. “Promise you won't tell anyone?”

Error seemed hesitant, even taking a step back as Dream extended his hand. “Is th-that really necess-necessary?”

He was so close. “Very.”

His dead serious tone seemed to be enough to convince him.

Error looked at his own hand and curled all but his pinky finger…s? With how unstable his hands were, it seemed like he had multiple sometimes.

Error’s hand shook as it neared his.

Only for Error to be grabbed and pinned to the ground a moment later, causing him to shriek.

Dream was caught off guard, the speed at which that happened was quicker than a blink. It took him a full second later to register that it was the original Blue that has Error pinned.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?! What am I saying—of COURSE you are! I thought we AGREED that the last thing this multiverse needed was MORE mistakes like US!” Blazar reprimanded.

Dream almost thought he was talking to him, but Blazar’s attention was completely on Error.

He was furious and also afraid.

Error crashed. The sudden apprehension must've startled him.

Blazar let go of him and stood up. He looked down and shook his head disapprovingly at Error before appearing right in front of Dream a second later. He cleared his metaphorical throat, “Are you okay? That was a close one. You could've became an error! That would've been awful. It's pretty painful. I wouldn't recommend it.” He spoke quickly and frantically.

“Oh! Um,” Dream looked to Error, who was currently rebooting on the ground and then back to him, “I was already okay. I didn't…need you to interfere, but thank you anyway.” He smiled at him, because that's all he can do.

Blazar tilted his head, his mouth was a straight line and it felt like his eyelights were staring straight into his soul—metaphorically, his soul was right by his neck, not in his eye sockets. “What do you mean? Oh wait!” He knocked on his skull like he forgot something. “It's not common knowledge so you probably didn't know, but Error can turn other people into errors through the touch of his hands.” He pointed at his own hand as if Dream didn't know what hands were.

Dream had another thought as he stared at Blazar’s hands. Does he also have the capability of turning people into errors? He wasted no time, his hand shot out and grabbed his.

The second he made contact, it felt like the universe froze.

Dream kept his sockets on the hand he grabbed, expecting something more to happen.

There wasn't any pain, did it not work?

He heard frantic gasping. His head whipped up to see the distraught look on Blazar’s face.

Blazar shoved him away and tucked his hands close to his chest.

Time resumed.

“D-D-DON’T DO THAT! YOU COULD’VE, YOU COULD’VE—” He was cut off by his whole body convulsing as he glitched. He fell to the ground, looking in pain.

Dream was stunned.

“Were you, were you TRYING t-to become an error?!”

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

It didn't work.

Blazar was up in an instant, glaring at Dream in horror. “Why? Why would anyone ever—EVER want to do that? Being an error is horrible! Everyone's scared of you no matter what you do. You can't trust yourself. You don't remember anything about who you used to be so everyone who knew you stares at you like a ghost!” he sputtered hysterically.

Dream knew him. Did he stare at him like a ghost too or was he not enough of a person to be included in that “everyone”? “I think I’d be happier.”

He heard laughing coming from another direction. His head darted toward the noise. Error’s finished rebooting.

He was laughing like he heard the funniest joke in the world. He ended up coughing on his own laughter. He gave Dream a wicked smile. “When did you get into comedy? The Guardian of Positivity thinks he’d be better off an error. Hah.”

Blazar’s sockets widened. “You're Dream?” For a moment, his voice sounded clear, like the original Blue’s. Dream could almost kid himself that Blazar remembered him. Well, he already did, but he's learned to ignore the hope he's felt.

“Yes, that's me,” he kept looking at Error, “and I wasn't joking.”

Error’s expression soured. “If you hate your life so much I’d be happy to take you to the dump.”

Ah, his labyrinth. He's familiar with it.

“That place doesn't work,” Dream said. “I’m immortal.”

Error laughed again. “W-wow! I cannot believe this!” He stood up and dusted himself off. He opened a portal next to him. “Y’know what? ‘Cus of the good laughs I’ll cut you a break. Seeya.” He gave him a two fingered salute and stepped through the portal.

Well, the universe was saved. He opened a portal of his own.

“Hang on, Dream,” Blazar blurted. He looked at him in disbelief. “What the hell was that?”

He paused. Unsure how to reply. He didn't exactly know what answer Blazar wanted in the first place. “I’m doing my job.”

“No, no, trying to get yourself turned into an error doesn't have anything to do with your job…Are you alri—”

“I’m incapable of being otherwise.”

Blazar winced. He was downright worried for him. It was nice, he presumed, having someone worry over him.

“There he is!” Another voice rang out. Dream immediately recognized it as the current Blue’s.

He and Ink were running over towards him. They were probably looking for him.

Blue was worried for him too. Ink, well, Dream could never discern what he was feeling, but his expression spelled worry at least.

Blue was panting by the time he got over to him. They probably spent a while looking for him, going off of how tired he looked. “You gotta warn us next time you go somewhere, we were worried!” It was redundant to tell him when he could sense everyone's emotions, but he appreciated the reminder.

“You shouldn't be defending any universes on your own right now,” Ink said. His head turned to Blazar, he flinched back upon seeing him.

“Oh, I uh, helped him,” Blazar said.

Ink went quiet, dazed at seeing the error. His colored eyelights looked like fishes frantically swimming around in a small puddle, trying to get away with nowhere to actually go.

Blue wormed his way between Blazar and Ink, giving the former a friendly smile. “Oh, hey man.”

Blazar smiled back. “It's been awhile!”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” was the last thing Dream heard Blue say before he stopped listening to those two.

He noticed Ink’s eyelights were on him now. He looked guilty. He sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you wanna hug?”

Dream nodded, prompting Ink to spread out his arms. He leaned into him, embracing him without hesitation. He closed his sockets, melting into the hug.

Ink patted his back.

It was comforting. It made him feel appreciated.

They made it back home soon after Blue and Blazar finished catching up. Dream felt at ease, being home.

“Soo, who’d you fight?” Blue asked.

Ink promptly elbowed him and shook his head at him. “Don’t answer that. Do you wanna hang out?”

Dream was thankful he didn’t have to answer that first question. He didn't think he'd be happy telling them what he tried doing. Blue already sobbed at the sight of his broken skull, he didn't wanna find out what he'd do if he found out he nearly became an error. On purpose. “Yes, I would like that.”

What a silly idea, anyway. Becoming an error in hopes to be rid of his role? Nothing can change his role, he was born this way!

He’ll never be anything else but the Guardian of Positivity.

…He forgot what he was thinking about.

“...a beach?” Killer gave him a quizzical look. “is it infested with sharks or something. we roleplaying horror movies too now?”

“No. You all seemed down lately—”

“gee, wonder why,” Horror commented, sarcastic as always.

“This is to improve morale. Living things need fresh air.”

“so it's one of those things,” Horror rolled his stolen eye.

“ugh, it's hot as hell here.” Killer shrugged off his jacket, he was wearing long sleeves underneath. He didn't have that before, he must've stolen that on their most recent shopping expedition. He tied his jacket around his waist by the sleeves. “you didn't tell us to wear bathing suits. we’re all gonna die now because of how neglectful you are.”

He knew he was just being hyperbolic, he does it all the time to get on his nerves, but it didn’t help that Dust collapsed into the sand right after.

He couldn’t help but widen his eye for a moment, Killer certainly noticed with the smugness radiating off of him. He ignored him. “Dust, you are overheating. You should take off your jacket.”

Dust didn’t acknowledge him. He didn’t move at all.

“I’m going to assume you three don’t like the beach,” he stated.

“nah, it’s not that. we just hate you,” Killer reminded.

Nightmare sighed, “Right. Would you prefer if I left you three be for a few hours then?”

“i’d prefer if you left us alone forever, actually.”

His soul skipped a beat. “Funny you say that.”

Killer blinked. He was caught off guard.

Nightmare slipped up. That’s not what happened in this memory. Killer would probably catch on that this was a dream soon. Which meant he'd wake up soon. It was a shame. It wasn’t often that Killer’s dreams actually included him and he just cut their time together even shorter.

Then, Killer's expression twisted. He frowned and narrowed his sockets. Now he was lucid.

The Horror and Dust in this dream faded away. They weren't the real ones this time. They haven't shared dreams in awhile.

Killer’s ringed eyelights bore into him, with an uncharacteristic growl he’s only ever heard before from Horror, he lunged.

What happened next was blurry. He remembered feeling pain, and a lot of it. It won't last once he wakes up, but due to being completely lucid in the realm of dreams it all felt real.

He clawed and tore at him with his bare hands. His overwhelming hatred healed him instantly, only for him to tear another piece off of him a second later.

Killer was covered head to toe in gore. Even his mouth was smeared with his slime, did he bite him? He wanted him dead that badly?

Alas, Killer wouldn’t be able to kill him if he tried.

There was only one person who could do that.

Nightmare awoke disoriented. It was rare for him to forget so much about a dream. How odd.

#utmv fic #nightmare sans #dream sans #blue(bssans)#ink sans #blueberror #killer sans

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