#i hate all of this. i hate that i have to be here in this house for this. i hate that so much falls onto me bc of that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

docrobinavitch · 2 days ago

Text

force of nature, pull of gravity | part one

dr. robby x f!attending!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, the entirety of this fic navigates grief, death of mentor (adamson), death of child/family member, swearing, canon medical events, so much angst like i actually have to formally apologize (but the plan is for a happy ending), no sexually explicit content, but mentions of it words: 9.2K synopsis: this fic is based on this request. robby and reader have a complicated history spanning all the way back to when reader was an intern and robby was a senior resident. they have been very close friends and sometimes more, until they have a falling out after adamson's death. robby pulls away and starts seeing heather and reader moves to the night shift, until four years later (season one) a/n: guys um these two are making me physically ill like i am trying to be so normal about it but!!! as we all know by now i am obsessed with angst and yearning which there is plenty of. perhaps too much. also i realized after that robby had a fellowship after his residency but for the sake of this fic we will pretend that is not true hehe. also if anyone is interested older and wiser by lizzy mcalpine sponsored this fic. ok anywaaaaaay let me know if you like. part two incoming even if u hate tho i guess. i will stop yapping now. <3 syd

Today was your fourth day shift since being forcibly moved off of the night shift. You had argued with Gloria about it for weeks, but each time she had remained firm.

“Shen is helping out Abbot now that he’s an attending. We don’t need you on as well. The day shift is short so you’ll be going there.”

“I have seniority over Shen,” You said tightly, “Move him to the day shift.”

“The decision is final. You’re back on day shift. I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

You and Robby had mostly avoided each other since your return. The two of you would exchange curt nods and talk strictly about cases. There were moments where you could almost see him contemplating saying more, but you always walked off before he could get a chance.

You didn’t want to talk about it. It was why you had switched to the night shift in the first place. He didn’t really want to talk about it either, you knew. He just wanted to clear his own conscience.

And today was the anniversary of when your life had begun to completely unravel. When it felt like the rug was ripped out from under your feet only to reveal you had never been on solid ground anyway. The day Adamson died.

Dana gave you a disappointed look as she watched you walk into Central that morning, “You shouldn’t be here today.”

“I shouldn’t be here at all,” You said, forcing a smile as you pulled your hair into a bun at the nape of your neck.

“Robby’ll be here today too, so. If you could be gentle?”

You scoffed, “Why is he working today?”

“Why are you working today?”

You clenched your jaw, “Where’s Abbot?”

“Getting some air.” She gave you a knowing look and you sighed.

“Okay, I will go handle that.”

“You sure?” She asked as you walked away, “Hard to talk someone off the ledge if you’re already there yourself.”

“Very funny!” You called back as you entered the stairwell.

***

It was a clear, sunny day outside. The sun had just risen over the skyline washing everything in a faint tangerine glow. The breeze blew stray strands of hair away from your face as you walked towards Jack.

He turned his head at the sound of your approach and once he recognized who it was, heaved a sigh, “Dana send you up here?”

“No. Maybe I just wanted to get some air before my shift.”

He gave a short laugh, “Right.”

You leaned against the railing as you looked out over the skyline, “Rough night?”

He was quiet for a moment, “Nights were easier when you were around.”

Your chest swelled at his admission. The last couple of years on the night shift had saved your life when being on the day shift constantly felt like being hit by a truck. It was nice to know that you had repaid at least a little of that back to Jack.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He paused and you watched him breathe. This wasn’t the first time you’d found Jack up here at the end of a shift. It kicked up your anxiety a notch, seeing him on the other side of the railing. You were clutching the stethoscope around your neck so that you wouldn’t reach for him and haul him back over.

You and Jack had known each other a long time. You knew he wouldn’t jump. Or at least, you were pretty certain he wouldn’t jump. It did nothing to slow your galloping heart.

“Have you patched things up with Robby?” He asked finally and you soured.

“Don’t you think it’s him that should be patching things up with me?”

“It’s been three years.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “And he still can barely look at me, let alone apologize.”

He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, “Either of you ever think about how fucked up it is that Dana and I have to treat you like our divorced parents who can’t be in the same room? I mean, we can’t even play cards on Friday nights anymore.”

You were beginning to get annoyed with this conversation. Did Jack think this was what you wanted? To have to dance around how badly Robby had hurt you? To pretend like everything was fine when the sound of his voice alone sent you into a spiral?

“I miss wiping the floor with you and taking all your money when we played cards, too. Now I have to buy beer with my own money,” You joked and saw his shoulders rise and fall marginally with a laugh, “You should take it up with Robby.”

“Believe me, I have.”

Just then, the door to the roof swung open and you turned at the sound to see Robby. He stopped short for a moment when he saw you standing there.

It pissed you off, the way your heart squeezed at the sight of him. The way that with just a glance alone you saw all over his face that today was fucking him up just as much as it was you.

The way his hair was all mussed and sticking up, like he had been running his hands through it all day even though it was only 7 AM. His hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He hadn’t been sleeping, the bags under his eyes made that clear.

You turned back to Jack, trying to shake the urge to go to him. To hold him. Like you would have if it were just a few years ago, without question.

The way you always assumed he’d have you, too.

“Well, looks like now’s your chance to try again.” You pushed yourself off the railing, “See you downstairs.”

You brushed past Robby on your way to the door without meeting his gaze. You felt his eyes on you though, prying, practically begging you to look up.

But he’d have to try harder than that. And even then, you weren’t sure how to clear the thorny brambles that had grown and multiplied around the tomb of your friendship.

You didn’t know if it were possible to ever look at him the way you used to, when you were a love struck intern and he was a senior resident, oblivious to your yearning.

Or later, when you had managed to push those naive feelings down, accept your relationship for what it was, and he had turned into the only person in the world who could just glance at you and know what you were thinking.

You missed the ease of it, of not having to say what was on your mind. Of always having someone who would pick up the phone or come over without question.

But that part of your life was over now and despite what Jack said, you weren’t sure Robby could fix it this time. Even if he tried.

You were no longer sure if you even wanted him to.

***

The day started off fast and chaotic almost immediately, which was sort of a relief as it kept you from thinking about this particular date or Robby. He introduced you to the new med students and residents professionally, if with a little more affection in his voice than you were used to hearing as of late.

“If you need an attending and can’t find me or I’m busy, you can always tug on Dr. Y/N’s sleeve and she’ll take care of you.” His brown eyes landed on you, sparkling with admiration and nostalgia. You could practically see the film reel of your relationship playing behind his eyes and you had to look away, “She’s been here almost as long as I have. You’re very lucky to have her, take advantage of it.”

You smiled at them all and then made a beeline for the traumas that rolled in as soon as Robby had finished with his speech, grateful to have an excuse to not have to look or talk to him.

But then, as you were rolling the woman with the degloved foot into the trauma room, you felt his presence behind you, and the pressure of his warm hand on the small of your back.

“You got this?” He asked, voice low and too close. The warmth of his breath was far too close to your ear, to the sensitive skin of your throat.

You flinched and he dropped his hand.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You said without looking back at him and immediately you felt the loss of him when he walked away, familiar footfalls sounded behind you as he followed after the second trauma.

***

You should have noticed the med student, Javadi, was on the brink of passing out. She had looked a bit green from the second she had seen the patient's foot and you assumed the constant screaming had not helped.

“Med student down,” The new intern rolled her eyes as she fell.

“Shit,” You hissed and dropped low to the floor to look her over, “Javadi?” You said, placing a gloved hand to the side of her face. Thankfully, she stirred, “Can you stand?”

Almost immediately, she was blinking the disorientation out of her eyes and pushing herself up, “Hey, slowly,” You urged, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh my God, no, like, I’m totally fine. I don’t even know what happened. I must have tripped on the gurney. I’m fine!”

She pushed your hands away and started to stand, and you let her, though a smirk stayed on your face, “Javadi, you did not trip, I saw it, you passed out.”

“What?” She laughed nervously, “Oh my God, that’s crazy! That’s… No, I tripped.”

You bit your lip to hide the smirk and nodded, “Yeah, okay, either way why don’t we get you set up in the break room with a water or something? Just a precaution.”

“That’s not necessary,” She smiled, big eyes darting around nervously.

“Yeah,” You nodded, “I get it, really, but,” You lowered your voice, “Robby’s a bit of a hard ass about this kinda stuff so he’ll get really upset if he finds out I let you keep working after you… tripped.” You turned back to the patient. Collins seemed to be running the show, and running it well. “Collins, you okay if I step out?”

“Yeah, we’re good. I’ll call if we need you.”

Nodding, you ushered Javadi out into central, ignoring her protests as you did so.

“Robby,” You called when you saw him at the hub, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up in surprise at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t remember the last time you had sought him out. But then he frowned when he saw Javadi, one of the new med students, walking a few steps ahead of you, “She… fell and hit her head.”

“I’m fine,” Javadi said immediately, “I just tripped.”

You met Robby’s eyes over Javadi’s shoulder and gave a sharp shake of your head that had Robby fighting a smirk, “Okay, why don’t you go hang out in the break room for a bit. Eat a snack, drink some water.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.” Javadi said.

“Oh, I know,” He took his glasses off, folding them and placing them in his pocket, “Hospital policy, though.”

Javadi stood there for a moment and you could see the battle waging in her body, deciding if she wanted to argue or not, but eventually, she started walking off.

“Other way,” Robby gently corrected when she went in the wrong direction, and you bit down on your lip as she walked by you again.

Then, you realized Robby was smiling at you. It took you aback, that gentle, tired smile on his face. The crinkles by his eyes and rosy cheeks. You hadn’t seen him like this in a long time, and certainly not when he was looking at you.

“What?” You asked, frowning.

He shrugged, “Just, reminds me of you when you were an intern, that’s all.” He said, gesturing in the direction Javadi had walked off to, “Something to prove and a nervous energy that could rival a cheetah. Not to mention taking a header on day one.”

Despite it all, you smirked, “I was not that nervous.”

“Oh, yes you were.” He nodded slowly, grin stretching so much, you can see teeth, “That’s at least half the reason you passed out in the first place.”

And it was really quite jarring, seeing him look at you fondly like that. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest and your traitorous brain started pulling up snapshots of when he used to look at you like this.

All the time. Several times a day, in fact.

Like the time you passed out and hit your head on your first day as an intern.

You blinked the memory away and hoped you seemed unaffected, “Fine. Maybe I was,” You swallowed and turned to look towards the direction Javadi went, “I should go check on her.”

When you looked back at him, the smile was gone, replaced with disappointment. He wanted you to play with him, you realized, like you used to. But you couldn’t. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

When you began to walk away, he called your name. You swore it sounded hoarse, broken, coming from his lips, but thought you must be imagining things. You turned back.

“It’s… It’s really good to have you back.”

You’re not entirely sure why it irritates you, this whole interaction. Perhaps it just reminded you of everything you’d lost the last few years. Everything that had slipped between your fingers when you thought you had a firm grip on it. On him.

At any rate, you didn’t trust yourself to say anything you wouldn’t regret later, so you clenched your jaw and mock saluted him before turning on your heel and heading to the break room.

***

You were sweating so much, it was humiliating. You silently thanked whatever God there was that the scrubs for ER doctors at PTMC were black, otherwise, you knew the armpit stains would’ve been fucking otherworldly.

It was the first day of your residency and with every passing moment you felt more stupid and incompetent. Your hands shook, threatening to drop any and all sharps you handled. Your brain was sluggish and it felt like pulling teeth getting yourself to answer any questions Adamson or a senior resident called on you for. You knew the answers, but your brain would go frustratingly blank anytime you were put on the spot.

It hadn’t been like this during your med school rotations. You were sharp and clever, your recommendation letters proved that, but today you couldn’t seem to get your brain on board. The harder you tried, the worse it got, and the anxiety followed– along with the sweating.

Dr. Adamson and Dr. Robinavitch were explaining that the patient in front of you needed a chest tube, a procedure you were extremely familiar with. You had seen countless during your med school rotations, though you had never been allowed to do one yourself.

“You’ve seen one before?” Dr. Robinavitch asked you from across the gurney.

You nodded, focusing only on the patient, the steps for a chest tube on repeat in your brain. You would not fuck this up. You would show them once and for all you belonged here, regardless of your previous stammering and shaky hands this morning.

“Okay, get gloved up then,” He said, “You’re up.”

You swallowed as a nurse opened up a pack of sterile gloves for you, conscious that Dr. Robinavitch was still speaking to you and Dr. Adamson was watching you. You couldn’t quite hear, though. The blood was pounding in your ears. Suddenly the fluorescent lights seemed a lot brighter and you were squinting under them. You couldn’t seem to pull enough air into your lungs and, shit, you felt lightheaded. You had managed to pull the gloves on and a nurse was holding out a ten blade to you, but you couldn’t get your hands to move. Your vision became spotty and you think you managed to mutter a, “so sorry,” before everything went dark.

When you came to, it was to the sound of his voice saying your name. Your first name, in fact, which you didn’t realize he had learned. His gloved hand was cradling your head and you could feel the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

Your eyelids fluttered and then opened to the brightness of his pen light, “There you go,” He said softly and immediately you were flustered by the gentleness of his tone. His warm hands on you. The way he had said your name when you were halfway between consciousness, his voice like a rope meant to tether you, keep you here, with him.

Fuck, fuck. You absolutely could not afford to have a crush on your senior resident. It was bad enough already that you had passed out on day one after absolutely blowing it all morning.

“Is she alright?” You heard Dr. Adamson call from where he must be working on the patient.

“She seems fine,” He clicked off his penlight and gave you a reassuring smile, then his eyes darted up to your hairline and he frowned, “Though she does have a cut on her forehead.”

Sure enough, you felt the warm blood begin to trickle, carving a path down your skin.

“Why don’t you get her a bed and do a quick exam?” You heard Dr. Adamson say.

Immediately, you panicked, embarrassment flooding your whole body, “Oh, that’s okay, I’m fine, really–”

“If you won’t let Dr. Robby clear you, we’ll have to send you home.” Dr. Adamson said and you turned your attention back to the resident in front of you, who’s eyes looked apologetic now. He shrugged, as if to say, my hands are tied. “It’s your choice.” Adamson finished.

Humiliated, you sighed and let Robby help you to standing.You brushed him off after that, assuring him you could walk, and followed him to an empty bed where he gestured for you to sit down.

He grabbed a stool and wheeled it over to you before sitting and you had to remind yourself, again, that you could not fall for this man. Even if his hands were really gentle and his eyes were warm and attentive.

“I don’t think you need stitches.” He said as he dabbed at the blood near your hairline, “The bleeding’s already slowing.”

You were looking anywhere but at him, both in an effort to calm the stirring in your stomach at his attention, and also because you were still humiliated.

“How are you feeling?” He asked when you didn’t say anything.

You shrugged, “I’m a little nauseous, but my head doesn’t hurt or anything. The lightheadedness has passed. I feel fine.”

He smirked, “I didn’t mean like that, I meant… emotionally.”

You looked at him, surprised, “I–I don’t–” You swallowed, “I skipped breakfast, it’s not–I’m not–”

“It’s okay that you’re a little anxious, it’s normal. It means you care.”

You swallowed and then shook your head, looking down at your hands, “I feel like all I’ve done all morning is screw up and everyone here’s probably wondering how I even matched because I’m such a dud–”

“Nobody thinks that.” He said quickly, “You’re smart and capable and you deserve to be here.”

Your stomach stirred again at his praise, “How would you know that? You’ve only known me a few hours and I’ve fumbled every opportunity.”

He was still smiling at you, dabbing lightly at the cut on your forehead, “You interviewed with Dr. Adamson before you matched, right?” You nodded, “He’s been doing this a pretty long time. Long enough to know with one conversation, and I assume, copious amounts of glowing recommendations, who is a good fit for the Pitt. So, if he thought you were good enough, then I can only assume that you are and will be an incredible doctor. So you’re having a shaky first day, so what?”

Your breathing seemed to slow at the encouragement of his words. He scooted a bit back on his stool and tilted his head to force eye contact with you, “You just have to keep trying. The anxiety will fade, likely before this shift is over. And I’ll be there every step of the way, we’ll get through it together, alright? What d’you say?”

There was no denying that you felt better, now. In med school it had felt like everyone in your cohort was rooting for everyone else to fail. The competitive energy had caused you to see every peer as a rival, rather than a friend. But was it possible that that was all over now? That you were allowed to lean on others for support and not worry they’d be hiding around the next corner with a knife poised to pierce your ribs?

He made you want to believe that, with his warm smile and supportive demeanor. Finally, you gave him a small smile, “Okay.”

***

You parked yourself in a chair across from Javadi, handing her a water bottle and a Clif bar. She seemed utterly miserable, perhaps even on the verge of tears.

“You okay?” You asked gently.

She rolled her eyes and then threw her hands up in exasperation, “We’re not even through the first hour and I’ve already fucked it up– Sorry!” She said immediately, eyes going wide at her curse.

You smirked, “You didn’t fuck anything up. A degloving is a pretty gnarly injury. It’s pretty rare, actually. In all my time here I could probably count on one hand how many I’ve seen. And they never get more fun to look at.”

“Yeah, well, easy for you to say. I bet you’ve never passed out while looking at one.”

Your smile widened, “I can do you one better, actually. Passed out cold on the first day of my residency when I was asked to do a chest tube.”

Her eyes widened, “Are you serious?”

You nodded, “I had had such a bad morning, I just… couldn’t get my brain to keep up with everything that was happening. I blanked every time I was asked something. My hands were shaky any time I tried to assist with a procedure. And so when Dr. Robby told me they wanted me to do a chest tube, I just… I got the gloves on and then I collapsed. It was humiliating.”

“Oh, wow,” She took a bite from the Clif bar, “That’s really bad.”

“Yeah,” You laughed, “Yeah, I thought so, too. But, I’m still here and I think I’m doing okay.”

“How did you… How did you get over it? Not let it derail your whole day?”

Your thoughts drifted to Robby, his kindness and attentiveness that first day. And all the days after. The way he had made you feel like you could do anything, pull off any procedure, just because he believed in you.

You cleared your throat, and with it, the memories, “You just keep reminding yourself that there’s a reason you’re here. That you worked hard to be here and you’re capable because of it. You’ll fuck it up again, but you learn and you get better. And there are some really, really great people around here who’ll pick you up the next time you fall. We’re all rooting for you. Not against you. So ask for help when you need it. Okay?”

She nodded and you stood, “Drink at least half that water bottle before you jump back in. Ask Robby where he needs you when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” She said sweetly.

You smiled, “Anytime.”

***

Robby had thought when he asked Gloria to move you to the day shift that things would immediately be resolved. That maybe you’d unintentionally fall back into old habits, finishing each other’s jokes, always running to the other person for a second pair of eyes on a patient, always knowing when the other was stepping out onto a tightrope with no net beneath to catch them. Knowing how to set up the net beneath them without the other noticing.

He didn’t think it’d be so hard to find ways to talk to you and he didn’t think you’d work so hard to avoid him.

He missed you and had missed you at every shift since you had left, but didn’t know how to tell you. Frankly, he didn’t think he deserved to tell you. Still didn’t. But the hole in him that you left had only grown tenfold over the years, rather than shrinking, like he thought it would. Until he had to accept that not having you in his life was no longer an option for him. Dana had taken to reminding him almost weekly how insufferable he’d become since you had left.

It wasn’t like he had been completely pleasant before you had left. He had still been grieving Adamson and all of them had been adjusting to the pandemic’s impact on the ER. Not to mention, he was still adjusting to being the head of the ER, of doing everything Adamson had used to handle.

But at least, when you had been there, there had still been some familiarity. Everything had changed so fast between the pandemic and Adamson’s death, but you had been the one constant. The one shred of comfort he’d been able to hold on to through all the bullshit. The reminder that things hadn’t always been so terrible here, that they could be good.

Until he went and fucked that up, too.

He had pushed you away over and over again when you tried to help, to grieve with him. You tried to talk about it and he’d snap at you. He didn’t want to relive it, thought he could just shove it down and move past it. But you needed to talk about it, for your own sake. Had begged him, in fact, to talk about it.

“You’re not the only one who lost him, you know? I loved him too!”

He remembered the way you’d cried that night. How he held you after, apologizing. Swearing he’d do better, that they could talk about it. That he’d go to a grief counselor with you.

And then it all played on repeat over and over, the same music, the same twisted dance, once beautiful and graceful, now poisoned with grief and resentment.

Promises that were broken almost immediately, heated arguments in the ambulance bay on their breaks, the silent treatment given during shifts, him crawling back to your door every night. I’m sorry, just let me crawl into bed, just one more night, please, I need you, I can’t do it by myself.

And he watched, night after night, how he broke you. How you got out of bed in the middle of the night to cry alone in the bathroom. You thought he wouldn’t hear, but he was barely getting any sleep those nights. He heard just fine.

You’d crawl back in bed, breathing still shuddering from the residual sobs, and he’d kiss your bare shoulders and up your neck. You’d push yourself back into him and still, there was no talking, just the desperate thrust of his hips into yours, and when he came inside you, night after night, he would find himself disappointed each time when it didn’t fix things. When it wasn’t enough, even though it was all he could manage to give.

Then there was Heather.

At the time, he couldn’t understand what had compelled him to pursue Heather. Though now, he could recognize it was because she had reminded him of you. A version of you that hadn’t been ravaged by grief. The version of you who had made him feel like he was good at this, like it was all worth it. Heather made him feel like that, how you had when you were a resident. It helped him forget all the rest. Most of the time.

In the cloud of his own grief, it didn’t seem to matter much what you would think. And the two of you weren’t dating. Had never dated and would never date. In the many years of occasionally sleeping together, you had never talked about it. Only once, just after the first time, when you were still a resident and he was an attending.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

It was all he had said while the two of you got dressed again. You had paused for a second while pulling a shirt over your head, but then had nodded. You never said anything else on the matter.

He supposed it was naive of him to think that it wouldn’t hurt you when he started seeing Heather. But the two of you had always seen other people in the midst of your informal arrangement. And you would go months, sometimes years, never falling back into the other. At the core of everything, you were always friends. Best friends.

He thought this would be the same.

He saw the way you froze and the way your face fell when you walked out to the ambulance bay to find him pushing Heather against the wall and kissing her. He tried to follow after you, but you insisted it was fine. He knew it wasn’t fine, could tell from the look on your face and the way your voice shook. But frankly, he didn’t have the capacity to do anything about it.

After you had found out, it took you just two weeks before you requested the move to the night shift. And then he lost it. He called you repeatedly, showed up at your door, tried anything and everything to get your attention, to force you to talk to him. To beg for your forgiveness. None of it worked. You didn’t return any of his calls and pretended you didn’t hear him at your door.

He even asked Jack to tell Gloria that he didn’t want or need the extra help.

But Jack had just shaken his head sadly, “Don’t ask me to do that to her, brother. She’s my friend too.”

When it didn’t work out with Heather, he wasn’t surprised, but there was a small voice in his head that reminded him every so often that he had ruined everything for nothing.

He knew you would be pissed when you found out it was him who got you moved back to the day shift, but he couldn’t regret it. Even though things still weren’t normal between you, there was something very comforting about the fact that you were around, in the same orbit as him again.

It was selfish of him to bring you back to the day shift, but he didn’t know how else to fix things. And Abbot had confirmed you weren’t happy, were no more healed than when you first left. You had taken to pushing it all down and ignoring it, like he had.

He couldn’t have that. Couldn’t watch you turn into him and do nothing about it. So you could be pissed when you found out, that was fine. He would fix it. He could fix it.

***

You felt Robby’s eyes on you all morning. And in turn, when he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking for him. Unfortunately, the instinct to care and look out for Robby had not been smothered completely as you had initially hoped.

As soon as you overheard him talking to the children of the man who had come in, clearly sceptic and struggling to breathe, you wondered if you should step in and take over. It wasn’t difficult to make the connection to Adamson, especially today. You thought about him often whenever you had a patient with pneumonia, when you had to intubate in those cases.

So when he was free, you started to make your way over to speak to him–

But were beaten to it by Heather.

You had nothing against Heather, truly. In fact, when you were able to look at her and not see Robby shoving her up against a wall, you liked her very much. It was just another thing Robby had taken from you, the opportunity to be Heather’s friend.

Nevertheless, seeing her try to intervene on this case the same way you would have, sent an ache through you.

“You know they’re not together anymore, right?” Dana said next to you, eyes on her iPad.

It had irritated you at times, how easily she was able to read you, “I know. Doesn’t really change the fact that he replaced me with her.”

Dana looked up at that, “Is that what you think?”

You scoffed, “Look at them. I mean, I’m not blind.”

Dana smirked and looked back down at her iPad, “If that were true, why would he have asked Gloria to move you back to the day shift?”

You stiffened and turned to Dana slowly, “He what?” You asked breathlessly.

She looked up again and examined your change in posture, “Oh,” She sighed, “You didn’t know.”

You turned to look back at him and Heather, and slowly shook your head, laughing in disbelief, “Of course he did. Of course!”

“Come on, kid, give him a break–”

“Dana,” You said, more sharply than you wanted to, “I love you, but I–” You sighed heavily, “Please, just this once, please don’t defend him.”

She sighed and wrapped an arm around you, but then you saw Robby walking towards the two of you and you took off without saying anything. You couldn’t bear to be near him right now.

Robby frowned when he reached Dana, staring after you, “What was that about?”

She glared at him, “You didn’t tell her it was you who requested she be brought back to day shift?”

Robby sighed and ran a hand over his beard, “You told her?”

“I didn’t know it was a secret.”

He nodded and crossed his arms, looking down towards the ground, “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah,” Dana gave a short laugh and began walking away, “You do that.”

***

It was warm out that night three years ago and the first night anyone could remember in a long time that felt almost normal, almost like before the pandemic. With the rollout of the vaccine in the New Year, the constant vigilance was beginning to wane, but only just. But everyone had decided after the last year, they could afford a single night of normalcy with the lifting of most of the restrictions and mask mandates. They had chosen a bar with an outdoor patio and bar, erring on the side of caution, just in case.

You were at a corner table with Jack, on the far side of the patio, squeezing your beer bottle so tightly in your fist, Jack was beginning to grow concerned it would shatter in your hand. Your gaze was fixed across the room on Robby and Heather, Robby’s hand low on her back as she laughed at something he had said. It had been about a week since you had seen them kissing in the ambulance bay and each day since then had become increasingly more difficult.

“You gonna torture yourself all night?” Jack asked, his gaze following yours.

Reluctantly, you tore your eyes from them and back to Jack, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been torturing myself for ten plus years or something.”

He tilted his head and one corner of his lips turned up just slightly, “You ever tell him how you feel?”

You barked a laugh and took a sip of your beer, “Right. As if he doesn’t already know.”

Jack shrugged, “He's pretty terrible at picking up on that sort of thing. And besides, it’s not like you haven’t dated anyone in the last ten or so years.”

It was true, you had tried dating other men. But never for very long. It always became evident that you would choose Robby over any of them, no matter how badly you wished it wasn’t true.

And Robby had dated many women over the years. It had always bothered you, but never as much as this. When it felt like he was copying and pasting your younger, less jaded self.

But maybe you were self-aggrandizing. After all, even though everyone in the ER had seemed to pick up on the something going on between the two of you, he had never been so publicly affectionate with you. Maybe it wasn’t about you at all. Maybe he actually loved her.

You shook your head, “He knows how I feel.” Your brain floated backwards, pulling the last few weeks to the surface. The fighting and the begging and the way he always knew you would let him back into your bed. He knew. He had to.

“So, what now, then?” Jack asked.

You turned to look at him, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “Doesn’t seem healthy for it to continue like this, especially when you’re still grieving Adamson. So what’re you gonna do?”

You leaned back in your chair, shoulder leaning against Jack’s, and looked back to Robby and Heather who were now kissing. You were assaulted with a memory from just a month ago when you had held him, cradled his head to your chest as he cried in your entryway. Afterward, he had fucked you, tender and then desperate, bent you over your kitchen table.

Now his tongue was down somebody else’s throat. Swallowing hard, you turned back to Jack.

“I don’t know.” You said, and the sentence brought tears to your eyes, “If I could figure out some way to stop feeling like this about him, I would’ve done it by now. I would give anything not to feel like this anymore.”

Jack sighed and then pulled you into his chest, a hand on the back of your neck, “It’s alright,” He murmured into your hair, “You’re gonna be alright.”

You pulled away slightly, looking up into his hazel eyes. Why couldn’t you love this man instead? The one who went to therapy and could read people from a mile away. Jack would’ve known you were in love with him immediately and either would have created a boundary if he didn’t feel the same or have loved you unabashedly. He would never have left you in this emotional purgatory, never sure how he felt from one day to the next.

It’s this drunken line of thought that has you leaning up and into him, eyes darting at the last second towards Robby to see if he was watching.

Jack pulled away, eyes still gentle, almost pitying as he shook his head, “If you’re looking to piss him off, it won’t be with me, kid. I’m sorry.”

Oh, it wasn’t fair. You couldn’t have anything because of Robby. Again and again you thought of the resident who had fallen in love with him and hated her a little more. You wished you could go back and send her on a different path. Any one, just not this one.

You felt like a petulant child, and maybe the whole thing was complicated by the grief, maybe it was why you had reverted to such immature pettiness, but you hated Robby for it. And you hated yourself.

Your face crumpled, “I’m sorry,” You mumbled, tears caught and strangled your voice, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Shhh,” Jack slid out of his chair, “It’s okay, come on, let’s get you out before he sees you, okay?” He came around to your side and gently hauled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he guided you towards the exit.

Neither of you noticed how Robby stared after you both, jaw clenched. He was fairly certain the arm around your waist was platonic, but it had his hackles raising anyway. And then he was annoyed with himself for feeling that way. You could date or sleep with whoever you wanted, that had always been the understanding between the two of you. Even if that someone turned out to be his best friend.

But you had never been with someone he had felt truly threatened by. But Jack… Jack could sweep you off your feet, no question.

And fuck, you deserved that, someone who would treat you right. Love you in a way he didn’t think he would ever be capable of. So did Jack. If the two of you fell in love, he could be happy for you.

Just not tonight.

Against his better judgment, he followed you both beyond the patio, to the front of the bar where it was quieter.

The sight of the two of you entangled made him feel sick immediately. Irrationally, he wanted to reach for you, pull you away from him—

But then he heard you crying. Jack still had an arm around your waist, his other hand gently cradling your head to his shoulder. He was whispering things to you that Robby couldn’t hear as you cried.

Instinctually, he wanted to help. He had held you while you cried more times than he could count, and you had done the same for him. He couldn’t fathom that you could be crying like this and not running to you. It was what the two of you had always done, held the pieces together when the other was falling apart.

But as he took a step forward, Jack locked eyes with him and gave a short shake of his head. Don’t.

And then he realized, this was because of him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, shouldn’t have stung. You hadn’t really been speaking to him since you found out about Heather. He assumed, like everything else, that it would ease with time.

But now you were seeking comfort in Jack’s arms, and not his.

He took a few careful steps backwards, the wrongness of it all felt like a shard of glass had been wedged into his chest. He was heading back to the bar, but you were out here, falling apart.

He ordered another drink, dismissed Heather when she asked if everything was okay. Pulling out his phone, he typed a text out to Jack: You’ll make sure she gets home safe?

Jack sent back a thumbs up emoji just a minute later. But it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest.

You leaned your head against the cool glass window in Jack’s truck as he drove you home, the quiet lull of the radio the only sound.

He walked you all the way up to your door, even though you insisted it wasn’t necessary, and then wrapped you up in his arms again. You inhaled a shaky breath and rested your head on his shoulder.

“You can call me, whenever, you know?” He said, “Robby’s not the only one who cares about you.”

You could hear the worry in his voice. You knew you were acting erratically at work. No patients had ever been endangered, but you weren’t yourself. You didn’t feel like yourself. The loss of Adamson had fundamentally changed you in ways you couldn’t come back from, but that didn’t stop you from wishing you could rewind the tape back. You ended more shifts than not on the roof, on the wrong side of the railing.

Robby had extubated Adamson, but it was you who had convinced him to. Had begged him to with tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t want to watch Adamson die, but you couldn’t be responsible for losing another little girl. Couldn’t have it on your conscience that Adamson had been on the ECMO for seventeen days with no hope for recovery while a child was waiting on it. You knew Adamson would have made the same choice, but Robby had looked at you with such hopelessness on his face, even as he agreed.

Agreed because he knew, even though you hadn’t said it, you were thinking of your niece when you looked at that little girl. Your goddaughter that you couldn’t save years ago, the loss that had existentially altered the way you saw your career. The grief that only Robby had been able to pull you out of by the skin of his teeth.

Then that little girl had died too and you had gone to the roof to scream. Cursed cosmic forces, God, or whomever who had allowed it all to happen. You couldn’t bear it, Adamson, the way that girl had looked just like your niece when you extubated her, her mother’s screams over the phone resonating just like your sister’s. The grief felt like a monster clawing its way out of your chest. And Robby had followed you up, trapped you against his chest as you both shook with sobs.

Robby’s not the only one who cares about you.

Sure, logically, you could wrap your head around that fact. But he had been the only one who was there for those losses. Had held you through them and watched the aftermath as you slowly imploded.

And it seemed he had decided it was too much. After everything the two of you had been through together, he couldn’t see you through this one. He didn’t want to.

Maybe Robby wasn’t the only person who cared about you. Maybe Jack and Dana loved you too. But they hadn’t seen the worst of you and then decided to walk away. Maybe if they had, they would make the same choices he had.

But you gave Jack a watery smile anyway, “I know.”

***

“Doctor Y/N, do you have a second?” Robby’s voice came from the threshold of your patient’s room. He leaned against the door frame, lightly tapping it with his fist as he smiled at the patient.

You forced a smile for your patient, “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you were out the door, he was steering you by the shoulders into a patient’s room and closing the door behind you.

You pretended to be unaffected by his touch. It was the first time you had been alone with him since returning to the day shift and you wondered if he could see the longing warring with the anger on your face.

“Look,” He started, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m sorry that I asked Gloria to move you here. We are short staffed and she offered me Shen,” He shook his head, “If you were me could you tell me that you would have picked Shen over you?”

You hated the way that tugged a smirk at the corner of your mouth. Shen was a great doctor, but his whole vibe and attitude had unsettled both you and Robby. It was something you had joked about when he was still a resident, that his energy was created in a lab specifically for the night shift. But you shook it off.

“You knew being here would hurt me and you did it anyway.”

He scoffed, “What would you have me do? You don’t answer my calls, you ignore me at shift change, am I just supposed to accept that this is it? After everything, this is how it’ll always be between us from now on?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that when you and Heather were together.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hands along his cheeks to the back of his neck, “And what about you, huh?” He asked quietly.

You sighed, “What about me?”

“You went home with Jack that night, did you sleep in his bed?”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“That night at the bar. Three years ago, right before you switched to the night shift.”

Slowly, it came into focus. Robby and Collins kissing at the bar. Your tearful conversation with Jack. The way you had tried to kiss him. Him walking you out, an arm around your waist.

Your laugh came out sharp and jagged, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He continued to stare at you and you gaped at him, “No,” You said bitterly, “Not that it would be any of your fucking business if I had.”

“Well apparently Heather and I were your business seeing as you unilaterally decided to end our friendship over it.”

You closed your eyes, pretended that every word coming out of his mouth didn’t feel like a punch in the gut to you, “If you still can’t understand why that hurt me so badly,” You said, slow and soft, “Then I have nothing more to say to you.”

You sidestepped him and left the room before he could stop you, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Dana watched from across the way as you stormed away, Robby following shortly after, staring longingly after you, jaw clenched. She walked over to Robby and put a gentle hand on his arm, not saying anything.

“She hates me.” He said.

Dana blew out a long breath between her lips, “You wanna know my advice?” Robby turned to her, sad eyes in full swing, “Keep trying. She’s scared to let you in again. She thinks you’ve replaced her with Collins.”

“What?” He laughed, “She said that?” Dana nodded and he shook his head, mouth gaping open, “That’s ridiculous.”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t consciously tried to replace you, it wasn’t possible to. The years of history between you both were insurmountable. The relationship was so convoluted and tangled it couldn’t be replicated. But now that Dana had said it, it wasn’t hard to see how you had connected those dots, regardless of what he had intended.

“Keep trying,” Dana repeated and lightly squeezed his arm before walking off.

***

When you saw the nurses wheeling Mr. Spencer, Robby’s pneumonia patient, towards pedes, your breath caught painfully in your throat. Without thinking, you walked over to Dana, “Where are they bringing Mr. Spencer?”

“Pedes, why?” She took off her glasses as she looked up from her iPad.

You swallowed, “Robby’s still on that case?”

“Yeah.”

Fuck. He had already handled the overdose teen, something you knew wasn’t easy for him because of Jake. He had intubated Mr. Spencer even though he knew it wouldn’t save him. Now you could only assume he’d have to extubate in the same room he had extubated Adamson.

“Where is he?”

“Who? Robby?” You nodded, “I think he’s with the parents of the overdose teen.”

“Thanks,” You said and then headed for him.

It was ridiculous, you knew, the way you were running back to him. Less than two hours after your argument. You wanted to hold on to your anger because you were afraid of what was underneath it, but you didn’t want to watch him fall apart, either. And despite it all, you knew he’d have your back in the same way. Today and everyday.

“Robby,” His name came out frantic as you watched him walk out of an exam room, turning to the hand sanitizer dispenser. He looked up at you, question in his eyes as he rubbed the sanitizer into his hands, “Uh, Mr. Spencer. Could I take over his case?”

The words came out rushed and breathless. He tilted his head in question, “I already have an established relationship with his family and they’re having a tough enough time with the end of life care. Why do you want him?”

You opened your mouth to speak, prepared to come up with some lie, some excuse, but found you couldn’t do it, “They moved him to pedes.” You said softly, “I just, um,” You sighed, “I thought I could handle the extubation for you.”

When you looked up at him, his eyes had softened. You again noticed how he hadn’t been sleeping, how his eyes seemed almost permanently red rimmed. And now, besides the sadness and the grief that always seemed to be there when he looked at you, there was what looked like a tinge of relief.

He gave you a sad smile, “It’s okay,” He said softly, “I got it.”

And then he sidestepped you, walking towards pedes. You followed, feeling desperate to stop this. Stop it like you hadn’t been able or willing to four years ago. You hadn’t volunteered yourself to extubate Adamson, though, you doubted Robby would have let you then either. You still wish you had tried to protect him from that. Even if it would have broken you, maybe one of you would have gotten out unscathed.

But that wasn’t true either, no matter how badly you wished for it. There was no alternate dimension where you and Robby left that day intact, unharmed.

“What if…” You lengthened your strides to keep up with him, “What if I extubated while you were in the room? With the family?”

He slowed to a stop and turned back to you, causing you to nearly collide with his chest, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” He said gently, “Really, but it’s okay. I can do it by myself.”

“What if I just stand in the room then?”

“You should be seeing other patients.”

You shook your head, “This is where I need to be right now. The patients can wait a few minutes. There are plenty of residents to attend to them.” He looked like he was going to say no again. “Please.” You said, desperately, “You wanted me here, so I’m here. Let me help you.”

That seemed to catch his attention and his eyes locked back on yours. He searched your face for a moment, eyes lingering too long on your mouth before they travelled back up, “Okay.” He started walking again, “You can stand in the room.”

The relief you feel that he accepted your help is short lived, because now you’re standing in pedes, a place you had somehow mostly managed to avoid since Adamson, and you can’t seem to pull enough air into your lungs.

You lace your hands together behind your back as you listen to Robby and Mr. Spencer’s children speak.

But you’re not really here, you’re back four years ago, sitting at Adamson’s bedside, Robby beside you. The inside of the PPE is suffocating and sweaty with the tears streaming down your face and snot dripping out your nose. One gloved hand holds Adamson’s hand, the other holds Robby’s, the heat from your hands feeding through the gloves. You’re squeezing Robby’s hand repeatedly, needing him to squeeze back so you know he’s still there, still breathing. Because even then, you knew this may push him far away from you.

You blink and Robby’s face is in front of yours, no PPE, just watery eyes and calloused hands on your cheeks, “You okay?”

In a moment of weakness, you leaned into his touch, closed your eyes and nodded. He stays like that for a moment before dropping his hands and standing next to you, shoulders touching.

Listening to Mr. Spencer’s rattled breathing, you slide your hand down Robby’s arm and intertwined your fingers. You heard Robby’s sharp intake of breath.

After a moment, he squeezed your hand.

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

483 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 2 days ago

Note

Can we have more Tim falls for Tucker's "spouse" Danny

I'm going to be honest with you: I originally intended this fic idea to be a comedy, but I couldn't figure out how to execute it when I attempted to write it, which is why it ended up in the 'From a fic I never wrote' pile. Now that I have attempted to write it out, it turned more into humor angst? Or, Tim being sad while in Danny's POV, it's him and Tucker committing marriage fraud. Hope the change isn't too bad!

Tim has to bite his tongue when Foley once again agrees to go out for drinks with the team, as everyone is heading out for the day. It was the third weekend in a row, and really, how could he leave his husband home alone on a Friday night so often?

If Tim were married to a man like Daniel Fenton, he would never miss dinner or a night in. He would certainly not waste it trying to kiss up to some higher up the way Foley was so blatantly doing.

Tim had half the mind to grab the mid-level employee by the shoulders and scream at him that a promotion wasn't worth his marriage failing. Make him realize what he had before it was all gone.

For all of Tim's jealousy that Tucker Foley was the one married to a man who literally walked out of Tim's dreams, he didn't dislike Foley at all.

The man was charming, eager to work, and excited to prove himself. He never slacked off; he always kept on top of his deadlines, was friendly with his coworkers, and was always on time. Really, the only trouble that Foley had caused was his rivalry with Tammy Johnson from Accounts.

Apparently, the two hated each other on sight, and there was no real reason for it. Tim had a personal theory that Foley's sarcasm clashed heavily with Johnson's no-nonsense way of work. Johnson was exceptionally good at her job, but she tended not to get along with her coworkers because she took everything too literally and often confused a joke for an insult.

Johnson also became incredibly defensive, building up a wall after a perceived offense was made, and spent the rest of her time working with the offender in a passive-aggressive manner.

She also made comments here and there that hinted at her less-than-accepting point of view of the LGBT+ community. Nothing that Tim could drag her to HR for, but certainly something to keep an eye on.

That's why he jumped in so quickly when he overheard Foley and her arguing over their disagreement about the stick tower design at the last all-staff training retreat. He had heard Johnson rip into Foley, taking apart every one of his suggestions, with complete condescension and a bit of mockery until Foley's tired voice rang out.

"Is it because I'm gay, Tammy?"

Tim thought he finally had a chance to get her in some kind of trouble, but Foley had shut that down quickly. After explaining that the question was more internet humor than anything Johnson could have said, Tim found that he couldn't make the guy stop talking. Foley, it seemed, tended to ramble when panicked or nervous.

Meeting and speaking with the CEO tended to make many employees nervous.

Foley babbled on and on about his husband, how they were childhood friends who turned into sweethearts and then married, living the dream in the big city of Gotham with such devotion and love. Tim couldn't help but extend an invitation to bring the man around the office. He did it mostly to watch Johnson's already tight lips press harder into a straight line.

Then he met Daniel Fenton, and he realized the rambles of Foley weren't told from the rose-colored lens of a man in love but a perfect description of his husband.

Fenton was gorgeous in a soft kind of way, like a first blooming, a lot quieter than his husband, but intelligence danced in his eyes just the same. He was quick with witty responses, sarcastic in a more teasing way than Foley's, and when he spoke of his passions, he all but seemed to glow.

The first time Tim spoke to Fenton, the man was lost in the hallway leading to Foley's old office. At the time, the entire IT department had been relocated three floors up due to a leaking pipe in the ceiling of the previous floor.

Foley had failed to inform his partner that the offices were in a temporary location, so he was more than happy to bring Fention to the correct location.

Fenton had gifted him with a dazzling smile once Tim offered to walk him in the elevator, and had easily chatted with Tim enough so that the young CEO had nearly burst a gut, laughing at the other man's jokes.

He told Foley to invite his husband to more company events, and the other must have taken that as permission to have Fenton around as much as possible. Tim had more encounters with Fenton when the man showed up with pastries for Foley's office, when the team would go out drinking, or even just seeing Danny hanging around the lobby waiting for Foley to finish.

Five months passed before Tim could not deny it any longer. He had fallen for Fenton, the husband of one of his employees.

It was torture how often Fenton was around, but it wasn't like he didn't have the time. Fenton didn't have a formal job.

Apparently, he lived off his inheritance from a distant uncle named Pariah Dark and was more than happy to be a house husband who did random hobbies. One of those hobbies included baking.

Tim thinks he had a crush on Fenton for a while up until then, but he might have actually fallen in love when he tried one of Fenton's homemade donuts. Like an idiot, he kept asking Foley to bring Fenton around, because in those few hours or minutes of networking (for that was what Foley was doing. The man was ambitious) Tim could admire him, could listen to his voice, and could pretend- in the darkest corners of his heart- that his love for Fenton wasn't wrong.

He knew it was. Foley may not be a friend, but Tim tried not to be too close to his employee, as that often caused more problems than not. However, Foley was someone he respected. He felt horrible having such thoughts about the man's husband, but his heart yearned for Fenton more than it had ever yearned for anyone else.

This was getting so bad that Tim was making up random events so that Foley would have a reason to bring Fenton to. He even had the team photo, from the last Wayne Enterprises fundraiser for charity, framed and placed on his desk because Fenton was in it, smiling at the camera.

Tim's pathetic excuse that the rest of the employees' families were also present for the fundraiser wasn't a good enough reason to spend hours upon hours wishing that his arm was thrown around Fenton's shoulders in that photo instead of Foley's.

Tim had to stop.

He chose to tell Steph about his feelings for Fenton on the request that she stop him from doing something stupid. As his friend, she vowed to help him out and slowly but surely held him to his word.

Tim hadn't seen Fenton in almost three months, since Steph had started camping out in his office, doing her online classes and keeping an eye on him so Tim couldn't run down the ten floors to IT just to check if Fenton was about. She reminded him that Foley didn't work directly under him and didn't need to have such a close relationship with him, so he limited his interactions with the man as well.

Steph was also the one who held him through his heartbreak. Tim was no cheater, but he was a fool in love with someone who was taken, and it hurt.

It hurt to know that he could never be the one Fenton smiled at, or the one that Fenton lay next to at night, or the one Fenton joked and laughed with, still friends in a marriage.

It hurt to know that a man like Foley, who was sending another "I'm going out with the team for drinks" text as he followed Rico to his car while Tim stood in the lobby watching them go, was the man that Fenton had chosen.

A few minutes go by of him just standing there, thinking of Fenton, all alone, waiting in some living room for a man who didn't even find the effort to call him.

This is stupid. You're being stupid. What does their marriage matter to you? Just go home, Tim. He thinks angrily to himself, opening his umbrella and walking out into the familiar Gotham rain.

The water splashes against the fabric with the same aggression as marbles falling onto concrete. One of Gotham's super storms. He grimaces, gripping the handle harder as he strides down to the dinner at the end of the street.

Despite Tim being able to drive nearly every form of transportation, he had failed to obtain a driver's license, partly due to his secret identity and partly because he was too lazy. As a result, Tim walked everywhere, took the train, or the bus to get around.

He didn't trust people to not kidnap him (attempt to at least), so he never hailed a taxi or used a ride app. Not after it happened five different times. The life of a Wayne could sometimes be too much.

Not that he was willing to walk to the train station or bus stop in this weather.

He'll have a coffee and some food to wait out the rain, but if the storm doesn't improve, he'll have to call the Manor and see if someone can come pick him up.

The door dings when he pushes it through, and a wave of warmth, chatter, and music passes over him. He stops at the stand holding up a sign that reads Please wait to be seated.

He folds his umbrella, shaking out some water, as a waitress comes rushing towards him.

Her hair is falling out a bit from her bun, and she seems a bit stressed, but he can clearly see why. Many people had the idea to hide from the storm in the dining room - not a single table or booth seemed to be free. Even the bar stools were all claimed.

"Hi there!" The waitress greeted with slightly apologetic eyes. "It's going to be a forty-minute wait."

"I don't mind. Can I wait in here?" He smiles, watching her shoulders relax. She must have had someone yell at her today about the wait time. He gets it.

Once he had to go under cover as a waiter himself, and it took every ounce of his Bat training to not throw a tray at some customers' faces. Especially the impatient ones.

"Yeah, of course." The waitress waves to a little area on the side of the door. There are no chairs, and there is barely enough room to stand, but it's better than nothing. "If you give me your name, I can let you know when a table opens up-"

"He can sit with me." A voice interrupts. A familiar voice. Tim's heart leaps in his chest before he can even turn his head in the direction of the man who had spoken.

Daniel Fenton waves at him from one of the tables, smiling widely, over a half-seated plate of pancakes. He's wearing a soft, white, woven sweater, which makes his eyes pop, and his hair is slightly damp, likely from being caught in the rain.

He looks like a painting come to life.

Tim's mouth goes dry.

"Are you okay with that, Sir?" The waitress asks him, but it's Fenton who answers.

"Yeah, of course. I don't think this storm is going to clear any time soon, so I may as well spend it with someone I know." Fenton laughs, and it kicks Tim's brain into action.

"It's fine," He mutters to the waitress who was frowning. "I would be totally fine with sharing that table."

More than fine. Far too fine in fact. The man is married. A voice that sounds a lot like Steph cautions in his head. He ignores it.

"Well, okay then." The waitress leads him to the table, pulling out his seat before handing him a menu she grabbed from the stand at the front. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Let me guess," Fenton grins, snapping a finger and pointing it at Tim, "A coffee, three creams, two sugars, and a bit of chocolate syrup?"

Surprised, Tim stammers, "Yes, that's right."

Fenton laughs gently before giving the waitress a cheeky little smirk that does horrible things to Tim's already buzzing heart. "He always takes his coffee like that. A creature of habit, you know?"

She flashes a dimple, writing down his drink order. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take the rest of your order."

Tim barely notices her walk away, too captivated by the way Fenton's hair seems to curl slightly when wet. "W-what are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?"

"Tuck and I were supposed to go out for dinner tonight, but he cancelled at the last minute. I got caught in the rain when leaving the lobby, so I figured I may as well have my own dinner." The man reveals casually, as if it were normal for a husband to bail on plans so carelessly.

Tim fights the urge to reach out his hand and place it on Fenton's, wanting to offer comfort in case he was hiding his hurt.

He couldn't stop the words that tumble out of his mouth, though. He winces at the offended tone in his voice. "Your husband cancelled plans on you last minute?"

"Tuck is forgetful. He probably forgot he made plans with me." Fenton shrugs, smile still in place. Tim's stomach flips as the man leans on one hand, attention trained entirely on Tim. "What about you? Why are you here?"

"Hiding from the rain, too. Too heavy to walk home in. "

Fenton frowns. "You don't have a car?"

"I don't have a license." Tim laughs, raising a brow at the disbelief on Fenton's face. "Never bothered to get one. Most people don't in a city, where you can walk or us a bus"

"That's crazy. Back home, everyone had a license. You never get anywhere without one." Fenton reveals.

"You and your husband are from Illinois, right?" Tim hopes Fenton didn't notice how his voice had turned slightly strained on the word' husband'.

"That's right. From the small in the middle of nowhere, Amity Park." Fenton picks up his fork, waving it around slightly. "We have like three restaurants, a small mall, and a park. That's the extent of entertainment, so you've got to drive to do anything. You're not planning on walking in that storm, are you?"

"No, I'll call someone to come pick me up later."

"Nah, that's okay. I'll give you a ride when we finish." Fenton replies easily, stuffing a piece of pancake in his mouth. "I won't take no for an answer. Got nothing better to do anyway."

Tim closes his mouth, having been in the process of denying the offer, and instead raises the menu to hide behind. A flutter goes through his stomach as he realizes that Fenton knows his coffee order because of how often he's seen Tim take it while visiting, and is willing to drive him home.

He doesn't think about Foley. It's a dangerous thing what he does think about, but by the time the waitress comes by to get Tim's order, Fenton has pulled him into a fascinating conversation of old cartoons, and Tim can't find it in himself to care.

Besides, he was only looking. There was nothing wrong with looking.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Dead tired #One-sided Office Love #Part 1 #fake relationship #misunderstandings #Tim struggling with his feelings #TW: Implied cheating?#Not really since Danny and Tucker aren't married #danny is dense #He don't know it's not normal to memorize your best friend's boss' coffee order #Steph is screeching somewhere

786 notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 2 days ago

Text

Like Real People Do masterlist Simon Riley/female reader CW: none

“We’re going to miss you kid.”

You could place the familiar British accent with your eyes closed, and you smile at the man in scrubs leaning against the door of the break room, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m not dying, Doctor Price. Everyone is being so dramatic, I’m only moving four floors up. I’ll still be around.” You sling the only intact strap of your backpack over your shoulder and sigh. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll hate it and end up coming back.” It’s unlikely. You’re getting a raise with this transfer, one you desperately need, and panic bubbles up in the back of your throat when you consider what would happen without the pay bump. You’re struck with the memory of Riley’s face last week, the disappointed pout tugging at her lips when you told her she couldn’t get a new backpack this year during back to school shopping, the way she frowned and turned sullen when you refused her the fancy pencil case that all of her friends are getting. It twists your stomach until you shove it aside.

“They’re lucky to have you.” Price’s eyes soften. The unit is tight knit. It’s not a nurse-resident-attending-administrative battle down here. The ED functions like a human body. All parts and pieces moving together as one to achieve a single goal: keeping these patients alive until you can get them upstairs. These are your people, coworkers turned friends turned family. You never imagined you’d be cleaning out your locker to leave the ED, but your life has changed a lot in the last few years, and you can’t afford to be selfish. “If you need anything, you let me know.”

“Thanks.” You swallow the lump in your throat. You’ve already said your goodbyes, had your cake, wrapped your arms around everyone for a hug, all that is left is this single act. Badge out of the ED for the last time. It’s terrifying, and you know he can see it on your face, because he places a hand on your shoulder with a firm squeeze.

“You’ll be alright. This is a good thing for you, for your family. I know it'll be hard, considering, but you’re going to be amazing. We all know it.” Your hands fist at your side as you cling to your control, beat back the tears trying to force their way forward. “And don’t let Simon give you any shit.” Simon?

Oh.

Doctor Riley.

He’s respected, revered, and notoriously private. Head of the department, he’s widely known as one of the best neonatal surgeons in the field, and the NICU here has one of the highest survival rates in the country.

Of course you already know all this from personal experience, but no one knows that. At least, no one in the unit.

Especially him.

You force a smile for Price’s benefit, and he sighs. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Riley’s at that age where her mouth never stops moving.

During the car ride home, she regals you with a full recap of her day, down to what her best friends ate for lunch at camp (Lexi had peanut butter banana sandwiches, Aya had tamagoyaki, and Alice had leftover pizza that a counselor heated up for her. Lucky.) By the time dinner is over and her shower is done, she’s moved onto her big plans for weekend (riding, riding and more riding, followed by a rematch in Monopoly, and maybe some s’mores. She has your whole life planned out as well as her own.) She runs out of words by the time she’s in bed, but the last three are always the same.

Love you Daisy.

The nurse assigned to babysit you for the next month (at least) is Keona. She goes by Key, and tells you her name means god’s gift, though she insists it means satan’s spawn.

You’re thinking it’s more like god’s gift, based on the way she floats like an angel around the unit.

“You’ll be fine. Just follow me for a bit, do what I do, and then you’ll be good on your own. We’re a level four, so the ratio is usually one to one, two to one if you’ve got one that’s super stable.” You’ve never worked a floor that has a one nurse to one patient ratio, but you expected it here. She badges through a set of doors, and you follow dutifully behind her, marking room numbers and placards, trying to memorize the lay of the land. “This is the best worst job in the world, and it’s a little bit of everything… including psych,” she gives you a look, before mouthing “parents.” Your stomach twists.

“I’m sure.”

“You worked float pool for a bit, right?” Float pool is literally what it sounds like. There’s a group of nurses that cover scheduling gaps in all the departments. Some love it, some hate it. You were on the fence.

“Yeah I took some time off a bit ago for some family stuff and worked prn as a float.” If she has questions, she keeps them to herself, which is a relief.

“Cool. Like I said, I’ve heard good things so I don’t doubt you’ll be fine. If you can get to a point where you’re comfortable and happy here, you’ll never want to leave. Trust me.” The two of you round the corner to the nurse’s station, where a very tall, very broad man in scrubs is tapping away on a tablet. “Doctor Riley.” He glances up, and the world turns technicolor.

This is not a man, this is a mountain. An impenetrable force of granite and slate towering over you with crystalline blue eyes that narrow in on your face with a question roiling inside them. He has a strong jaw, a strong stance, and hands the size of your head, so big you cannot fathom how he performs surgery on such small organs. You never, ever seen OR scrubs look right on someone either. They’re usually big and baggy, gaping somewhere or another, but on him… they’re perfect.

Just looking at him makes you dizzy.

You shouldn’t be so affected. You didn’t think you would be so affected, but your pulse is pounding in your ears so loud you’re sure someone can hear it, and your blood pressure is sinking like a stone to the bottom of the ocean, trying to take you with it.

His brow furrows. He frowns.

“This is Daisy. She’s new. Transferred up from the ED.”

“Daisy.” The hair on the back of your neck rises at the sound of your name on his lips. He’s got a British accent like Price, except it’s strange, different, and in the depths of your memory you recall something being said about how they go way back. You extend your hand in a polite greeting. He scowls, and ignores the gesture altogether. “You can’t wear perfume in here.” What? It’s standard that body spray or perfume is not allowed around more vulnerable patient populations… and you’re not wearing any. You blink and drop your hand as your cheeks burn.

“I’m not wearing perfume?” His expression darkens with disapproval, and you feel like a bug on the floor, waiting to be squished.

“Then you’ll need more mild or unscented soap.” He glances over your shoulder, already moving on. “Excuse me.” Key cringes and shoots you a sympathetic look.

“Okay so… he’s a bit abrasive. He’s not super friendly but we give him a pass because he’s the actual best. In the world.” You shrug, and hope you sell the indifference.

“I think all surgeons are more akin to cactus than they are to teddy bears, aren’t they?” She laughs.

“He’s a bit of both. Wait until you see him holding a baby, you’ll forget all about the cactus part.” Your breath hitches.

“Right.”

That night, it storms.

Lightning strikes in the distance again and again, throwing up a chorus of thunder that rattles the house, playing out behind the echo of pouring rain.

A tiny voice warbles from your door.

“Daisy?” You should have gone and got her when it started up, but sometimes she sleeps through them. Sometimes.

“Come here ladybug.” You haul her into your side, tucking your body pillow behind her so she’s surrounded. She feels too small in the span of the king bed, like she could lost in the sea of blankets and pillows. She never caught up to her classmates, and even though she’s smart as a whip, a strong wind could knock her over, and she still needs a booster seat.

“I hate the storms.” Her whisper brushes against your collarbone, and you rub her back.

“I know, it’s okay. This one is moving pretty quick.” The psychologist says she doesn’t remember, that she was too young, but you know she’s wrong. Riley’s instinctual fear of thunderstorms is more than a child’s nervous disposition. It’s ingrained trauma rearing its head, trying to drag her back to the worst night of her life, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t fix it. You can’t turn back time.

"Are the horses in? Mabel doesn't like the storms." The lump in your throat tries to stick before you force it down.

"They're in. Don't worry." She yawns and snuggles closer.

"'kay." You hold her as tight as she will allow as the storm rolls away, your own grip slackening with sleep, dreams and nightmares merging into one and playing out behind your eyes.

Riley half dead in a hospital bed-

and Doctor Riley holding his tiny namesake’s hand.

#peaches writes #lrpd fic #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

818 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 days ago

Note

Hi Mae!! Hope you’re doing well💖 sooo last weekend, for the first time, I suffered a terrible migraine that landed me in the er (hated the idea but the iv meds on the other hand… lifesaver 🙏) although I’ll admit I was a nervous wreck (they had to call my bf in to help hehe) so I was wondering if you would be willing to write reader kinda going through the same thing with doc!remus, emt!marauders or fwb!doc Remus (loved the last fic you posted about it!!), whatever makes you the happiest!🤩 love you queen ✨🧡

I'm sorry about your migrane lovely! Ty for requesting

cw: hospital, reader is nervous about needles, vomit, nausea, migraine

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

The damp smell of paper is comforting, though the warmth of your own breath blowing back on your face makes your eye throb all the way to the back of your skull. You’re so focussed on not vomiting you don’t even realize the car has stopped moving.

James rubs your back. “We’re here,” he says, voice considerately soft. It sends painful reverberations through your head anyway.

A whimper slips out of you into your paper bag cavern.

“Let me have that.” Sirius is being quiet, too, though the bag crinkles some when he takes it from you. Your seatbelt clicks off. “It’s okay, you’re not going to be sick. Come on, lovely.”

You crack your eyes open. Every muscle in your face clenches instinctively at the barrage of sunlight. Sirius waits outside your car door with his hand held out.

“I don’t want to,” you mumble. Not exactly eloquent, but apt enough.

Sirius’ mouth pinches with sympathy. “I know. It’s gonna be shit at first, but it’ll be good for you in the end, alright?”

You hesitate. It’s difficult to think past the pulsing ache in your face and temples, past the taste of bile on your tongue. You know that it’s not your boyfriends’ first time dealing with a migraine, and they probably have a good sense of what warrants medical attention, but you feel strongly that staying where things can be still and quiet is the far superior option.

“Trust us,” James murmurs.

You take Sirius’ hand. He helps ease you out of the car, James hovering behind you, and delivers you straight to Remus’ arms. Remus holds you against him like you might crumple without the support. It’s a founded fear.

“Want to try these?” he asks, transferring a couple of rubber earplugs into your palm. “Might help a bit.”

You hum your thanks, pressing them in. You walk into A&E with Remus and James on each side of you and Sirius taking up the rear like they can shield you from it all.

Sirius is right. It’s fucking shit.

The earplugs do something, perhaps, but not much to deaden the noise of the emergency department. Voices overlapping, machines beeping, some baby somewhere wailing its head off. Anxiety sits in the air like a thick mist, and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights amplifies it all.

Your nausea surges. “Bag,” you mumble, but in this environment you’re too quiet for anyone to hear.

You clamp your jaw shut and try to breathe evenly as Remus walks with you tucked close to his side. Eventually, you squeeze your eyes shut, letting him guide you the rest of the way into a small, curtained-off room.

“Bag,” you try again. James hands it to you—Sirius seems to have peeled off at some point, you don’t know when—just in time for you to bend over, retching.

“Oh, my love.” Remus gathers a few flyaways back from your face. One of your earplugs falls out. James grips the side of your bag, too, making sure you don’t drop it. “You’re alright, let it out. We’re done going anyplace.”

Your temples feel like they’re bulging the whole time you’re emptying your stomach into the paper bag, but eventually you’re finished. James ties it off and drops it in a wastebin.

“Come here,” he coaxes, helping you up onto the table. You tent your legs in front of you, pushing the aching side of your face into your knee. It helps, strangely. James kisses your shoulder. “That’s it. No more moving, I promise.”

“Alright, we’re all registered,” Sirius announces as the curtain pulls open. You must flinch visibly, because he lowers his volume, Remus’ hand landing between your shoulders. “I’ve filled out your forms—in fucking record time, if I do say so myself—so we’re all set to get you started on some meds, gorgeous. Where’s the—did we throw up again?”

“Yeah.” You can hear the grimace in James’ voice. “Can we get another bag? Just in case…”

“I don’t think I have anything left,” you admit.

“Okay,” Sirius says smoothly. Remus has begun massaging the taut muscles of your neck, your boyfriends’ combined caring wrapping around you like an embrace. “That’s alright, we’ve got you. Let’s have some medicine, yeah?”

There’s a good amount of shuffling around. Remus’ hand stays on your nape, but you hear equipment being moved, something crinkling and something else squeaking. When you eventually risk opening your eyes again, Sirius and James are nearly done setting up and you find you haven’t completely emptied your stomach, after all.

“No,” you moan.

James blinks up at you. “Angel, this is going to help.”

“I don’t want an IV,” you say. Pleading, but already your sinuses are throbbing with defeat.

“You can’t have anything oral if you’re going to throw it up.” Sirius looks you in the eyes. His gaze is steady, if not a tiny bit pitying. “It’s going to make you feel better, I swear.”

“It’s going to hurt.” You start to cry. You’re already dealing with enough hurt. Between the bright lights, and all the noise, and your eye socket feeling like someone is trying to hammer an ice pick through it, you really feel like anything more could do you in. You don’t think you can take it.

“It only hurts for a second.” James is pleading now, too. He gets up on the table with you, maneuvering himself until you’re sitting between his legs, the warmth of his body wrapped around you. Remus continues soothing the pain at the base of your skull. “Trust us, sweetheart, please. We wouldn’t have put you through all this if we didn’t think we’d be able to help.”

“Sirius is good at this,” Remus murmurs. “Let him.”

You sniff, throbbing and nauseous and overwhelmed, but hold out your arm. Sirius presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“We’re gonna take care of you,” he promises, wiping the crook of your elbow. “Close your eyes, baby.”

You push your face into your knee again and let Remus’ gentle fingers ease the tension in you. Between his hand on your neck, James’ arms wrapped around your shoulders, and Sirius probing at the inside of your arm, all the contact should worsen your sensory overload, but your boyfriends’ touches ground you. Remus shushes you gently when the needle pricks your skin, though you don’t make a sound.

“There we are,” Sirius murmurs, still messing with your arm. “Doing so good, almost done. And…that’s it.”

He flattens a piece of tape with his thumbs. When he pulls your fingers to his mouth for a kiss, you squeeze his hand.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Anytime, sweetness.”

“You are good at that.”

Sirius laughs, trying to quiet himself halfway through. “Well, I am a professional. Did no one mention that?”

You hum weakly.

James sets his lips to your shoulder. “You did good, angel. The medicine should kick in soon, okay? Just bear with us a little while longer.”

You lean into him in thanks, and you wait. You all wait, practically unmoving, you tense with pain and your boyfriends tense with their own torment. You’re the quietest stall in the hospital.

The meds don’t work all at once. It’s a slow, seeping sort of relief, and you don’t even fully register it until you notice that you’re not pressing your face into your knee as harshly. You don’t feel the need to create your own ache to supersede the one already there. The taut muscles at the base of your skull aren’t so taut anymore.

You let out a breath.

“Yeah?” Remus murmurs.

“Yeah.”

James plants a happy kiss on your shoulder. “How is it?” he asks. “Scale of one to ten.”

“I think…probably a seven? But it was a nine before.”

“That’s good, sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice without raising your head. “It should keep feeling better.”

You take another full breath. It feels good to do it without worrying you’re going to trigger your nausea again.

“Want to try laying down?” Sirius asks softly.

You nod, letting yourself list to the side. James helps you down the rest of the way. Sirius has pulled up a stool to the side of your little cot. He presses his thumb and forefinger to the top of your nose, just under your brow bone, and pushes gently. Something almost like a whimper escapes you.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Feels good.”

“It’s because his hands are so freezing,” Remus teases. You think you hear the soft sound of a kiss landing on Sirius’ cheek, but Sirius’ hand never falters. He slowly works his way upward, drilling little circles in the center of your forehead before setting his thumbs to both of your temples. You feel the wound-tight knot of your head softening and unspooling.

“Think you might be able to go to sleep?” Remus hums after a while.

“I don’t know if I can help it,” you reply. You’ve been weathering this for days, the pain relentless and taxing. You’re exhausted.

“That’s good, lovely. Get some rest.”

“Will you…”

“Yeah. We’ll be here.”

477 notes · View notes

binmeister · 2 days ago

Text

Producer AU Headcanons

SAJA BOYS & HUNTR/X x Producer! Reader

I am mentally sane and definitely not in a hypothetical padded cell of this hyper fixation - have some headcanons I have and will eventually show more of maybe if people are interested

Will probably eventually expand even more on headcanons I have laying around if not just do drabbles / short scenarios for stuff I want to get out - probably extremely OOC of canon but this is what I picture everyone to be in this AU 😊

CW: relatively gender neutral here, the main series is insinuated fem!reader - just loose headcanons about the characters in this AU and how they interact or feel about you [NOT PROOFREAD]

General

The groups still fight because honestly, it’s hard to shake off that demon hate entirely but now it’s mostly relatively friendly sparring. Mostly.

Sometimes Romance plays with fire a little too closely and ends up getting his ass handed to him by Mira but he’ll say he loves it as she gets angrier, Rumi and Zoey finally having to play mediator and drag the taller girl away before she actually commits a crime against Romance

They all rely on you heavily for comebacks, you’re their favourite producer and they are terrified to try working with anyone else again after the last demos were leaked and they all sounded... horrible (thinking about EXO - Wolf where they tried to make it sound horrible so it wouldn’t be released)

You know their vocal strengths and weaknesses like the back of your hand, able to make them shine in whatever concept they’re aiming for so why wouldn’t they love working with you? Aside from when you get cranky because you didn’t get enough sleep and then it’s hard to talk to you because they don’t want you to start crying or yelling at them. Yeah you’re a bit of a wild card when you’re tired.... which is pretty frequently

The Saja boys often ended up on projects with your co-producer so over time you’d grown accustomed to seeing them in the building, which meant a lot more fleeting conversations between yourself and each boy - it broke the ice and it became easier to work with them over time

Saja boys

Jinu

Loser! (endearing)

He’s just a dork trapped in a hot body and I can’t unsee it, when he’s not in serious leader mode he’s just a goofball that likes to tease and poke fun at his friends or at you.

He tries to play it cool, he really does but he gets nervous and when he fumbles which makes him more nervous so he’ll go from “Hey..” to slipping or tripping over himself to stuttering to apologising and avoiding eye contact for the remainder of time together as he wishes he exploded in a dramatic display.

At first he was all about keeping things professional with you but it was hard to maintain a cool and collected image, when the other boys had stopped keeping up theirs. He steadily gave up and let his actual personality start to shine through when you poked fun at him, accusing him of not doing his best during recording sessions or even when he found himself at your place late at night just talking.

Talking about nothing in particular but everything at the same time and he just, couldn’t stop trying to come over to talk. If it wasn’t a bi weekly thing, it was a weekly thing and then nearly every other night he’d shoot a message asking if you’d want to come over to hang out with the guys (him) or if you wanted company while you worked.

Enjoys just being in your space, watching you work without you knowing (non creepy) and just the serenity of it. Kinda likes seeing when you get frustrated over a project and will try to help out by humming out the tune with you so you could hear it in a different key and if that doesn’t work, he rips you from your chair and says “Yup, break time.” and forces you to take a break by making you go out on a walk with him, a midnight food run, go to hang out with the chaos that is his boys, anything to get you to reset and refresh yourself.

Whenever he works on a project with you or stops by to hang out, he makes sure to grab you a couple of your favourite drinks and snacks to help get you through whatever grind you were locked in on and he’d sit back listening to you hum or record your demos and close his eyes to really hear you.. it was just pleasant and a highlight to his day when he could hear you sing.

Abs / Abby

I think he gets characterised as a meat head a lot but I think there’s more under the abs and muscles, seems like a big sweetie that struggles with being gentle sometimes.

During recording sessions it’s gotten to a point where you have to smack him and Mystery upside the head to stop roughhousing in the studio - the equipment is expensive and you are NOT paying for replacements.

He doesn’t exactly understand music on a technical level, completely going off of ‘vibes’ or whatever he thinks it is but he’s able to fix his mistakes with a few pointers and that’s it - probably one of the easiest out of the bunch to correct and he never takes offense to corrections.

He’s eager to work oddly enough? Likes to get things done and if he can help you with whatever projects you’re working on the side - hell yeah! he’ll show his dance moves if you want to see if a track is dance-worthy, he’ll provide backing vocals if you need a deeper voice on tracks and he’s happy to go buy you snacks too - just kinda a golden retriever with really nice muscles and a pretty smile.

You catch him looking at you when he thinks he’s being subtle but it’s never anything that really throws you off, he just seems intrigued by what you do - often asks questions about things about the hardware or software you’re using and when you’re in your personal studio you let him try and make a track himself, just a simple half minute track with samples you’ve already made and he’s so gentle with your equipment, worried he may not know how to handle the gear without breaking something but with your reassurance and guidance he makes a sample that he’s happy with and even goes to brag about it to the other guys.

Mystery

He’s quiet, holds himself surprisingly well as an idol aside from when he gets a little.. nippy - very prone to biting the other boys but he’s a softie towards you, the Huntrix girlies too even as they’re able to reel him in and make him stop trying to bite at fans.

He’s hard on himself - beats himself up a little more than the others do because sometimes it just doesn’t make sense and he feels dejected when everyone else is able to change things up on the fly without issue - words of encouragement mean something to him and sometimes when you’re really nice, you even pat him on the head or shoulder and he really melts for a second.

You’d gotten used to him being in your space, not in like an overtly invasive way it just seemed that he didn’t particular understand personal space - so used to latching off of his other members for promotional media or rough housing so he didn’t really get why at first you were jumpy when he leant in a little too close or if he leant on your shoulder or leg if it was available. He just kinda enjoys physical touch, not really knowing what it sometimes did to your heart.

He bit you once.

Yeah, he bit you once. He wasn’t in a particularly good mood and he had a need to bite something, anything, and you had happened to be the closest thing to him because the other guys were at the back of your studio whilst he was seated nearby you. You didn’t notice him when he crawled up to you, too focussed on the song you were mixing to perfection when you felt a sharp sting on your outter thigh and you yelped. Startling everyone in the room and even the culprit who bit you, you stared at him - he stared at you (you think) and then you pointed to the door wordlessly. He got up and walked out of the room in shame, like a scolded puppy.

Romance

Everyone agrees he’s flirty, but I feel like Romance is a bit more of the awkward flirt when you match his energy.

He’s so used to everyone backing off or getting flustered, so if you throw something back at him? He’ll fumble, stammer over his next words as he tries to catch his breath because he was NOT expecting you to match his tone. After that he’s avoiding eye contact, it takes him a couple days before he’s back to teasing you in a flirty way and sending “send nudes?” to you randomly through out the week.

There had been a time where you were left alone with Romance and he had let his guard down, turned off the flirty persona all together and he was a lot more.. approachable? Enjoyable to be around even as you two just made small talk and he wasn’t batting his lashes at you, wasn’t trying to force physical affection onto you and just simply enjoyed your presence for what it was. You had to admit when he was being him and not the flirty idol everyone wanted to see, he was pretty attractive.

He gives theatre kid when he sings, playing things up, somehow too emotive when he sings but he is willing to take feedback and correct himself when he goes too far or if you catch on that he’s straining a note too much because he wants to commit - wants to show he can do it - which leads to you taking him aside and quietly and gently reminding him that his vocal cords need to stay healthy if he wants to continue singing. To continue shining. And he takes that feedback to heart, doing his best to actually go through vocal exercises to warm up his voice and being more mindful of the steps he takes into hitting higher notes or notes just barely out of range until he’s able to comfortably undertake them and when he does hit that note? He’s got a smug smile on his face as he looks at you with the most excited and adoring eyes.

Baby

Ipad kid. I see him as the kind of person that may have a bit of ADHD. something that stemmed from his past life maybe - always on his phone or doing something to divide his attention because going all in on something is harder for him.

He can’t focus if he isn’t doing something - fidgeting, playing a game, evening snacking on something - he just needs some kind of stimuli to lock in and that’s just kinda how he is.

When he talks to you he’s usually flicking his eyes between you and his phone, but he’s listening - able to give full responses to questions you have and has no issues regurgitating the information back to you or whoever is there that doubts he was listening.

He’s got more technical skill in music than the others guys but still a few levels under Jinu, he knows what works for him and isn’t opposed to switching things up if you ask him to but it takes a few tries before he’ll get it. He’s actually assisted in writing bars for you and even critiqued lines you’ve written and fixed songs for you. His flow is a lot more natural than yours and you had to admit, he was good at what he knew.

You’d actually introduced him to a group of underground rappers that yourself and a few producers in your building knew, he hadn’t shown any interest until he showed up to an impromptu session and really enjoyed the cyphers they had to come up with on the fly. The second time he went he had asked if he could record the session and send it over to you - the others were happy for him to do that and you could hear the joy in his voice as he shared a craft with like minded people in the snippet he recorded for you.

Huntr/x

Rumi

She’s a little hard to talk to sometimes but it’s mostly because she can’t express herself earnestly, she tries but it’d be a lie if you and her hadn’t had misunderstandings here and there because of it.

As much as you love working with her, she loves working with you - absolutely bouncing off the walls when Bobby tells her and the other girls that they’ll be working on you for any project.

Also respectfully - girl failure when she isn’t putting up the perfect idol pretence because of her upbringing from Celine and often makes mistakes when its just the two of you, she feels comfortable enough to not force herself into a mould and has even had a voice crack here and there where you both laugh it off and let her redo the take.

You’d caught her when her voice was going through a rough patch, accidentally walked in when she was having a panic attack in the studio buildings’ bathroom and saw the patterns all over her arms - though you didn’t know what they were and complimented her ‘cool tattoos’ after you had held her in your arms and let her steadily calm down from her panic, after that whenever it had just been you and her she had become more comfortable with revealing her patterns to you. The comfort of you not knowing what they represented and treating her all the same was special to her, more than you’d ever understand.

Mira

She’s blunt, always has been but she likes to compliment you - not anything cheesy and over the top but just how much she appreciates your work and hopes that you’re doing well because even though you’re creating master pieces she’d rather you get rest instead of burning out

A bit rough and doesn’t always take well to criticism but is more likely to hear you out over anyone else, sometimes argues back but will still follow your guidance, gets embarrassed when you smile at her knowingly when you pick up on her following your advice

There had been a time where you got a text at 3am from her, asking if you were available for a call and you picked up only to hear her sniffly and gravelly voice as she just seemed to seek out comfort from your voice.. just something to help take the edge off of a fight she had with her parents over the phone over how embarrassed and disgusted they still were about her idol career. You let her talk before sharing your own insights, how your family felt about things and how often you’d feel insecure about your career path until you would walk down the streets and hear people humming along to a song you released and everything felt worth it again. How the right people could make everything feel worth it again.

You’d grown closer after that call and she had unknowingly became more attached, always opting to go to you to express her more vulnerable side when she couldn’t bring herself to open up to Zoey or Rumi.

Zoey

She’s so loveable it’s almost painful, often messages you to ask for critique on lyrics she comes up with and if you have time to give her feedback on what she could fix lyric or timing wise.

She respects what you have to say and doesn’t take any negative criticism to heart but occasionally you catch it, the way her eyes lose their shine for a second when you say you weren’t a fan of something she came up with and she shrinks in on herself a little - you try to be careful with how you word it whenever it does happen but sometimes you just talk her through what could change and potential ideas you have; that you still think it was a good idea just maybe could use some polishing and that normally does the trick to get her back to being her bright self.

Sometimes she gets a little overwhelming, so used to her hectic idol schedule that sometimes she forgets that production is a different trainwreck and there’s been a couple times where you’ve had to draw a line and let her know that please do not message you for a day or two while you crunch through the deadline. She understood, apologising and sending a cute little fighting..! audio clip for you to hear and you laugh it off, able to get through your project before reaching out to her and asking about what it was she wanted to share with you - this time it was turtle videos she’d found and another time it’d be seal videos she’d found and rabbit holed. Endearing, truly.

#kpop demon hunters x reader #saja boys x reader #huntrix x reader #kpdh x reader #kpdh x you #abs saja x reader #mystery x reader #baby saja x reader #jinu x reader #rumi x reader

562 notes · View notes

soeyekonic · 2 days ago

Text

— ✩♬ ₊˚. call it the end ⭑ D.A

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis it’s been months since the livestream that altered your relationship with daniela and the members take matters into their own hands to rekindle your guys’ relationship.

disclaimer: pt3 of “you get me so high” (fluff version), slight angst, fluff, here’s pt2 - angst version see…sorta inspired by parent trap but i actually cannot remember that movie for the life of me so it might actually not be…inspired by parent trap 😭😭😭

currently playing: call it the end - rosé

the fallout isn’t loud.

you don’t scream. you don’t block her. you just stop giving her pieces of yourself.

you stop waiting for her texts. you start sitting farther away in rehearsals. you leave before she can find you backstage.

you stop looking at her like you’re still hoping she’ll choose you.

and she notices.

it’s in the way her voice wavers during vocal runs when you don’t meet her eyes. in the way she stays behind after practices, watching you walk out of the room without turning back. in the way her laugh rings hollow now, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s still happy.

the others notice too.

manon sees it first. she’s always watching.

lara sees it in your posture.

sophia’s the one who says it out loud, during a late-night takeout run when the three of them are waiting for their orders.

“okay,” she says, staring at the pickup counter. “is it just me or do they both look, like, dead inside?”

“it’s not just you,” lara sighs. “i heard crying in the bathroom after rehearsal two days ago. don’t know which one it was, but...”

manon peels the wrapper off her straw. “it’s both of them. they’re just miserable in shifts.”

“you’d think after all this time they’d get over themselves and talk,” sophia mutters.

“they’re not gonna,” manon says. “not unless we do something.”

lara raises an eyebrow. “like what?”

manon shrugs. “i dunno. trap them in a room until they work their shit out?”

sophia looks way too into the idea. “no wait…seriously. like... do it old-school. lock the door. no one leaves until someone cries.”

manon glances at lara, who’s already nodding. “they’re useless. it’s time.”

—

they do it after practice.

manon times it perfectly. she pulls dani aside and says, “hey, can you grab my jacket in the second vocal room?” sophia asks you to check for her phone charger in the same place. lara pretends she forgot her speaker.

you both walk in, separately, at almost the same moment.

you freeze when you see her.

she freezes when she sees you.

then the door slams shut behind you. click.

locked.

you whip around. “what the-?”

manon’s voice is heard from the other side. “you’re welcome!” “we’ll be back in an hour!” you hear sophia yell out, followed by lara. “don’t kill each other!”

then silence.

daniela is sitting on the edge of the platform riser. she looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. you stand by the wall, arms crossed, heart pounding in your ears.

at first, neither of you say anything. the air is thick. full of unsaid things. heavy with the weight of everything that never got to be love.

finally, daniela breaks the silence. her voice is small, careful.

“why have you been ignoring me?”

you laugh, but it’s cold. “you can’t be serious.”

she winces. “i mean- i know you’ve been mad. but… not like this.”

you look at her slowly, exhaustion pooling in your chest.

“you said you were straight,” you say. “on a livestream. with me right next to you. and you acted like what we had, like i, didn’t mean anything.”

daniela opens her mouth, but you hold up your hand.

“you don’t get it,” you continue, voice trembling. “i gave you everything. i let you into parts of me i’ve never let anyone near. and you didn’t even hesitate to shut it all down.”

tears prick at your eyes, and you hate how easy it is for them to fall now.

“you laughed. you laughed and said you were straight like i was just another joke to you. like i wasn’t someone you were crawling into bed with every night.”

daniela flinches. she’s crying now too.

“i wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“well you did,” you say, voice breaking. “and you never apologized. you just left me to figure it out alone. i was humiliated, dani. i didn’t want to be your secret. i wanted to be your person.”

daniela stands up. steps closer. desperate now.

“you are my person,” she says. “i just, i didn’t know how to say it. i was scared. everything in me was screaming to say something but i panicked. and then when you stopped talking to me i thought maybe you were just... done.”

you wipe your face. “i was trying to protect myself. because loving you hurt. because you made me feel like i was something to be ashamed of.”

her voice cracks. “you’re not. you never were.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

“i didn’t know how,” she says. “but i want to now.” you hesitate. it’s still raw. still so broken in places.

“you really think it’s that simple?” you whisper. “that you can just show up now and everything will be okay?”

daniela drops to her knees in front of you. her hands shake as she reaches for yours but doesn’t touch, just hovers.

“i love you,” she says. “i love you so much it makes everything else feel smaller. and i want to try again. out loud. publicly. with you. if you’ll let me. if you can still let me in.”

you look at her. really look.

she’s not hiding anymore. not even a little.

and finally, finally, she whispers, “we don’t have to call it the end.”

your walls don’t fall in one go. but you let her take your hand. and you let yourself hope.

—

the next few days feel different. lighter. real.

you don’t talk about it with the others, but they know. you walk a little closer to each other again. daniela doesn’t reach for your hand in secret anymore.

you laugh at her again. you let her touch you in front of people. you even let her kiss your cheek backstage, once, when she thought no one was looking, but manon definitely was, and she winked like a menace.

you don’t say the word “together” out loud. but it lives in the space between your smiles.

a couple days later, you’re doing a chill livestream with daniela, manon, and lara, promoting gnarly, answering questions, teasing each other.

it feels like it used to. better, even.

daniela reaches across you to grab a hair clip from the table, and says without thinking, “love, can you pass me that notebook?”

you go still.

manon and lara freeze too. wide-eyed.

daniela doesn’t even blink. she’s completely casual. like she didn’t just drop the word love in front of tens of thousands of fans.

you glance at her, stunned, then you smile. huge. real. “of course, my love.”

and you hand her the notebook without breaking eye contact.

manon immediately makes a fake gagging noise. lara dramatically falls back onto the couch, muttering “i’m gonna be sick.”

daniela just grins. you laugh.

and this time, no one hides. no one runs.

maybe this is what it means to start again. not from scratch,

but from something earned.

a/n: idk which version i like better 😣 anywhooo this concludes ‘you get me so high’ thank you to everyone who was, for some reason, interested in this also idk why..but when i was writing this, i started thinking abt parent trap. i haven’t watched that movie in YEARS so i went by memory 😭😭😭

#soeyekonic #katseye #katseye x reader #daniela avanzini katseye #daniela avanzini x reader #katseye angst #daniela avanzini #katseye fluff #katseye daniela #daniela avanzini x female reader #daniela katseye #daniela x reader #daniela icons

452 notes · View notes

modmad · 3 days ago

Text

TPoH: Update!

Read the new TPoH Update here!

PLEASE TAG YOUR SPOILERS/do not leave spoilers in the comments and tags for this post! thank you!

Read TPoH from the start here.

The Property of Hate is a webcomic that I’ve been making for 13 years and you can read it all for free! Yippee!

If you’d like to support me and my art you can buy books of TPoH and much more! Head on down to Topatoco town and introduce yourself to my store!

support me on patreon for little extras! Even one or two dollars a month makes a big difference to me :D

oh! and to those who have read the update, I say:

#TPoH update #tpoh #the property of hate #RGB #Hero #Assok #YEAH we MADE IT #congrats to yuni my bestie who is as far as I know the only soul who figured this out in advance

664 notes · View notes

elliot-gay-boi · 1 day ago

Photo

Okay hi, this is my first time publishing fanfiction so please just leave it if you think this isn't good enough.

But this gif set and cinnonyms tags just inspired me to write a small ficlet.

So here:

Mary Margaret is standing in the kitchen making coffee. It was early enough and she luckily still had a bit until she had to go to school. She really hoped Emma would have a moment for them to talk since lately she felt like she didn't see her best friend at all. Sometimes Mary Margaret wondered if something was up and if Emma was avoiding her. But she quickly shoved that thought aside. Surely Emma would tell her if something bothered her. And besides it was very plausible that work and Henry was keeping her busier than usual.

Mary Margaret took a sip of her coffee looking up when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Suddenly nearly choking on her drink when she recognized who was coming down into the kitchen.

It was the Mayor. Regina Mills.

What was Regina doing in her flat?

Why was Regina coming downstairs in the morning?

Mary Margaret head spun.

"Are you alright Mrs. Blanchard? You are looking a bit pale" Reginas voice was as always icy with an unusual tense hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Mary Margaret answered automatically without thinking.

Despite not feeling fine at all.

However before she could find her footing again and ask Mrs. Mills, Mayor of her town, what she was doing in her kitchen at 6:30 am she heard a second person descending down the stairs.

Mary Margaret suddenly felt like she was in an alternative reality.

Emma came down the stairs her eyes on Regina with a huge smile, looking like she was best friends with Regina despite hating her and only recently telling Margaret what a pain she was to work with and just all around such an unpleasant incredibly smug person.

Additionally Emma was clearly wearing her bed gown, an oversized, hole riddled T-shirt that just barely reached over her underwear.

It took everything in Mary Margaret not to clear her throat to make Emma aware she wasn't alone with Regina.

"Do you want some coffee?" Emma asked Regina easily only for her smile to freeze completely when her eyes (finally) fell on Mary Margaret.

"Oh." Emma breathed.

'Oh indeed!' Mary Margaret thought. She increasingly felt irritated over the sudden closeness of the two and being completely ignored in her own home no less! And anyhow why didn't Emma ask her if she could invite someone over at 6:30 in the morning?

Of course it would have been okay for her, even if Regina Mills would not have been her first guess, however it was about the principal of things! Wasn't it?

"Good morning Emma." Mary Margaret said as neutral as possible. Though it ended up sounding cold since her usual demeanor especially with Emma was always so warm and carefree.

"Why are you alre... I mean good morning Mary Margaret. I thought you have a later class today?" Emma interrupted herself mid sentence only to say something only marginally less rude. Clearly having not expect to see Mary Margaret today in the morning.

Clearly not wanting for her to see Regina Mills leaving.

Regina Mills who, now on a closer look, was not in her usual Mayor attire. It was a tick too... much. Nearly like an outfit one would wear on a date. One that you would wear again in the morning for your way home after ... after staying the night.

Mary Margarets head wiped back to Emma.

"Did you guys, uh....." she let her words fade not entirely sure how or even what exactly to say.

It was so obvious, yet her whole body still felt like that could just not be.

Emma hated Regina.

Emma talked about her constantly how horrible she was, how much of a pain in her ass, how annoying she was about every little detail, how caring she was with Henry, how annoyingly self confident, how infuriating hot she looked in her small red dress.

Now that she thought about it Emma had at some point started to sound more and more like she had a crush on Regina then actually disliking her...

Mary Margaret was not sure what to make with that.

It was sinking in more and more.

Her best friend was in Love with the bossy, over controlling Mayor.

Her best friend had taken said Mayor on a date and then brought her home, home to Mary Margarets house to.... to hopefully only sleep.

But suddenly with growing horror Mary Margaret remembered she woke up in the night because an unusual loud fox was screaming in the back yard.

Mary Margaret closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Okay so apparently, unfortunately, now completely undeniably, her best friend had fucked the Madame Mayor in Mary Margarets flat while Mary Margaret was asleep.

She let out a deep sigh and opened her eyes again.

Infront of her Emma was looking like a deer caught in the headlines. Then put her bright red head into her arms groaning like a teenager who got caught looking at porn.

Next to her Regina took it better. Or what if Mary Margaret didn't know her could have seemed like taking it in stride. But Mary Margaret knew her, sometimes more than she thought made sense with them only interacting as teacher and mother of a student.

Her neutral smile fell for just a moment and then it was back but she looked down and then elegantly found an interesting spot on the counter to stare down on.

It was the most obvious 'yes' they both could have given.

After another moment of uncomfortable uninterrupted silence Mary Margaret spoke up:

"Soooo.... how long are you two already an item?"

Emmas ears turned even redder and she let out a breath but didn't manage to answer.

Regina looked at Emma, realised she was completely useless, cleared her throat and answered herself.

"I'm not sure it's any of your buis- ouch!"

"What Regina wanted to say," Emma quickly took over, after very not discreetly kicking Reginas foot under the counter, "is that this is all very fresh and we... we haven't yet told anyone and... and thought we still had some time to prepare before....... making it official."

After a beat she added a bit too quickly:

"Of course I would have told you first!"

"Of course." Mary Margaret repeatedly slightly sarcastic. Not sure if Emma was telling the truth. Not sure Emma was as close to her as she assumed just moments ago.

"Of course." Regina whispered while rolling her eyes, clearly thinking noone would hear her, only to be hit by Emma again.

Mary Margaret didn't feel any empathy for her. She had it coming.

"Sooooooooooooooo....... what do you think?" Emma asked looking like a beat puppy in desperate need of approval.

"About?" Mary Margaret asked confused for a moment only to catch herself a moment later "Ah. That."

"Yeah that." Regina said with venom dripping from her voice. Clearly not liking her relationship to Emma being referred to so negative.

Mary Margaret shot her a -seriously?- look she usually only used on especially stupid comments from her students.

Which worked surprisingly well on Regina who looked, for the first time Mary Margaret known her, somewhat guilty.

"I...." Mary Margaret decided to be honest with Emma, "I am caught off guard. I didn't expect it. However it also, somehow, impossibly so, makes a lot of sense."

Emmas look turned hopefully and happy in a way Mary Margaret hadn't seen on her, ever.

"I get it's sudden," there Emma laughed and turned to Regina shooting her a fond smile, that made them look so much closer than they physically where, "it has been sudden and surprising for us as well."

At Emmas smile and words Regina smiles the fondest smile, Mary Margaret has ever seen on the stone cold face of the Madam Mayor, at Emma.

It makes Mary Margaret involuntary suddenly also smile. She's always been a sucker for love stories that work out against all odds. She's always felt like hers was somehow still on a path to work itself out, her still being stuck in the difficult before stage where she's alone and unhappy because her second half was missing.

But she was surprised to find that she was genuinely growing more and more happy for Emma and Regina who very evidently have found their person.

Reginas smile fell when she saw Mary Margarets smile, but before her face could turn that venomous cold that she sported so often especially when looking at Mary Margaret, Emmas pleading look to play nice, made her force the smile back again.

"You two make a good couple." Mary Margaret couldn't help but note surprising herself and the other two looking at her shocked.

"You are okay with the two of us being... an item?" Emma asked a insecure look at Regina at the definition of their relationship.

Regina was too busy looking at Mary Margaret completely shocked and stunned. Her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Don't get me wrong it was a shock seeing the Mayor walking down my stairs in the wee hours of the day. But I can see that you two," she briefly paused there assessing the two, searching for the right words, "you fit together. You two look at each other with so much care despite both claiming to hate each others guts only weeks ago." she finishes a bit awkwardly.

At her words Emma turns bright red again evading Mary Margaret and especially Reginas eyes.

Regina on the other hand looked like a sculpture. One that blushed ever so slightly and suddenly didn't look quite as challenging at Mary Margaret but rather discreetly looked at the cabinets behind her.

"Thanks." Emma squeaked hoarse, only to look even more embarrassed at her voice failing her.

Mary Margaret chuckled, not being able to stay angry at Emma, and answered warmly:

"You're welcome."

"Just don't have a sleep over again without asking before. I'd like to get earplugs in before I wake up from fox screams again." Mary Margaret adds half serious, half wanting to make Emma suffer at least a bit for surprising her and keeping something so big from her.

Emma looks confused for only a moment until realising just how exactly the fox that sometimes visited their backyard sounded like.

Upon realising turning red again and hiding in her arms with a long suffering groan.

Regina looked at her, eyebrows slightly knitted until realization what Mary could mean dawned on her. Clearing her throat and trying desperately to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks also blushing, she answerd diplomatically:

"I will make sure to not come by unannounced again."

Emma lifted her head again all embarrassment leaving her as she looked, oh so hopeful at the implications of Regina coming by again, wanting to repeat last night again.

And Mary Margaret couldn't help but smile at the two and feel like something just shifted to the better.

#okay I am horrible with tenses and I'm so sorry #I've now tried making it more one tense but I feel like I overlooked at least half of my tense shifting #but well #this was mostly for fun and the first time in a long time I've wrote again #this is for cinnonym also #I hope you like it!#writing #my writing

11K notes · View notes

thanoskin · 2 days ago

Text

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME

— — —

Pairing: Myung-gi x Nam-gyu x Fem!Reader

Summary: they find you, scared and alone, Nam-gyu pisses Myung-gi off, he takes his anger out on you.

Warnings: minors DNI (18+), quickie, choking, dom! Myung-gi, dom! Nam-gyu, intercourse, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, sudden death (knife), cnc (?), let me know if I’ve missed something.

— — —

The lights buzzed faintly overhead. Shadows clung to the corners like wet fabric. The game had started ten minutes ago, and Nam-gyu and Myung-gi managed to wipe out a good amount of players. Bodies were already piled onto the floors of the haunting hallways, those found too early, too slow, too loud, unable to match the key to the lock in time.

Myung-gi wasn’t here to play nice.

He moved silently through the hallways, knife in hand, eyes focused. Nam-gyu was behind him, humming.

Humming.

“If you don’t shut up,” Myung-gi snapped, “I’ll stuff your throat with that stupid song and leave you as bait.”

Nam-gyu giggled. “Aww. You do care.”

His pupils were blown wide, he looked half-stoned, half-possessed. But he followed, tight at Myung-gi’s back like a dog on a leash. He was surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be, drifting in and out of focus like a ghost. Myung-gi hated how warm his presence felt behind him. Distracting.

“Left,” Nam-gyu chirped, and pointed.

Then — a sound.

A breath.

Myung-gi raised his hand, stopping Nam-gyu with a silent gesture. He turned the corner swiftly, entering a room with a blue door, and there you were.

A girl. Maybe twenty. Skinny, dirt-smudged, your hands shaking as you fiddled with the key. You froze the second you saw them, especially Myung-gi, whose expression was unreadable.

“Found you,” Nam-gyu sing-songed, peeking over Myung-gi’s shoulder.

You scrambled backward, trembling. “Please— please don’t kill me, I haven’t killed anyone on the red team I swear—”

“You don’t have to,” Myung-gi cut in, low and flat. “You just have to lose.” He readied his knife.

Nam-gyu tilted his head. He crouched beside you, elbows resting on his knees like a child watching an ant squirm. “She’s cute,” he said. “Like a mouse. Or a rabbit.”

Your chest heaved. You were silent now — watching him instead of Myung-gi.

“Don’t get soft,” Myung-gi snapped.

“Who’s soft?” Nam-gyu’s eyes glittered. “I’m just admiring the way she shakes. So pretty when they’re scared, am I right?”

There was a pause.

“You’re a psycho…” Myung-gi muttered.

“Takes one to team up with one,” Nam-gyu chirped.

He reached forward. You flinched, but all he did was clean the dried blood on your cheek. His fingers brushed your collarbone. A touch too long.

“What do you think, MG Coin?” Nam-gyu grinned, glancing at Myung-gi. “Do we kill her? Or do we make her beg to survive?”

“You’re wasting time!,” myung-gi shouted. His jaw tensed. His eyes met the yours. You looked pleading, desperate. And then you looked at Nam-gyu, like you could sense the predator behind the grin.

“hurry up,” Myung-gi said.

Nam-gyu stood, stretching with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “I like this part,” he said. “The choosing. You get to feel like a god for a second.”

He looked at you again, then back to Myung-gi.

“Wanna flip for it?” Nam-gyu offered. “Heads, she lives. Tails, she dies.”

Myung-gi stared at him in shock.

“We don’t have time for games,” Myung-gi said. But his voice was nearly shaking.

Nam-gyu took a step closer. His shoulder brushed Myung-gi’s. “We’re in a game.”

Their faces were too close now. Myung-gi’s breath hitched, just a little. Nam-gyu’s grin widened.

You didn’t move.

“Or….”

Nam-gyu trailed off.

“And since we’re in a game,” he murmured, “…shouldn’t we play?”

Myung-gi didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, gaze fixed on you. Your back was still pressed against the wall. Breathing fast. But you weren’t crying. That… intrigued him. You weren’t begging anymore, either. Just frozen, you knew your fate depended on the mood of the two of them.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, trying to sound brave.

Nam-gyu laughed, high and sweet.

“Stop it,” Myung-gi snapped.

His voice cut clean through the tension. Nam-gyu turned his head slowly, grinning like a child who’d just been scolded.

“Jealous?” he teased.

Myung-gi stepped forward. You flinched again, not at Nam-gyu this time, but him. He could see it: your fear wasn’t playful. It was raw. Real.

Good.

He grabbed Nam-gyu’s collar and yanked him upright.

“We’re not here to waste time.”

“She’s still breathing,” Nam-gyu said. “We’re clearly not in a rush.”

“We should be.”

Nam-gyu blinked slowly, then leaned in, whispering in Myung-gi’s ear.

“You keep looking at her like you’re going to plunge that knife into her chest and score us our point. But you haven’t. So what’s really stopping you, hmm?”

His breath was warm. Myung-gi didn’t move. He didn’t like the way his stomach twisted when Nam-gyu got too close, or the way his voice made everything sound like a dare.

“We could make her do something,” Nam-gyu continued. “Not… bad, just… humiliating. Make her crawl. Say something dirty. Cry. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Enough,” Myung-gi growled.

Nam-gyu glanced at him, almost disappointed. “Why? She’s not screaming. Yet.”

Nam-gyu’s grin curled like smoke.

“You’re soft. You’re scared.”

Myung-gi’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak.

Nam-gyu wasn’t done.

“You think I didn’t see her? Your girl. Cute, too. Real brave, from what I saw. Kept looking around. Probably searching for you, you lucky guy.”

Myung-gi turned his head sharply, eyes flashing.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Nam-gyu asked innocently, lips curling. “It’s not like I’m the one who left her hanging.

Myung-gi lunged before he knew what he was doing, slamming Nam-gyu into the wall.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Nam-gyu laughed in his face. “Or what? You’ll hit me? Come on. Let it out. Do something real for once.”

“If you’re so sure I’m afraid,” he growled, voice low, “…then watch me prove you wrong.”

He turned from Nam-gyu, eyes dark, jaw set, and walked straight back towards you. You shrank a little, unsure what was coming.

“Get up,” he said.

You didn’t move.

“Now.”

His voice brooked no argument. You rose, slow, trembling, whether from fear or anticipation, even you didn’t know.

Myung-gi grabbed you by the throat and pinned you to the wall, he felt you tremble beneath him.

He glanced at the clock, 5 minutes. without hesitation, he yanked down your pants and yanked down his own, but before he could slam his cock inside of you, Nam-gyu pushed his hand between your legs, feeling your wetness.

“Look how fucking wet she is,” he sneered, in excitement as he moved his hand away only to massage myung-gi’s shoulders as Myung-gi entered you.

You moaned loudly, he could feel Nam-gyu’s stare on his length but he was too flushed and angry to care.

He pounded you, with haste, his eyes darting between the timer on the wall and the scared, pleading look in your eyes.

Two minutes remaining.

A whimper escaped his throat, earning a chuckle from Nam-gyu whose back was against the wall a few inches away from them, watching.

Myung-gi lifted your legs up with ease and filled your cunt with his load, he tossed his head back and groaned.

You screamed rather loudly.

He slowly lifted his head up to look at you and to his shock, a knife was pressed into your neck.

Nam-gyu laughed again, before yanking the key from your neck, it was a circle, just what they needed to find the exit.

Myung-gi quickly pulled out and tucked his cock away, looked at Nam-gyu in disgust, ashamed and guilty, and utterly shocked.

Nam-gyu shrugged quickly and grabbed Myung-gi’s sweater sleeve, before using all the keys to open the door.

They made it just in time.

— — —

#squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game smut #smut #squid game season 3 #myung gi #nam gyu

343 notes · View notes

celestiaras · 1 day ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ bring your baby downtown (go cheerleader!) ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. rumi (+ jinu) x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ fans think you and jinu are together, and rumi is not happy about it┊1.6k words

contains: jealousy, crazy fans, hard-launching a relationship

➤ author's note: ahhh i feel like i could have executed this better and also it's a little off prompt so sorry T-T (happy last day of pride month homophobia doesn’t exist here)

“i just don’t get why fans are shipping them!” rumi shouted in frustration as she delivered a strong kick to the face of the demon. “they sit next to each other at one event to follow the seating chart, and all of a sudden, they’re the next kpop ‘it’ couple— what’s the logic behind that?!”

“okay, but are fans really shipping them together, or did you just see someone on twitter say they would look cute together? there’s a difference.”

“no, like people are really shipping them together! they have an official ship name and everything— there’s like a thousand edits of them to love songs on tiktok and like… a couple dozen fics of them on ao3…”

“god damn it!”

perhaps having this discussion while fighting underworld creatures wasn’t the best idea, being both the wrong time and place, but the vocalist needed to get this off her chest once she found out about it. it was so preposterous and wrong in her mind that she had to do a triple take before it really sunk in what she was reading.

it’s been exactly one week since that day when you met the black-haired leader of the saja boys at an event, only interacting because you both were following the seating charts and happened to be placed next to each other. there was nothing special or different about it compared to when you’re talking to other celebrities, yet in some way that she couldn’t even fathom, people started thinking that both of you would make the cutest pairing.

she was at the event as well, but couldn’t quite see what the two of you were up to from a distance aside from being friendly. when the footage came out in a better quality than her eyesight, she rewatched the footage over and over again, watching like a hawk at all the little microexpressions and doing her best to read your lips to figure out where this assumed chemistry originated from, but she came to the conclusion that it just doesn’t exist and that the fans were being straight up delusional.

that man has been the bane of her existence in every way possible ever since he entered her life. first he tries to steal her fans with his industry plant boy group, then he tries to blackmail her with her biggest secret, and now he’s trying to steal away her girlfriend! she brings up the topic incessantly every time they have their secret meetings, and no matter what he swears or how often he plays innocent, she doesn’t believe for a second that he doesn’t also have feelings for you. it’s all in the little things, how he stutters and blushes red at the mention of you and how fans thought you two were the cutest— god, she hates him!

“you do realize that people think you’re jealous of her and not him, right? they noticed you staring at them the entire time the awards were being given out and think you’re all in some sort of love triangle.”

“why would they even think that? i don’t even like jinu on a base level! he’s a demon who’s clearly trying to take advantage of our unsuspecting fans— how do people think that i’m into him instead of her?! i thought it was obvious i liked girls— my instagram profile picture literally shows me wearing eyeliner in the colors of the bi flag!”

“either way, you can’t really change what the fans think. don’t let it get to you too much, she would never pick him over you.”

mira was right. you can’t be stolen away when you didn’t have an ounce of romantic interest in him and had your heart set on her, but she still can’t help but fume like a steaming kettle every time she goes on her phone to find her entire ‘for you’ page covered photos (both real and edited) of that stupid demon next to her girlfriend with hearts in the captions.

the worst part is that you didn’t have the foggiest idea what was going on. as one of the most well-known soloists in the hemisphere, you preferred to stay away from social media and possible hate comments or crazy fans that would impact your mental health. your management took care of your social media and promotions as well as informing you about public perception, so you were fortunate enough to be able to focus on yourself, your songwriting, practicing choreography, and spending time with rumi.

rumi, who has been acting a little strange over the past few days. she thought you wouldn’t have noticed because you were busy with the debut of a new single, but you certainly did and was confused about her sudden change in behavior. she’s more clingy and possessive, yet refuses to admit that there was something bothering her. mira and zoey also wouldn’t tell you anything, but judging by their hesitance, you suspected that she had told them not to say anything either.

with the lack of mutual friends who knew about your very private relationship, you somehow ended up meeting with jinu for coffee. you aren’t exactly sure if she let it slip to him or if he managed to figure it out on his own, but either way, he knew about it and offered an outsider's perspective on what you could do about the situation.

little did you know, even though you both were wearing sunglasses and hoodies, there was someone who recognized you and snapped a candid photo of you two entering the cafe together. it’s only a casual outing between friends without a hint of anything romantic to get advice for your actual relationship, people took the picture and ran with it, coming up with their outlandish speculations of it being a date and believing that your latest song about finding true love was dedicated to him.

that was the final straw for rumi, and she soon hatched a plan on how to hard-launch your relationship in a way that left no room for interpretation. there wasn’t going to be any ‘close friends’ or ‘sisters’ theories with this, they were going to know. normally, she prefers to keep these things private, but she refused to have fans misled about who you were really linked to.

“are you sure this is a good idea? it’s gonna put everyone in a frenzy.”

“right? like this is gonna be in the history books!”

“i’m sure, it’s gonna be perfect.”

this plan was bold and possibly a bit irrational, but she knew it would work out perfectly in the end. it didn’t take too long to think of, all it needed was a single action and a ton of confidence, and the perfect setting to execute it was at one of the up-and-coming annual award ceremonies for the best musicians in the nation where you were going to be announcing the winners and nominees.

she was more nervous about this secret plan than anything, evident in how she was constantly fiddling with the hem of her dress and how her posture wasn’t as completely straight as it usually was. it made the usual jitters from all the flashing cameras and mini-interviews by photographers seem like child’s play, so she was very grateful towards mira and zoey for letting her lean on them.

out of the corner of her eye, she could see you socializing with the others in a gorgeous satin midi dress, being absolutely dazzling with that smile of yours that attracted everyone to you like bees to honey. everyone including those damn saja boys, particularly jinu who had all the cameras flashing blindingly whenever he got too close to you. the sight made her bite the inside of her cheek and pout, but she wouldn’t let it bother her even though the thought of it was pissing her off during the entire duration of the event. she’s going to keep her cool this time, and no one would be able to study her reactions and make assumptions about what she was thinking when the live recording is eventually uploaded.

“and this year’s winner for ‘artist of the year’ goes to…” you paused dramatically for special effect, opening the golden envelope to peek inside. there wasn’t a doubt in your mind who it would be, and you couldn’t help the feeling of pride that bloomed in your heart, “rumi, zoey, and mira of huntrix!”

the crowd let out a round of applause as the trio joined you on the stage, zoey doing a little skip and dance to she received the award before doing their touching minute-long speech of a lot of thanks and gratitude to their fans and those who have helped them along the way.

as rumi stepped away from the center, she took a deep breath, and instead of stepping off like she was supposed to, she pulled you in for a kiss on the lips before drawing in close to use the microphone attached to your headset, “she’s my girlfriend, by the way!”

a simple statement and a kiss, nothing too passionate, just something small and tender, but the entire audience gasped in surprise before erupting in chaos (the good kind of chaos, the one with cheering and people screaming various things in support).

you were clearly confused and laughed, “of course, i am, who else’s girlfriend would i be?”

“you’re so chronically offline, i’ll tell you about it later.”

the news was like wildfire for the next few days while you both stayed away from the public eye to let it die down. most fans had jumped off the ship of you and jinu and were happily boarding the one of you and rumi, letting it sail at full speed and pouring in all of their support of your newly revealed relationship as you both quickly took the crown as kpop’s newest ‘it’ couple.

request:

May I PUHLEASE request a Jealous!Rumi x Fem!Soloist!Reader? The reader is a well-known soloist who somehow was being shipped with Jinu despite having absolutely no interaction with him at all. And of course, Rumi starts acting up, showing subtle hostility towards Jinu for another reason other than because he's a demon who clearly means harm upon their beloved fans. Mira and Zoey, along with their many fans starts to think that it was because she was jealous of the reader. But what they don't know is behind those empty stares lies hidden affection which they only lay bare when they're alone. They've been in a secret relationship for a few years now, and they've hidden it well. But after the rumors that started about the reader and Jinu where they were supposedly seen having a romantic date, and another rumor that stated that the reader's latest song was dedicated to Jinu, Rumi finally decided to take matters into her own hands. So during an awarding where idols were to gather on stage, after receiving their award, Rumi immediately marches up to the reader, and in front of everyone, she pulls her into a searing kiss then walks away like she hadn't just staked her claim and smudged the reader's perfectly applied lipstick. It ends with the reader jokingly and shyly apologizing with: "Forgive my girlfriend's behavior. It's her way of throwing a tantrum." (I apologize if this too damn long, I wanted it to be detailed for you🥲)

#📜. her works #rumi #rumi x reader #rumi kpop demon hunters #rumi kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters x reader #huntrix #huntrix x reader

369 notes · View notes

azullumi · 14 hours ago

Text

you’re a mermaid in distress and he’s here to… save you? | featuring: phainon, anaxa, and mydei x mermaid!reader | fluff, alternative universe, bullet-form narration, pirate!mydei, knight!phainon, scholar!anaxa, i mean he somewhat already is, mentions of blood and wounds, fem!pronouns are used for the reader, not proofread | wc: 4.7k

note — today i had a beautiful dream of pirate mydei thus this was born, and gosh it got long my head hurts… (500 words each character, i said, it will be short, i said)

PHAINON; FREEDOM TASTES LIKE BLOOD ON YOUR LIPS

The first time he sees you, you are listless—a ghost of salt and scales drifting in a gilded cage. Your fingers press against the glass, searching for a current that isn’t there. The expression on your face is etched into his mind, haunting him like a madman on his trail. You were clearly uncomfortable, restless, unable to adapt in the new environment you were forced to be in—who would? Your glass tank was nowhere similar to your home. The water reeks of chemicals, not brine; the fake corals are a mockery of the reefs you once knew.

In this place, you were completely vulnerable and exposed to everyone. There was no place for you to hide. The decorations were not big enough to cover you up and the transparent walls allowed anyone to watch your every move—perhaps that was the intention. After all, you were captured and sold to a wealthy nobleman who was fascinated by your species and their ‘exotic beauty’.

The second time was when he was with the master, standing in front of your ‘home’, gawking at you with a grin on his face—all teeth and greed. You were still the same except much worse, lingering on the same spot he had seen you. “Pretty, isn’t she?” The master says, a sparkle in his gaze as he admires your every inch before he turns to look at the swordsman by his side. “You find her amazing, don’t you?” It seems he had mistaken Phainon’s tension for awe, and he hates it; there’s a bitter taste on his tongue and a tight feeling in his chest, especially more so when the brutish man mentions how he can’t have you.

As if you were some prized possession or doll for ownership. The thought alone angers him, his grip on the hilt of his sword never loosening.

A gem is tossed inside your tank, landing on top of your head, as the master speaks of how your species is particularly fond of such things: “Doesn’t that one make you happy?” The man croons, “So rid that ugly expression on your face. The guests wouldn’t wish to see such a depressing display.” How considerate, truly.

Phainon doesn’t even ease from where he stands, from where he watches, and it frustrates him further that he’s bound to a position where there’s nothing he can do. He hates that he feels useless, that the chains of his responsibility and status tugs tightly on his neck, rendering him unable to reach you.

But surely there should be something, right?

Later that night, unburdened by his duty, he returned to where you were. This is the third time he sees you, and yet, you remain the same. The faint moonlight dimly alights your room, the silver casting its glow right at your display case. To think that they even thought of your display and where the light will hit. You’ll see him, lingering by the doorway, seemingly hesitant but when he catches your gaze, he steels his resolve and steps forward.

Phainon’s greeting to you is returned with a curious tilt of your head—this time, something different from your usual pensiveness flickers in your expression at the sight of a cautious man who bears the wave in his eyes. At least you don’t look too wary or scared in front of him (he’d hate himself if you feared him too). He takes this as a good sign to continue… with whatever his plan is. It’s practically non-existent, he just wanted to come here and see you. At this point, he’s no less different to his master; he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

You swim toward him—only a bit—and there’s something tentative in the way your fingers press against the glass, like you're waiting to see if he’ll hurt you too. For a few moments, the two of you have this staring contest held in pure silence, until the words come out of his mouth before it gets lost in the crevices of his mind: “Are you lonely?” And you blink; the only answer you could ever give him was a tilt of your head downwards and the faintest nod as if telling the truth was a sin itself, as if admitting to yourself and to someone that you’re lonely was a blasphemy.

And maybe that’s what does it. The softness in your response, the way you fold yourself smaller like you’re trying to disappear, like you’re tired of being seen and never known (and it’s cruel how the nobles, how these terrible humans, had never tried to know your name or see past your scales). It twists something deep in him like a scar being carved open, left bleeding on the edges.

From then on, Phainon returns—always at odd hours, always in secret. He comes with stories: half-truth about the stars, lies dressed up as tales about heroic escapades and adventures, and anecdotes about his beautiful, exceptional horse, who he claims is more honorable than most men. Other times, he just sits. Talks. Mostly about things that don’t matter like how he’s a bad swimmer, how he grew up close to the wheatfields of his hometown, and how he came to be in this state, wielding a sword to protect the very master you detest, who he also detests. There are also poorly-made jokes and horrible-executed magic tricks, but it makes you laugh anyway, bubbles spiraling up around your face, and oh, how lovely it is that he wants to make you do it again.

He brings things: little, inconsequential things he pockets from the outside world—dried seaweed snuck into your tank that he had bribed one of the servants to drop inside after seeing how poor your diet is, a smooth stone that feels like it remembers the tide, a ribbon the same color of his eyes to tie and style your hair with when you are bored. But sometimes, he comes with silence, with a solemn look on his expression, and with blood on his mouth. And in those moments, he will always ask the strangest questions but never seek for answers, only giving you the smallest of smiles.

You never ask him to stay longer, but he always does.

However, it all falls apart on the night of a gathering. Nobles had arrived in finery too expensive for their personalities—loud laughter and strong perfume that reeks in the halls. Their eyes drag over your form like it’s something they own; they found amusement in the scared expression on your face and how you got startled when one of them knocked too hard against the glass. Stationed by the door, lips pressed tight, Phainon’s hand shakes against the hilt of his sword.

The master gestures at you like you’re part of the decor: “She’s a lovely thing, making the whole room feel alive when she’s simply just swimming. Such a shame that’s all she can do.” Like a bowstring taut too far and tight, something inside of him snaps.

When the night has fallen deep and the halls are empty with the absence of people and their mockery, you hear footsteps, heavy, against the eerie quiet. Phainon appears but you can sense that there is something wrong—his boots and clothes are stained with crimson, rust-brown in streaks, and his sword, unsheathed, drips with something of the same color. His eyes, usually calm like an undisturbed lake, are stormed over. The room was still dim, moonlight draped over his surroundings like silk, casting shadows on his already dreary face.

“I couldn’t find the key,” he says, voice trembling. “So, I’m making one.” He tells you to stay back as he raises his sword and with a swing, the glass cracks once. Twice. And finally, on the third strike, it shatters completely. Water comes rushing out in a torrent, spilling like a scream, the sea reborn inside a noble manor. You’re unsure whether this is salvation or something worse, but the man kneels in front of you, wraps you in his cloak, and touches your cheek like you’re made of something holy. “Please hold on to me,” his voice is nothing but gentle and tender,

Your prison fades behind him as he runs through the darkness of the night like something possessed, arms heavy with you, but he never stops. Even if the torchlights appear and blink like the stars above you, even if the shouting grows louder in each second. And when the cliff looms ahead, he doesn’t hesitate to jump, murmuring an apology close to your ear that tangles in the wind’s roar.

(It was as if he had planned this from the very start, the route carved and drawn deep in the corners of his mind, waiting for the right moment.)

The sea swallows you whole and Phainon nearly drowns. You had to drag him to the shore, the knight—once bore glory and status, reduced to a man in drenched clothing and tarnished honor—gasped and coughs, half-conscious, bleeding from his knuckles and some parts of his skin. But he grins at you as if he had finally lost everything—except the one thing that he truly cares for. “Told you,” he rasps in broken breaths, “Protector. Occasional entertainer and magician. Bad swimmer.”

You laugh, the same one you’ve shown him, except it’s clearer and livelier compared to when you were inside your glass cage, and he feels like a little boy seeing the sun after a long time. And perhaps, it was the rising dawn on the horizon and the tide’s sweet hum, but you kiss him—like freedom on your tongue, a wind that gently caresses you, and the sea on your lips. It’s soft like a prayer; an affection that the skies would never understand.

And when you part: “Thank you,” you whisper in the language only the deep remembers and though he may not understand, he knows, and he smiles, patting your head. However, you must go now, even if it pains you to leave and forget the warmth of his skin because it is not safe here and it will never be.

This was fine, it was fine.

You’ve made a promise that you’ll come back to him, after all.

ANAXAGORAS, ALL ABOUT MERFOLK 101

Anaxa—or Anaxagoras—is a man of passion and knowledge, that is definite.

He stumbles upon you by chance, or perhaps by fate despite never believing in it, injured and unconscious by a cove he frequents during his night walks. Moonlight had fractured its surface, silvered shards dancing over your scales—each one a fleeting star in the dark. He wades in, dragging you a little deeper (you were heavy that’s for sure), so that no one else will spot you.

His fingers, ink-stained and calloused, hover above the gash in your tail, hesitant as if touching a relic. Armed with some information on basic medicine and of your species (sourced from rather not-so credible books and papers), he manages to tend to your wounds enough that it looks… somewhat acceptable-looking in a way that it will really help you heal. Though his bandaging is precise, it is inelegant—too tight here, too loose there—and he simply settles with that despite his frown suggesting otherwise. He was not a healer nor a medical student.

Not long after, you rouse from your sleep. Your vision swims as the searing pain overwhelms you. You first see a ceiling of jagged rock, the scent of salt and crushed herbs thick in the air. Then, a shadow moves from right beside you—a man, human, and you immediately panic though useless when the stranger spoke: "Do not thrash." The command is sharp, but the voice is wrong: guttural, clumsy in all its parts. "You are... safe. Ish."

Mer-tongue, but a butchered version of it as if he was chewing rocks. You’re not sure whether to be insulted with how poorly they are spoken or amazed because it’s a human speaking it.

You blink up at him—tall, seemingly gaunt like he could be blown away with a wind’s kiss (an exaggeration, but he really does look like it), and one eye hidden behind an intricately-designed patch. The other glints like a blade in the moonlight. He kneels before you, a hand held out not to touch but to display as he introduced himself: "Anaxagoras," he says, tapping his chest. Then, slower: "Ahn-ax-ah-gor-as." Like you’re the one struggling with language. You say it, syllables much clearer, flowing smoothly than his. He does not take this as an offense, but rather, he’s amused that he’s able to converse with you.

He tells you of how he simply stumbled upon you and treated your wounds, and it seems to have worked seeing that you’re not dead. “You will not die. Probably.” You wheeze—a weak laugh or a protest, even you’re not sure. Although he mistakes it for something else, a mermaid’s dying breath or whatever that made him command you: “Breathe.” It’s sharp but concern clings to it. "I do not want your corpse." Then, switching to his native tongue when Mer-words fail: "You are valuable. Alive."

You flinch and he does not notice the fear that strikes your face. His eyes narrow and he sighs, softening his words this time: “You have something that I want.” Of course. Humans always want something. Typical; you had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes, but you did raise your eyebrow at him. “What could I possibly—”

“Information.” He cuts you off, taking out the journal he had kept hidden underneath his clothes. "Your people’s creation myths, the moment your kind first understood mortality, your understanding of time. Anything—” His voice falters and grits his teeth, as if forcing out the next words: “—to disprove the idiotic texts claiming mermaids simply weave moonlight into their songs.”

He was no linguist nor doctor, but he sure was a scholar in a mad pursuit of answers to his questions, and to disprove the narrative and lies falsely weaved into your species. You tilt your head at him, "Do humans think we’re just fish with pretty voices?" He does not entertain your question, waiting for your answer to his somewhat one-sided proposal, and you sigh. “Fine. But you bring me land-food tomorrow. The red fruit with seeds.”

And that’s where it begins—fate playing its cruel game of tangling the souls of yours and his.

You’ve established the cove as your meeting spot. It’s become some sort of your ritual—every day before the sun sets you resurface from the waters only to see him already waiting for you, idly sitting or writing down something in the same journal he uses to record everything with. You’ve joked of stealing it and dumping it into the waters once, but the look you got from him immediately shot the idea down and sealed your mouth shut.

Day one. He brought you the promised pomegranate but you ended up making a mess out of it. In your own defense, the skin of it was hard and tough, nothing like you expected. On that same day, you taught him the word for ‘sweet’. Day seven. He brings you some oranges in exchange for your beliefs, if any exists. You tell him of the moon, and scorn him for bringing you such a sour fruit. He had to bring you mangoes the next day to appease you. Day twenty-one. He brought you books, one that brings stories and illustrations. Fascinated, you sing him a song that praises the sun. And the days go on and on, until it turns into weeks, until it turns into months, and eventually a year.

Although there are some days where he ‘forgets’ his journal and spends it watching you draw on sand, listening to your voice. At those times, his inquiries are more often directed to you rather than about you.

Over the thread of time, you cannot really deny that the two of you had gotten close; from what were awkward, somewhat one-sided conversations of just him giving you something and immediately asking for knowledge in return, to this—softness laced into your banter, lingering too close to one another, the tide whispering against the rocks as if keeping your secrets, his fingers no longer hesitating before brushing against your wrist, your laughter no longer guarded but bright and unburdened, the space between your world and his shrinking with every shared moment.

“Say it, scholar.” You grin, sharp. “Or do you not know the word for ‘please’?” He clicks his tongue at you, the sound as dry as parchment. "I know many words for 'please' in dead languages. Your dialect's inflection is confusing and inconsistent."

You laugh, the sound bubbling up like seawater over stones. "Truly arrogant. For someone who still says 'hello' like he's choking on a shell, you ask such big questions, don’t you?” and you don’t fail to notice how Anaxa's jaw clenches. "This is a fair exchange. I've brought you"—he gestures to the collection on the rocks—"texts of all kinds, fruits that don't grow beneath the waves, and the coordinates of three freshwater springs that you have insisted on knowing.”

"But you’re lonely.” You say and the realization comes suddenly, but feels obvious now. "All these questions... you just want someone to talk to." I mean, what kind of man would spend nearly half of their day trying to trade knowledge, bargain about trivial things, and yaps about whatever he could think about as if you were some kind of diary, and think it’s nothing but a desire for company?

While he is studying you, learning new things about you, you, too, are doing the same.

For a moment, the only sound is the tide pulling at the shore before he scoffs at the idea you have brought to him. “Ridiculous. You must know that a claim such as yours should—” But before he even gets through halfway of his sentence, you interrupt him (and you know he hates it when he gets interrupted, but you still do anyway). “Then, do you like me?”

“That is irrelevant.” He quickly answers and you laugh: “So, you don’t deny it?”

“You’re delusional,” he says in your language, but the red that faintly dusts his ears tells otherwise. “You’ve butchered it again, geez.” And though he frowns, there's something almost pleasing in the way he scrawls your correction in the margins. Anaxa finds it that you’re the type to command rather than ask, just like right now: “Stay until the sun sets.”

He had told himself many times that it’s just curiosity—the way his pulse stutters when you mimic his laughter and teases the way he pronounces his words that it bleeds into another meaning. Not fondness. Never fondness. But he stayed even when the sun had bled red and sunk into the horizon, even when you had tugged him into the waves, even when you had dragged him deep into the depths, his lips sealed with yours.

And so the bargain continues—not as scholar and subject, but as something far simpler than the gods could ever comprehend. It endures like the silence during dawn and in how your laughter now lingers in the hollows of his ribs like a second heart.

Two souls trading whispers where the sea meets the shore, while the tides keep count of all they cannot name—the weight of his gaze when he thinks you're not looking, the way your fingers brush against one another, the unspoken promise that tomorrow, and every tomorrow after, he'll still be waiting when you surface.

MYDEIMOS; LINGER IN THE SILENCE OF FOREVER AND NOTHINGS

In the pursuit of gold, or dinner, he found a mermaid.

You were caught by mistake, getting trapped in the nets was thrown into the waters after spotting a shadowy mass beneath the waves. You thrashed in it, tangled in the ropes like a stray minnow amid the day’s pitiful haul of flounder. Above you, the crew of pirates gawked, their faces slack with disbelief.

What was thought to be something valuable—maybe a kraken (delusional), a shipwreck’s spoils (optimistic), or at least a tuna large enough to feed more than a dozen hungry pirates (desperate)—turned out to be something completely and utterly different.

One man pokes your tail with a rusty hook, yelping when you snap your teeth at him. A scrawny deckhand with a missing front tooth whistles: “We got a big catch today, boss!” He says, poking your tailfin with the toe of his boot. “Fetch a pretty price in port, eh?”

You’re trapped. You’ve got nowhere to run (literally). In their eyes, you’re practically a diamond waiting to be mined, a jewel in grubby hands.

You shouldn’t have gotten close to the water’s surface, you shouldn’t have been too curious, you should have stayed away, you begin berating yourself at the realization that you will most likely end up as a trophy or worse, soup.

“You’re scaring her.” A voice,gravel wrapped in velvet, came from behind them. The crew parted like tidewater before the moon, revealing who possibly is their captain: Mydei—you learned his name from one of the humans’ whispers—, a storm given a human shape. His presence is a brooding shadow, appearing before you clad in a mix of red, dark maroon, and gold, and his chest covered in crimson tattoos. He crouches, eye level with your trembling form.

For a moment, you expected a knife at your throat. You’ve braced for it even. But instead, he sliced the net open with a flick of his dagger. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath as he worked on peeling the rope from your scaled hips, as he untangled you out of this mess. You’re confused, but still scared, and the group surrounding you appears to be dumbfounded. “Since when does the captain play nursemaid?” The comment does not fly past your ears and neither does for Mydei, but he ignores the gossiping lot.

This is when you see how the net’s ropes had bitten into your skin, leaving angry red lines. His touch was clinical, careful, but his thumb brushed your wrist where the fibers had bitten deepest, and you hiss.

He’ll utter an apology and the word sounds foreign in his mouth. “You’re wounded.” And that was true. Blood had streaked your scales and your tail seemed to be limp, muscles protesting at even the thought of movement. When he has asked you if you can understand what he’s saying, you nod your head and he exhales through his nose, relieved, then jerks his chin toward the horizon.

“Good. This stretch of sea is crawling with hunters. Pirates. Idiots who’d sell your teeth for a mere drink and with your state right now, you’re an easy catch for them.” His voice is low, matter-of-fact, but the truth of it coils cold in your stomach. Your kin had warned you of humans, of their dangers and how they had brought ruin to your fellowmen. “You’ll stay aboard. Until you’re not useless anymore.”

But no one had ever mentioned the ones who wear cruelty as if it were armor, only to reveal gentle hands beneath—they never spoke of storms with quiet eyes, of tempests that shelter and protect rather than bring destruction.

He lifted you—careful, slowly—into his arms, water dripping down his boots, blood staining the fabric of his clothes. The crew’s protests die mid-breath when Mydei levels them with a simple look. You were then hauled to a hastily emptied storage room, lining up a tub that was dumped with buckets of water inside. It’s cramped. Claustrophobic. A far cry from the endless blue you call home, but you bite your tongue. When the alternative is bleeding out on a pirate’s deck, you’ll take the tub.

Against your very expectations, however, the days that you have spent on this ship were not the least uncomfortable, if you put aside your cramped space. The crew members who had scared you at first were actually a bunch of nice people who often perform tricks to entertain you and make you laugh. Although you had bitten one of them when they called you ‘the captain’s pet’.

They bother you nearly every day, either barging into the room to chatter and ramble while they sit on the floor, whether drunk or not, or carrying your tub with you still in it to somewhere else in case you’re sick of seeing the empty wooden walls—so you won’t forget the sun.

They carve chess pieces of terrible forms that it’s hard to discern the rook from a pawn so you can play (you cheat; Mydei catches you and flicks your forehead). One brings a stolen mirror, fragile-looking and probably would shatter in pieces with a small drop if you’re not careful enough, to “fix your boredom, milady”—until Mydei confiscates it: “She’ll hurt herself with the damn thing”. Albeit he’ll return it to you soon after when he sees the pleading look on your face. And that’s not all as the youngest cabin boy sneaks in at dawn to whisper gossip, but flees when Mydei’s shadow darkens the doorway. “Out, it’s too early in the morning to bother her.”

It’s not hard to fall into their routine, especially that they seem to have adopted you like a stray cat.

Your moments with Mydei and him alone were never meaningless, too. And over the course of time you have spent with him as he always has, and I mean always, visit you every night, you’ve learned three things: 1.) He enjoys pomegranate juice, 2.) He knows how to braid and style hair, 3.) He’s a gentle person.

Words between you and him were scarce. Though you can understand his language, you couldn’t speak it; he couldn’t decipher your words either. But the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full, like measuring one’s words and gestures before they’re lost to the harsh waves. When he braided your hair, his hands would often linger. When you hummed old lullabies, his shoulders relaxed. The both of you were at peace just being near each other.

But the day will fall and the night will come, and this too, must come to an end—you must return to the waters. “Go home,” Mydei had said while he watched you move your already-healed tail up and down, though struggling a little in the tight space. As an act of rebellion, you decided to sink deep into the tub, but: “You know you can’t drown, right?”

Well, he earned a glare from you when you resurfaced. “This is not your home, fishy.” You know that. You’re not stupid, especially when the evidence is in front of you, covered in scales and glistening in iridescent hues. He can sense your hesitance, sighing: “You surely are more trouble than you’re worth.”

Eventually, after much water-splashing and stubbornness, you’re now being lowered overboard with a jolly boat. The crew lingers on deck, their usual raucous chatter muted—even the deckhand you bit sniffles into his sleeve. Salt spray stings your eyes, or maybe it’s something else. The ocean stretches before you, vast and familiar, but your tail feels leaden.

Mydei sits across you and helps you return into the gentle waves that yearn for your caress. The ocean embraces you like a long-lost limb, but for some reason, regret and something heavier weighs in your chest. But Mydei, ever so attentive, sees the grimness of your expression: “This is not goodbye.” He flicks water at you—something that you often do to him. “Those idiots will miss you.” He jerks his chin toward the ship, where the crew waves exaggeratedly. “So don’t be a stranger.”

He will, too, but you don’t need to know that. And with one last look, you leave and disappear into the darkness. Mydei lingers a little longer on his spot, watching, waiting, and seemingly wanting to see you once more, but he doesn’t, and so, he finally turns away, resigned to the very fate he is forced to take from the stars.

Weeks later, with a whimsical quest for treasure and drunken bet of finding one on a rumored place, the ship will find a chest of gold, gems, and everything that screams of value precisely where there should be nothing. Along with cheers was a chorus of “See, I told you so!” and “I was right!”, but Mydei knows only one person capable of this—you, now seen perched on a rock, grinning. A ruby, the size of his fist, is thrown at him to which he catches, a smile flickering on his lips. “Show-off.”

288 notes · View notes