#this feels very ed coded too

[cha-lii]

take a shot every time a shounen protagonist apologises for their trauma

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana. 

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible. 

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him. 

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore. 

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.” 

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you. 

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways. 

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Thursday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?” 

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Thursday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him. 

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.” 

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest. 

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.” 

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple. 

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much. 

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp. 

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond. 

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion. 

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you. 

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.” 

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.” 

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away. 

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack. 

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.” 

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm. 

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him. 

 “I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder. 

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack. 

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler. 

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED. 

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby. 

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him. 

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse. 

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim. 

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you. 

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do. 

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole. 

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye? 

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?  

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby. 

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby. 

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled. 

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street. 

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening. 

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.  

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel. 

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object. 

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling,  but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious. 

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee. 

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way. 

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page. 

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily. 

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own. 

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in. 

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.  

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable. 

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself. 

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands. 

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you. 

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once. 

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you. 

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be. 

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did. 

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise. 

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood. 

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

[kilojulietsierra]

"Oh Sweet Irony "- Dr Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: You hate doctors, and will do just about anything to avoid seeing one even if you're sick. A fact that your boyfriend Dr. Jack Abbot sometimes finds very annoying. This time though, you're miserable and you cave to his request, "Let me take care of you."

TW: most of my content is considered 18+ content, sick fic, comfort fic, medical inaccuracies, fluff, inappropriate workplace behavior but the PG kind, I wrote this sick and I think Dr. Abbot would def make me feel better just saying...

(Special thank you to the gif creator for the above because DAMN)

~~~~~~

Jack maneuvered his way through the packed waiting room and had to fight to hear you over the phone, "Well, hon, if you feel as bad as you sound you need more than NyQuil." He sidestepped a stoller, "No, it's not helping. I can tell." He made the corner and hugged the wall on his way to the doors, "Just come in and we can get you something that will actually do some good." He waved to the girls behind the glass and mouthed a thanks as he heard the security doors buzz and the lock disengage, "I know… I know… No, I'm not going to let you sit in the waiting room." He gives Bridget and exapserated look as he approaches the hub, "Hon, please, just come down. I'll tell the girls up front you're coming and they'll let you right in." He dropped his bag in his chair and swiped his badge to clock in, "Ok, well… it's either that or stay home tomorrow and I'll come over when I get off work." He nods, "That's what I thought. I'll see you when you get here. Love you."

~~~~

You felt like shit. All week you had been fighting off some sort of bug, the worst of it Monday after you got home from work. You thought that would be the end of it. The stuffy nose, cough, sore throat was really no big deal. NyQuil and DayQuil became your best friends. A week later and that cough just wouldn't quit, your stomach hurt from the constant coughing and chest spasms, you could hardly breathe, barely sleep more than a couple hours now without waking up to a coughing fit so violent you thought you might throw up.

Jack had been busy all week, his schedule and yours just couldn't line up and he'd been stuck late most mornings. You had told him, vaguely, that you didn't feel great but didn't want him to worry. Then he had called you on his way home, and you had not been able to hold back the coughing fit.

So, he had told you to call him after work and let him know how you were feeling, because he knew you wouldn't skip work. Now, here you were sneaking your away around the edge or the PTMC Emergency waiting room fighting back your anxiety and another coughing fit.

You hesitated a little the closer you got to the doors but one of the women at the admissions desk behind the glass saw you and waved. You chewed your lip and stepped a little closer with a careful smile. She waved you on through and you heard the buzz and clunk of the security doors. You can feel the burn of the glares and the muttering behind you as you pulled the heavy door open and stepped through.

Bridget saw you almost immediately and meets you halfway for a hug, "Hey sweetie."

You gave her a smile and a half step back, "Oh, don't hug me, I'm gross."

"Oh please, come here." She gave you a hug and then looked you over, "We just got a call for a code coming in, so he might be a minute okay."

"You guys are busy, I should just go."

"Not a chance." She tugged you towards the hub, "You just sit right here and I'll get you some water."

You sit in one of the office chairs and slouch back into it trying to take up as little space as possible. Bridget came backi a moment later with a bottle of water and a North Face jacket you recognized as one of Jacks. The ED was always chilly and you were grateful for the warmth and familiar scent as you shrugged into the slightly too big jacket.

Outside you hear the sirens as the ambulance arrives and Jack appears out of nowhere in full work mode.

You hated doctors, but this one you think, this one you certainly didn't mind.

From your chair behind the counter you watched as he quick stepped down the hall and as terrible as felt and as much as you didn't want to be here, it was kind of fun to see that side of him. The confident, collected and in charge Dr. Jack Abbot was the exception.

Jack sees you on his way by and even in the midst of chaos while calling our orders he takes half a second to catch your eye and give you just a hint of a smile without missing a beat.

~~~~~~

"Hey sweetheart," Jack says softly as he approaches and squats down in front of you, "C'mere." He pulls the chair closer so he can take a good look at you. He hasn't seen you all week and he feels like shit because you look miserable. He gives your leg a squeeze as he stands, ignoring the way his knees catch and pop, "Bridget, can you get a,"

"Six is all set up for you."

Jack gives her smile and a nod as he takes your elbow to help you stand up. While one hand never leaves your elbow he grabs a tablet with the other and guides you into the room.

"Don't forget to leave that door open Dr. Abbot!" Bridget teases from behin.

You turn to give her a look and then Jack, "Is there an HR complaint or something I should know about?"

Bridget snorts behind you as Jack just gives you both a side eye. He pinches your side and nudges you to keep walking, "Policy. No male doctors alone in rooms with female patients."

"Lame, next you're going to tell me we're not allowed to sneak off to have a quickie int the on call room like on Greys Anatomy."

Bridget laughs louder behind you and Jack just gives you a look.

You give him a wink and a little smile but the urge to laugh triggers another coughing fit and reminds you that you're not just here to say hi.

~~~~~~

In the exam room he helps you out of your jacket and up to sit on the bed. "I didn't check in or anything."

Abbot leaned against the counter, "Had Bridget sign you in." He gave you a soft smile as he watched you try not to fidget. He pulled up your patient file and had to bite the inside of his cheek because there was something about putting his own name in as your emergency contact that still got him. More and more he also found himself thinking about seeing his last name there instead of yours. He also couldn't wait to get you on his TRICARE because your employers health insurance fucking sucks. "You okay if I do everything myself?"

When you nod he can see that you're still anxious.

He puts in your info. He knows your personal information, height and weight, your medical history, he knows your anxiety meds dosage and all. "Your period started last Sunday right?" He smirks at you when you still blush but nod. He checks the box next to sexually active, he entertained the thought of asking you just to see you blush a little more, then types in 'partner vasectomy' in the line by birth control method.

Once everything was filled in he set the tablet down and washes his hands in the sink. He forgoes the gloves because it's you. Part of him wants to be able to feel you, part of him knows his touch will feel better for you than the latex.

He feels a little weird taking your temperature and bp because holy shit it has been a long time since he hasn't had a nurse to do the initial work up. Jack rests the back of his fingers against your forehead while he waits for a temp. "Little high." He says softly, long before the thermometer gave him a read out and showed he was correct. Your temperature is a little high. "Okay so far?" He asks as he puts the machine away and catches your eye. His fingers stroking up and down your forearm.

You nod, "You'd make a good nurse." You tease and then cover your mouth as another chest racking cough takes over.

The quip makes him crack a grin as he rubs your back through the coughing fit. "I'm going to listen to your lungs okay?" He waits for your nod before he pulls his stethoscope down and catches the way your eyes track the routine action and the way his forearms flex with the movement. "Ok, sit up straight for me and take a couple deep breaths." He goes through the motions, front and back, listening to your lungs and frowing. He rubs your back while he's still standing close and whispers, "Good girl." He drapes his stethoscope around his neck again as you cough and fight through a shuddery breath. "You take anything in the last few hours?"

"No," You shake your head, "Had a feeling you were going to make me come in."

"I won't make you do anything hon, you know that."

"You know what I mean." You're so tired that the urge to lean into him.

He sees it and nods, give you another smile, "I'm going to take a look at your throat okay?" When he grabs the scope and a tongue depressor he steps up in front of you and pauses. The two of you lock eyes for a second and he shakes his head, "Don't make me say it."

You bite your lip and try not to laugh because you know it'll just make you cough. "Make you say what Dr. Abbot?" You know Jack is unflappable, often stoic wilth a killer poker face, and your dislike for doctors aside, you enjoy that you can make this one blush just that little bit.

Jack never does say it, but the look he gives you says plenty. So does the way he smooths the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip when he's done. He sets the tools down on the tray, "Head up for me, just going to feel right here." The way he holds your neck, feels for swelling, is so clinical and second nature that he wouldn't think anything of it if he hadn't seen the way your eyes flickered. So, sue him if his touch lingered a little, or if he traced the line of your throat with his thumb just to see those pretty eyes flutter one more time.

He know he shouldn't be standing between your legs like he is, and he sure as hell shouldn't set his hand on your thigh when he says, "I'm going to call for a chest x-ray."

"What? Why?" Your panic rises, the anxiety back in full force.

The hand on your leg squeezes and then he slowly begins to stroke his knuckles over the top of your thigh in a soothing, repetitive motion. "You're okay, just want to be safe. Your lungs sound like trash and I just want to rule out pneumonia." He appreciates the ability to be straighforward and say things more bluntly than normal. He also appreciates that you trust him enough to calm down quickly. "I'll set you up with a nebulizer while you wait, going to help you breathe a little easier. I'm going to pull some labs too." He reiterates, "Just to be safe."

You try not to fidget while he preps the needle and the blood tubes.

"You're okay hon, it's just one poke. I'm good at this promise." He gives you and wink. "You want me to hold your hand?"

You scoff which turns into a cough, "Don't you need both hands?"

Jack shrugs, looks you in the eye, "I can do it with one."

"Please don't."

With another wink he sets your arm where he needs it, "Quick and easy I promise." Each touch is long and slow, smooth and lingering. He uses every ounce of practice and skill he possesses to make it as painless as possible for you. "There you go." He strokes the sting of the needle away with his thumb until you finally look his way again.

Brdget knocks and pokes her head in, "Respiratory is here."

Jack nods and looks back to you, "Big, deep breaths on that until radiology comes down with the portable, okay?" He tips your chin up for a kiss, but you hesitated.

"I'm gross."

"Don't give a shit." He gives you a quick kiss and strokes his thumb over your brow. "I'll be back to check on you soon as I can." One more kiss, to your forehead this time and then he's on his way out of the room. As he passes he gives Bridget a look.

"What?" She plays along, tries not to smirk, "I didn't see anything."

Once Jack is out of the room Bridget helped you get comfy on the bed with a blanket fresh out of the warmer.

"You know, I don't understand why the patient satisfaction is so low around here."

"Sweetie, the only satisfaction that man gives two shits about, is yours."

After a beat you both break into a laugh which triggers another coughing fit. Taking that as their cue RT came in to set you up on the nebulizer. Then all you could do was wait.

~~

After that Jack got busy again and you tried to tamp down the anxiety as the minutes dragged on,as you finished the nebulizer treatment, as radiology came and went. There was little worse in your opinion than laying alone in a hospital bed, but Jack had been right the nebulizer had helped your breathing and you were coughing less.

The longer you were in there the more you actually began to wonder about those terrible patient satisfaction scores everyone was always complaining about because every single person you had come into contact with that night had seemed to go above and beyond. The rad tech, the respiratory tech, every single nurse that stopped in to check on you. You were beginning to wonder if there wasn't some sort of big, red alert by your name that said; "ABBOT"S GIRLFRIEND DON'T FUCK IT UP".

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts and you sit up a little more as Jack comes in.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Ready to go home."

"I know hon." He props a him on the edge of your bed and rubs your leg through the blanket, "Rads and your bloodwork came back. Bronchitis. Just a little infection in your bronchial tubes, right here," He gestures to the general area on his own chest, "Usually takes care of itself if you take it easy."

You nod, "Which… I did not do."

He gives your calf a squeeze and his lips tick up in a smirk, "No, you did not. Which is why I'm sending you home with a goodie bag full of meds which you will take until they're gone. And, when I say home, I mean my house. Ellis is writing you up a doctors order right now to send to your boss."

"Jack…"

Completely unphased he continues, "While you're at my place for the next few days you will do as little as possible. Am I clear?"

You looked up at him, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say yes sir and salute?"

Jack relaxes as soon as the words are out of your mouth. He shakes his head slightly and smooths his hand over your leg again, "Sorry." He meets your gaze and softens his expression, "Just promise me you'll take it easy. Let me take care of you."

With a slight cough you reached out for his hand, and smiled as he took it, stroked his thumb over the back of your knuckles. "I'm willing to bet you're not the greatest patient either, so you can't give me that much shit."

That gets him to smile, "Ready to go home?"

"Yes please."

Jack helps you sit up and slide out of the hospital bed, then helps you back into his jacket. "Ok, go home, my place," he emphasizes, "Take a good hot shower, take your meds and go to bed." He goes to guide you out of the room, but you tug him to a stop. "What's wrong?"

You bit your lip, "Thank you." Your voice was soft and a little apologetic.

For just a minute there was no hint of Dr. Abbot, he was just your boyfriend Jack. "C'mere." He pulled you in close and wrapped you in a hug, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He chuckled, pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered, "See, coming to the doctor isn't so bad is it?"

You smile besides yourself and lean into him, "Depends on the doctor."

He walked you out to the hub and one of the nurses caught him right away, "We have a shooting victim eight minutes out."

Just like that Dr Abbot was back. "Ok set up trauma one, someone call OR give them a heads up." He turned back to you and softened, "I'll see you at home." Even in the middle of his ED, trauma en route, Jack gave you a smile and a quick kiss. "Go get some rest."

You nodded and watched as he turned to get back to work. Then with a smile of your own you turned to Bridget, "So, when do I get to fill out that patient satisfaction survey?"

~~~~

[undyingdecay]

pairings: robert reynolds x reader, very slight void x reader cw: mentions of menstruation (periods), mentions pwp, smut, afab reader, vaginal fingering, bloodplay, period sex, oral (female receiving) talks and mentions of mental health issues. 

he wasn’t stupid.

bob might’ve been a lot of things — anxious, awkward, prone to spacing out in tense situations and staring at you for a beat too long when he thought no one was watching — but he wasn’t dumb. he knew enough to be careful. to listen. and after a little over three months of being tangled up with you — not just in bed, but on bad days and restless nights, movie marathons in the compound rec room, sitting on rooftops pretending neither of you wanted more — he picked up on your offhand comment like it was some classified briefing.

“starting my period.”

simple words, said with that same careless tone you used to tell him to shut the fridge door with his foot or that alexei was hogging the hot water again. but it stuck. lodged itself in his chest somewhere.

and because bob reynolds hadn’t exactly had many long-term, intimate relationships with women — the extent of his knowledge of menstruation limited to a half-assed, awkwardly delivered high school sex ed class taught by a red-faced gym coach and a string of blurred, impersonal hook-ups that rarely lasted beyond a week — he did what he did best when something scared him: he researched.

‘how long does a period last?’ ‘do periods hurt?’ ‘how to ease period pain?’ ‘can you have sex on your period?’

anxious google searches at two a.m. his leg bouncing as he read articles, scrolled reddit threads, watched a youtube explainer hosted by a painfully chipper woman named emma.

he even cornered yelena in the kitchen, pretending to root through the fridge while asking casual as he could manage.

“hey… uh… what do you do when someone, uh, y’know… it’s their… cycle? anything you’re supposed to do?”

yelena, amused and not missing a beat, rattled off a list of practical things between mouthfuls of leftover chinese takeout. heating pads. herbal tea. gentle back rubs. don’t be squeamish. clean towels. listen. don’t make it weird.

bob, as always, took it far too literally.

not an hour later, he’d returned to the compound with four bulging cvs bags in either arm — pads, tampons, menstrual cups (he’d bought one of each brand), midol, heat patches, three kinds of herbal tea, three heating pads, a lavender-scented candle, and for reasons only known to him: two pints of ice cream and a stuffed bear he swore “looked like you, kinda.”

when you looked up from the couch, bleary-eyed and cramping, at the absurd pile of supplies in his arms, he gave you that sheepish, boyish smile. the one that dimpled his cheek, hair falling into his eyes. your faint shake of your head was all the reassurance he needed. you weren’t upset. just quietly endeared, and he could live off that feeling.

since then, bob had gotten weirdly good at tracking your cycle.

he downloaded a period app, color-coded days on his own calendar, learned terms like ‘luteal phase’ and ‘follicular.’ he experimented with herbal teas in old mason jars, a little heavy-handed with the dried chamomile and raspberry leaf, but the warmth was good.

so was the way his palm would settle over your lower stomach when you curled up in bed, heat radiating from him in a way that always felt other. not like normal body heat — but something deeper, something from whatever endless void lingered behind his kind blue eyes.

his presence clung to the walls now.

or maybe it was just in your head. the cool, electric pressure of a storm about to break. the scent of rain on concrete, that heavy, metallic sweetness of ozone before lightning strikes. not sadness — not quite. something heavier. thicker. impossible to name.

you didn’t question bob about the void.

never pushed. you let him come to you, when he wanted to, which was rare enough that it gnawed at the back of your throat sometimes.

and when he didn’t — when whatever it was hung around longer than it should, curling in corners like cigarette smoke, clinging to the ceiling, coating your skin in its cloying, electric hum — it rattled you more than you’d ever admit. why did the void feel like it — no, he — was everywhere?

a dull throb spread through your gut like a tight fist, and you groaned.

“fuck…”

not the kind of sound bob was used to hearing from you — not the breathy, pleased kind that made his stomach flip and his cock twitch.

he lifted his head quickly from where he’d been lazily mouthing at your nipple, his lips sticky with spit, a faint pink flush creeping up his neck. he still swore up and down that it wasn’t for him — no, of course not, it was practical, he’d read somewhere that breasts got sore and maybe a little gentle stimulation helped, okay? it wasn’t weird. it was helpful.

“are you okay?” he mumbled into the cold, close air of the room.

he must’ve dozed off again without realizing it — body heavy and sprawled half over you. the scent of rain was stronger now, though the windows were still shut tight. the room felt thick, close. the kind of pressure that made your ears pop.

he fumbled for the lamp, light spilling out in a soft, murky halo, and his gaze flicked to where your arms were curled tight around your stomach, your body instinctively folding into itself.

“do you — wanna tea? i can go—”

“it’s too late, bob. can’t wake everyone up over this.”

he hesitated, then nodded. chewed the inside of his cheek.

“do you want your heating blanket, or my hand?”

you managed a pained little nod and a sharp suck of breath, and he was already moving — that too-warm palm pressing flat against the curve of your lower stomach. his touch wasn’t normal. not like anyone else’s. it wasn’t heat like a person’s. it was deeper, more like something that seeped under your skin, heavy as wet wool, a warmth that hummed and thrummed in your bones. you wondered, sometimes, if it came from there — from that endless place inside him where the void lived.

he murmured soft things — stuff you couldn’t even really parse, his voice a low, steady rumble against the ringing pulse in your ears.

and it did help.

at least until another sharp pain twisted through your core.

“i—uh—” he started, then coughed, rubbed the back of his neck, staring somewhere over your shoulder like he was too embarrassed to make eye contact.

“i read somewhere,” he began, voice too fast, words running together, “i promise it’s like a well-accredited article, well—that—thatorgasmsreallyhelpperiods.”

he said the last part in one rushed breath, barely audible.

you barked a half-laugh, breathless around the ache.

“jesus, bob.”

“i mean—if you want. i just—if it hurts that bad—i just—”

“yeah,” you said, exhaling sharply. “yeah, okay.”

his pupils dilated, something shifting behind his gaze. that thing you didn’t name.

the air went heavier, thicker.

he was already moving down between your legs before you could change your mind.

and bob wasn’t smooth. wasn’t practiced. not with this.

his big hands gripped your thighs, palms sticky with sweat, faint tremors betraying him. when he spread you open, the scent hit him sharp—metallic, hot, dizzying.

he flinched—just barely. you caught it.

his throat worked, adam’s apple bobbing.

but he didn’t stop.

he dragged your panties down slow, eyes flicking from your cunt to your pad, gaze lingering, fascinated. like he’d thought about this too many times, and now couldn’t believe you were letting him.

he tossed the fabric aside, messy, fingers sinking into the softness of your thighs again—pressing them wider, holding you open like he couldn’t help himself.

he looked up, that boyish smile on his face—so painfully sweet, so wanting. eyes glassy, breath already shaking. like he needed your approval or he’d die.

you glanced down. the wet patch on his boxers was already blooming, precum soaking through, a pathetic stain against his cock straining hard beneath the fabric.

you gave him a nod.

he whimpered. quiet, desperate. and dove in.

the first kiss landed on your inner thigh—mouth hot, open, leaving a smear of spit against tacky skin.

another kiss, closer.

closer still, tongue flicking out, tasting the salt, the faint tang of copper just beyond.

he swallowed thickly.

messy. gross. it should’ve stopped him.

it didn’t.

when his mouth finally pressed to your folds, tongue dragging a thick, trembling stripe through them, the sound he let out wasn’t human—half-moan, half-choked gasp.

his fingers dug harder into your thighs, grounding himself. and he kept licking. clumsy, hungry, not even trying to be careful—letting blood and slick smear across his lips, chin dripping, tongue sliding through the mess.

“fuck—” he breathed, voice thin, eyes fluttering shut. “taste so—so fuckin’ good—”

he didn’t stop. couldn’t. nose bumping your mound, breath catching.

and below you, he was moving—hips grinding helplessly against the bed, rutting like an animal. obscene. desperate. soaking through his boxers like he’d cum already and didn’t even notice.

“mmm—please—” he gasped into you, voice muffled. “wan’ more—wan’ all of it—please—”

he sounded sick with it. sick with how badly he wanted this.

every now and then he’d pause—just to mouth over your slit, tongue dipping inside, sucking down everything you gave him, swallowing audibly.

you felt the scrape of stubble against raw skin. the sting of his fingers still bruising your thighs. the way the room seemed to press in.

heavy now. dense.

the void.

you felt it in the air—cold, slick, like smoke crawling across the ceiling. static buzzing against your skin. bob didn’t seem to notice—too far gone, too drunk on you.

“fuck—need—need to put my fingers in too—” he babbled, voice raw.

you barely had time to brace before he shved two fingers inside, knuckles deep, slick with blood and spit. the sound was obscene—wet, filthy, echoing in the quiet.

you gasped, hips jolting.

bob whined. high and thin, hips bucking helplessly against the bed, precum staining the sheets beneath him.

“you—taste—so fuckin’—perfect—” he sobbed, voice cracking as he leaned in again, licking around his own fingers, swallowing everything he could.

the air felt tighter now. heavy. thick with something not yours. not his.

the Void still watching. feeding.

but bob—poor, ruined bob—kept going. kept crying soft against you, tears mixing with the mess on his cheeks, fingers shaking inside you now, tongue dragging another slow, broken stripe through blood and slick and salt.

and you felt him—still grinding, still humping the bed beneath you like a dog in heat.

“love you—please—don’t wanna stop—please don’t make me—”

his voice was wrecked.

and when you looked down—his face a red-smeared mess, mouth open, tongue shaking against your clit—you knew he was too far gone to save.

too sick on you. too deep.

and somewhere in the shadows—something else smiled.

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

[bbyg4rl]

I wanted to say thank you for answering my question so quickly and kindly but I was also curious if you'd be willing to write anything about JJ with a reader that has an eating disorder. I know ed's are a very sensitive topic to a lot of people so if you aren't comfortable with it I 100% understand. I used to have an ed that I still often struggle with, something like anorexia but never fully anorexic if that makes sense but that's why I was asking. So if you are comfortable with it I'd love a concept/thought thing about it that's completely fine too. ALSO. JJ is very kiss me thru the phone by soulja boy and Sammie codded

-🦇

You sat on the counter, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie sleeves covering your hands. The granola bar sat unopened beside you.

JJ didn’t say anything at first. Just walked over, peeled it open, and broke off a piece like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Open,” he said quietly, like he was asking, not telling.

You hesitated, but he waited—patient, soft-eyed. So you did.

He slipped the piece past your lips like he’d done it a thousand times, like he wanted to. And when you chewed, he gave you the faintest smile, eyes never leaving yours.

“See?” he murmured. “Still human. Still loved. Still here.”

Another bite. And another.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t count the pieces or comment on how little you’d eaten that day. He just fed you, slowly, gently, like it wasn’t about food at all—but about care.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he whispered, brushing a crumb from your lip.

And when you leaned into his chest afterward, stomach full—not of food, but of safety—you believed him. He didn’t offer you a lecture or a plate of food you couldn’t look at. Just opened his arms and let you fold into him.

Just a little. Just enough.

read more concepts here !

as someone whos always had struggles with anorexia, this one is so personal to me, ive had a draft dealing w this since i started this page in jan and i havent been able to finish it yet, but heres a lil blurb, which isnt fiction rly bc i was lucky enough to have someone in my life who helped me walk thru that hell path, my dms and my asks are always open for you love ❤️‍🩹 this isnt something you have to deal with alone and ill always listen no matter how irrational or stupid or constricting it may feel. you're always loved. remember that ❤️‍🩹

also yes jj is very kiss me thru the phone coded

[amethystarachnid]

Hey!

Could you maybe do Loki dating a surgeon or sorts (Like general surgeon maybe and the reader is from Earth obv) and he visits to find her very busy with patients constantly piling up?

BURNOUT AND STARLIGHT

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: You’re a trauma surgeon devoted to saving lives...until the cost nearly becomes your own. Loki, your lover from Asgard, watches your struggle from afar, stepping in to comfort you when the weight becomes unbearable. Between Earth and stars, you begin to realize you can’t heal others if you forget to heal yourself.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nedical trauma and death (including loss of a young patient), Burnout, emotional exhaustion, and grief, Mentions of dissociation and crying

ᯓ★ I really hope I understood your request and I hope that you like it <3

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The hospital never sleeps.

The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you move quickly through the corridors, clipboard in hand, sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. It's late—maybe three, maybe four in the morning—and the Emergency Department is thrumming with a low, relentless energy that feels more like a battlefront than a place of healing. You’ve been here for what, sixteen hours now? Eighteen? It hardly matters. Time blurs when you’re this deep into the work, when every second feels like it belongs to someone else's life and not your own.

Your pager buzzes at your hip, sharp and insistent. Another incoming trauma. You sigh under your breath, shifting the clipboard to your other arm and pushing through the heavy doors back into the main ED. You barely feel the exhaustion anymore. It's been beaten into you, carved into your bones like the steady ache you carry in your back and shoulders.

You love this work. You do. It's what you were meant to do.

But lately, it feels like something's missing.

You don’t let yourself dwell on it. You’re too good at compartmentalizing. It’s a skill you’ve honed out of necessity—the same skill that keeps you from breaking when you're elbow-deep in a gunshot wound or barking orders over the roar of a code blue. You don't let yourself feel too much. Not while you're here.

Still, there’s a hollow ache in your chest that no amount of caffeine or adrenaline can seem to fill.

You shove open the bay doors and step into the chaos.

Paramedics are wheeling in a man, his shirt soaked with blood, his face pale and drawn. You snap into action immediately, rattling off instructions, feeling the familiar click of your mind slipping into gear. It's automatic, clinical. Hands steady, voice firm.

This is who you are. This is what you do.

But somewhere, buried under the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of monitors, you feel the frayed edges of something tender and aching inside you.

You think of him.

You think of Loki.

You don’t even realize you’ve whispered his name under your breath until a nurse glances at you, puzzled. You clear your throat and refocus, pushing the thought aside. He’s not here. He’s never here when you need him most.

Because he lives in another world. Literally.

You knew it when you started dating him—that loving him meant accepting that he didn’t belong to this one. He had a throne, a destiny, a home that wasn’t Earth. And you had yours: a hospital badge clipped to your scrub pocket and a life that demanded every scrap of your energy.

Still, you can't help but wonder sometimes what it would be like if things were different.

If he could stay.

If you could leave.

The patient crashes briefly on the table, and you don’t have time to wonder anymore. You lose yourself in the desperate, beautiful work of keeping him alive.

Hours pass. Maybe a day. It's hard to tell.

Eventually, you're leaning against the nurses' station, scribbling notes on a chart, when a strange shimmer in the air makes you pause. You blink, thinking maybe it's just the exhaustion playing tricks on you.

But then the shimmer coalesces into something solid, something real.

Someone.

Your breath catches.

He stands there, just beyond the edge of the nurses' station, clad in dark leathers and emerald-green, his black hair falling messily across his forehead. His presence feels like a crack in the fabric of reality, like the world has bent around him just to make space.

Loki.

Your heart stutters, a painful, startled thing against your ribs. For a moment, you can't move, can't breathe. You just stare at him, taking in the impossible sight of him here, now, in your world.

He smiles, slow and devastating.

"Hello, darling," he says, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine.

You realize suddenly that you're still holding the chart, your pen frozen in midair. You slam it down on the counter and rush around to him, nearly colliding with a passing orderly.

"Loki," you hiss under your breath, grabbing his arm and tugging him into a nearby empty room. You shut the door behind you and spin to face him, heart hammering.

"You can't just—" you start, but the words die in your throat as he steps closer.

"I had to see you," he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. His touch is gentle, reverent, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he looks away too long.

Your anger fizzles out before it even properly ignites. All you can feel is the aching swell of longing that rises up to drown you.

"You shouldn't be here," you say, voice shaking. "I’m working."

"I know." His thumb grazes your cheekbone. "I can see that. You look... exhausted."

You laugh, a short, brittle sound. "Yeah, well. That’s what happens when you don't sleep for two days."

His brow furrows in concern, and for a moment, you think he might actually whisk you away somewhere—somewhere safe, somewhere quiet, where the world can’t touch you. You can almost feel the magic curling around him, an instinctive, protective thing.

You step back, putting distance between you before you can do something stupid, like ask him to take you with him.

"You can't stay," you say, forcing the words out.

He nods, but there’s something stubborn in the set of his jaw. "Then come with me."

You blink at him. "Loki—"

"Just for a little while," he says, stepping closer again. "An hour. A day. Whatever you can spare."

You hesitate. God, you want to. You want to throw your pager in a drawer and vanish into the void with him, if only for a little while. But reality claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

"I can't," you whisper. "I have patients. I have responsibilities."

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if pained by the words. When he opens them again, they're filled with something raw and desperate.

"I miss you," he says simply.

You swallow hard, fighting back the sudden rush of tears. "I miss you too."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything you can't say.

He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a small, gleaming object. It looks almost like a pocket watch, but the surface shimmers with magic. He presses it into your hand.

"If you ever need me," he says, his voice low and serious, "use this. No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing—I’ll come."

You stare down at it, your fingers closing around the cool, intricate metal.

"Loki..." you breathe, overwhelmed.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

Then he steps back, the air around him shimmering again, the edges of his form already starting to blur.

"I'll see you soon, my love," he promises.

And then he's gone.

You stand there for a long time, staring at the empty space where he was, the magical device still clutched tightly in your hand.

Outside the door, the hospital marches on—urgent, noisy, unrelenting.

You take a deep breath, pocket the device, and step back into the chaos.

Because this is your life.

For now.

---

You make it through the next few hours on autopilot.

Consults, stitches, assessments. Paperwork that never ends. Your mind drifts constantly to the weight in your pocket, the small device pressing against the fabric of your scrubs like a secret. You could call him. You could have him here, just for a moment, just long enough to breathe.

But you don't. You wait. You endure.

You tell yourself it’s what you’re supposed to do. You tell yourself you're stronger than this gnawing ache inside you.

And then the trauma pager goes off again.

Code crimson. Incoming pediatric trauma.

Your stomach twists even before you hear the rest.

You’re already waiting at the trauma bay when they wheel her in—tiny, fragile, broken. A car accident, they say. She wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt. A mess of blood and broken bones and too many injuries for one small body to bear.

You move on instinct. Gloves snapped on, orders flying from your mouth before you’ve even thought them through. You hear yourself speaking, hear the team moving around you, but it all feels distant. Like you’re underwater.

They rush her to the OR. You’re right there, scrubbed in, heart pounding.

You fight.

God, you fight.

For hours, you battle for her life, hands slick with blood, eyes burning with the intensity of it. You’re careful, methodical, brilliant. You give everything you have.

And it’s not enough.

The monitors flatline.

You bark orders to start compressions, your voice hoarse with desperation. You shock her. You pump her heart manually with your hands. You do everything you know how to do, and when the attending finally calls it—time of death, 4:12 AM—you stand frozen over her tiny, broken body.

The room is silent except for the whir of machines still running out of habit.

You strip off your gloves and gown mechanically, tossing them into the bin. You wash your hands because you have to, but they don’t feel clean. You stare at your reflection in the mirror above the sink—pale, hollow-eyed, blood smeared along your jawline where you must have wiped your face without thinking.

You don't feel like yourself anymore.

You barely make it out of the hospital. You clock out, numbly. You fumble with your car keys. You drive home with your hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white.

The second the front door clicks shut behind you, the weight of it all crashes down.

You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor, burying your face in your hands. The sobs tear out of you without warning, violent and raw. You can't stop them. You can't breathe around them.

You tried. You tried so fucking hard.

And it wasn't enough.

You fumble in your scrub pocket and pull out the device Loki gave you, your fingers trembling. You don’t even think—you just press it, hard, as if willing him to appear.

For a second, nothing happens.

And then the air shimmers.

Loki materializes in the middle of your living room, his cloak swirling around him, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. One look at you, crumpled and broken on the floor, and all the mischief, all the arrogance drains from his face.

"Darling," he breathes, rushing to you.

You don't have the strength to move. You just look up at him, tears streaming down your face, and he drops to his knees beside you without hesitation. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest with a tenderness that shatters whatever's left of your composure.

You clutch at him desperately, fingers twisting in the fabric of his tunic, as if you can anchor yourself to him and stop the world from spinning.

"I lost her," you whisper brokenly into his shoulder. "I tried—I did everything—I couldn’t save her—"

Loki rocks you gently, his hand stroking up and down your back, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. "I'm here. I'm here, my love. You are not alone."

You don't know how long you stay like that, wrapped in his arms, crying until there’s nothing left but a hollow ache where your heart used to be.

Eventually, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, cradling you as if you weigh nothing at all. His magic flares softly, flicking the bathroom lights on ahead of him as he carries you through the apartment.

"You need to rest," he says quietly. "You need care."

You don’t argue. You can’t.

You let him strip the bloodstained scrubs from your body, his movements gentle and reverent, never crossing any boundary you don't offer him. You stand there, shivering, dazed, as he runs a bath, the water steaming and fragrant with something calming—something Asgardian, probably.

When he leads you into the water, you sink down gratefully, the heat seeping into your aching muscles, the scent filling your lungs with something other than grief.

Loki kneels beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves. He dips a cloth into the water and begins to wash you with slow, careful strokes, as if you’re made of glass and he’s terrified of breaking you further.

He doesn't speak. He just stays with you, grounding you with the steady rhythm of his hands, the silent comfort of his presence.

When your skin is clean and your tears have dried, he wraps you in a thick, warm towel and lifts you again, carrying you to the bedroom.

He dresses you in one of his soft shirts—it falls to your mid-thigh and smells like him—and then tucks you gently into bed. He slides in beside you, gathering you against him, his body a protective wall of warmth and strength.

You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—leather, magic, something uniquely Loki—and feel some small, broken part of yourself start to stitch back together.

His hand strokes through your hair in slow, hypnotic patterns.

"You are not a god," he murmurs against your temple. "You are mortal, and you are magnificent. You gave her a fighting chance, and that is more than most could ever hope to do."

You close your eyes, letting the words sink into the hollow spaces inside you.

You don't feel better.

Not yet.

But wrapped in Loki's arms, you feel something else.

Safe.

Loved.

Slowly, finally, exhaustion pulls you under. Your breathing evens out, your body growing heavy and warm.

Loki stays awake long after you've fallen asleep, watching over you with a fierce, unyielding devotion.

Because if he could, he would tear the stars down from the sky to ease your pain.

Because he is yours.

And you are his.

Always.

---

The morning comes slow and golden.

You drift up from sleep wrapped in warmth, cocooned by soft sheets and the steady rise and fall of Loki’s chest against your cheek. His arms are still around you, holding you close like he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go. You breathe him in—the faintest scent of him lingering on your skin—and for a long, precious moment, you don't move.

You let yourself pretend.

Pretend this is normal. That he’s here, that you belong like this.

Eventually, you stir, your body aching but lighter somehow. Loki’s arms tighten instinctively around you, his nose nuzzling into your hair, a low, contented sound humming in his chest.

"Good morning, darling," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

You tilt your head back to look at him. His hair is tousled, his features soft in the morning light, without any of the usual sharp edges he wears like armor. He's beautiful like this—unguarded, yours.

You reach up and touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over the curve of his jaw. He turns his head and presses a kiss into your palm, slow and deliberate, and something inside you melts.

"Good morning," you whisper back, your throat raw but a little less broken.

He smiles—a real one, rare and radiant—and leans down to kiss you properly. His lips are warm and soft against yours, gentle at first, then deepening as his hand slides into your hair. He kisses you like he’s savoring you, like he has all the time in the world to learn every shape and sigh of your mouth.

When he finally pulls back, you're breathless and dizzy and a little drunk on him.

"Stay here," he says, a mischievous glint sparking to life in his eyes. "Rest. I’ll make you breakfast."

You blink at him. "You know how to cook?"

He sits up, looking insulted. "I am a prince of Asgard. I can perform complex illusions, wield ancient magics, and command armies. I think I can manage scrambled eggs."

You laugh, a soft, cracked sound that still feels foreign after everything, but it’s real. He smiles like he’s won some secret prize and presses one last kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed.

You watch him go, shamelessly admiring the way his bare back flexes under the soft light, before you burrow deeper into the covers.

You hear cabinets opening, something clattering, a muffled curse in what you assume is Old Norse. You can't help but smile.

You drift in and out of sleep for a little while longer, lulled by the comforting noises of him moving around your kitchen.

Eventually, the scent of something vaguely resembling food wafts into the bedroom. Loki appears in the doorway, looking absurdly proud of himself, holding a plate piled with slightly uneven, slightly burnt eggs and toast.

He sets the plate down on the nightstand and climbs back into bed, positioning himself so he can feed you a bite with a flourish, clearly very pleased with his efforts.

You chew dutifully, trying not to laugh.

"It's... edible," you tease.

He scowls dramatically. "Such ingratitude. I risked life and limb for this culinary masterpiece."

You lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, lingering there. "Thank you," you murmur against his skin.

He softens immediately, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in for another kiss—deeper, sweeter, lingering. His tongue brushes teasingly against yours, coaxing another small laugh from your throat.

You could stay like this forever.

But reality is a cruel thing.

You pull back slowly, resting your forehead against his. "I have to go back to work this afternoon."

You feel him stiffen slightly, his arms tightening around you.

"No," he says, almost petulantly. "You need rest."

"I know," you whisper, your chest aching. "But they’re short-staffed, and I... I can’t just not show up."

He pulls back enough to look at you, his expression torn between anger and helplessness. "You give them everything you have," he says bitterly. "And they would take more if they could."

You don't deny it.

Because he's right.

But it’s the life you chose, the oath you took.

"Loki," you say softly, cupping his face in your hands. "This is who I am."

He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nose, trying to master the storm inside him.

When he opens them again, they’re luminous with something fragile and aching.

"You are stronger than any warrior I have ever known," he says, his voice low and reverent. "But even the strongest need tending, my love."

You kiss him again, slow and lingering, pouring everything you can’t say into the touch of your lips against his. He kisses you back like he’s trying to memorize you, hands framing your face with a tenderness that breaks you all over again.

When you finally pull away, you brush your thumb over his lower lip, feeling the faint tremor in his breath.

"I'll be okay," you promise.

He doesn't believe you.

But he nods anyway.

Because he knows he can't hold you back, no matter how much he wants to.

He will be waiting.

Always.

---

The hospital is a different world during the day—louder, busier, more frantic.

You step through the sliding glass doors with your ID badge clipped to your scrub top, your hair hastily pulled back, your mind already trying to summon the strength you aren't sure you have.

You left Loki curled in your bed, tangled in the sheets that still smell like you, his eyes heavy with something too complicated to name. It had nearly broken you to slip away from him. But you couldn’t stay, no matter how much you wanted to.

Duty calls. It always does.

You push through the hours mechanically, moving from room to room, chart to chart, trying to summon the same clinical focus that usually shields you. But you're tired—bone-deep and soul-deep—and today, it shows.

You don't notice the subtle flicker of magic that trails you like a shadow.

You don't notice the way the air shimmers faintly at the edge of your vision, or the way the lights above your head seem just a little softer, kinder.

You don’t see Loki, concealed from mortal eyes, moving unseen through the crowded corridors.

He stays close—always close—his magic a silent, invisible shield between you and the world. He can't heal your grief, can't take away the ache that gnaws at you, but he can do small things. Things that might lighten your burden, even if just a little.

When your coffee nearly slips from your trembling fingers, an unseen hand steadies it.

When your chart goes missing, it appears again, neatly stacked on your station.

When the overhead lights flicker and threaten to plunge your OR into darkness mid-procedure, the generators kick in faster than they should have—Loki’s magic smoothing the systems before disaster can strike.

He watches you work, the ferocious grace of you, the way you hold yourself together with sheer willpower. Every exhausted smile you offer a patient, every steady, capable order you give a nurse, every little act of stubborn, impossible hope—he sees it all.

And it makes him ache.

He could spirit you away from this place. He could wrap you in magic and silk and shield you from every pain and sorrow.

But he won’t.

Because he knows you would never forgive him.

Because you are stronger than that.

Because this is who you are.

He leans against the far wall of the trauma bay, cloaked in illusion, watching as you tend to a boy with a broken arm, your voice gentle and patient as you explain the cast he'll need. Your hands are sure and steady, even as the exhaustion shadows your face.

He wants to gather you into his arms and never let go.

Instead, he settles for what he can do: weaving tiny spells into your path, softening the air around you, ensuring that everything that might trip you, hurt you, tire you further—fails.

You move through the day unaware of the way you’re being cared for, protected.

You think it’s luck when the supplies you need are always stocked. You think it’s coincidence when your least favorite attending gets called away to another floor right before your evaluation. You think it’s a miracle when the day seems, somehow, a little less heavy than you expected.

You don't know that it's him.

You don’t know that every step you take is watched with a devotion so fierce it could level mountains.

It’s nearly evening when you finally get a moment to breathe.

You sink into the worn leather couch in the on-call room, letting your head fall back against the wall, your eyes fluttering shut.

You don't notice the faint shimmer beside you.

Loki sits at the edge of the room, invisible and silent, watching you with something almost like reverence. You are so strong, so brave, and yet he sees the cracks now, hairline fractures running just beneath the surface.

He wants to heal them all.

He stays until your pager buzzes again, dragging you back to your feet with a weary groan. You don’t see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the instinct to snatch you away, to steal you back to safety.

He follows you into the next room, and the next.

And when your hands falter just slightly as you stitch a laceration closed, when your vision blurs for half a second too long, he is there. His magic steadies your fingers, clears your head, lends you strength you don't even realize you're drawing from.

He would burn the world for you.

Instead, he gives you this: small, unseen mercies.

By the time your shift ends, you are staggering with exhaustion, your legs barely carrying you back to the locker room.

You slump against the cool metal of your locker, forehead resting against the door, too tired even to cry.

"Just one more day," you whisper to yourself. "Just get through one more."

A ghost of a touch brushes your hair back from your face—no stronger than a whisper of wind—and you straighten up without even knowing why, a tiny bit lighter, a tiny bit less alone.

You pull your jacket on, grab your bag, and head out into the night.

Loki watches you go, his heart twisting.

He knows he cannot stay much longer. He knows he has duties of his own to return to, an entire realm waiting for him.

But tonight, he will follow you home.

Tonight, he will stand unseen by your window while you sleep, guarding you from every nightmare that dares to touch you.

Because he loves you.

And for you, he would be invisible. He would be silent. He would be anything.

As long as you are safe.

As long as you are loved.

---

By the time you make it home, your body feels like it's running on fumes.

You fumble with your keys at the door, your hands clumsy, your mind slow. You expect to find the apartment dark, empty, silent—but the second you step inside, you feel it.

Warmth.

Magic.

Loki.

He’s already there, lounging across your worn sofa, one leg draped casually over the armrest, a book open on his lap. His eyes lift the moment he senses you, and the soft, slow smile that spreads across his face makes your chest ache.

You drop your bag onto the floor with a graceless thud and shut the door behind you. The tension bleeds out of you at the mere sight of him.

"You’re here," you whisper, your voice hoarse from fatigue.

"Of course," he says simply, closing the book and setting it aside. "Where else would I be?"

You don’t ask how he got here before you.

You don’t ask why today, when everything felt just a little less unbearable, you caught glimpses of impossibilities out of the corner of your eye—papers stacked neatly when they shouldn't have been, doors held open by invisible hands, weariness lifting just long enough to get through a critical moment.

You don't ask.

Because some things, you know, are not meant to be spoken aloud.

You cross the room without a second thought and sink into him, into the sanctuary of his arms, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

He holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.

For a long time, there’s only the hush of your breathing, the soft kiss he presses to your temple, the way his fingers card lazily through your hair.

"You’re exhausted," he murmurs.

You hum in agreement, too drained even for words.

"And you have no obligations tomorrow," he continues, a gleam of mischief curling in his voice. "Correct?"

You nod slowly against him.

"Good." He draws back just enough to see your face, a flicker of excitement sparking in his eyes. "Because we’re leaving."

You blink at him, too tired to process. "Leaving?"

"For Asgard," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You need rest. You need to be... spoiled."

You shake your head, laughing weakly. "Loki, I can't—"

But you don't even finish the protest. Because he’s already gathering you in his arms, standing smoothly as if you weigh nothing at all.

He whispers a word in a language older than Earth itself, and the room spins.

When the world rights itself again, you’re no longer in your apartment.

You’re standing in a grand, golden hallway, the ceilings soaring high above you, the floors polished to a mirror shine. The air smells different—cleaner, richer somehow—and the low hum of magic buzzes pleasantly under your skin.

You blink in stunned silence.

Loki grins down at you, all roguish pride and boyish delight. "Welcome back to Asgard, my love."

Before you can think of anything to say, a pair of attendants appear, bowing low with practiced grace. One of them holds out a bundle of soft, luxurious clothes in shimmering shades of silver and deep green.

"For you, Lady Y/N," the attendant says reverently.

You look at Loki, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, utterly unrepentant. "You deserve to be treated as you should be. As royalty."

He sets you down gently and nods toward a set of ornately carved doors. "Go, change. Refresh yourself. Then dinner."

You are too stunned to argue.

You disappear into the chamber beyond, where a marble bath steams invitingly, petals floating on the water's surface. You sink into it gratefully, letting the heat and the soft scents of strange flowers unknot the last of the tension in your muscles.

When you emerge, the clothes fit perfectly—soft against your skin, tailored to your shape, the fabrics lighter than anything you’ve ever worn.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the gilded mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back: not the exhausted surgeon, not the broken girl, but someone softer, more luminous.

Someone loved.

You step back into the hallway, and Loki is waiting for you.

His eyes darken the moment he sees you, something fierce and possessive flashing across his face before he tucks it away behind a smirk.

"Exquisite," he says, offering his arm.

You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow, and he leads you through the palace, past towering columns and glowing crystal sconces, until you reach a grand dining hall.

It’s not a feast for a hundred—it’s a feast for you.

A private table set for two, laden with dishes you don’t recognize but that smell impossibly good. The air is filled with soft music, the melodies strange and hauntingly beautiful.

He pulls out your chair with a flourish and waits until you’re seated before taking his place across from you.

The meal passes in a haze of laughter and stolen glances, Loki’s wit light and effortless, his attention never straying from you for a second. He fills your plate with whatever you want, pours you a goblet of some sweet, golden drink, and teases you gently whenever you try to protest that he’s fussing too much.

But you let him.

Because deep down, you know he needs this too.

He needs to give you what he can, in a world where so often you give everything away.

Afterward, he leads you through a winding garden, the stars above shining larger and closer than they ever do on Earth. The air is cool, the paths lined with soft glowing stones.

You stop at the edge of a fountain, the water sparkling under the moons.

He pulls you into his arms, swaying with you to the music only he can hear.

"You saved lives today," he says quietly, brushing his knuckles along your jaw. "Even when no one saved you."

You swallow hard, your throat tightening.

"You are a wonder," he continues, lowering his forehead to yours. "And I will spend every day I am allowed showing you that."

You tilt your head up, capturing his mouth with yours before the tears can fall. He kisses you back fiercely, hands curling into your hair, his body warm and solid against yours.

You lose yourself in him—in the safety, the devotion, the love that wraps around you more surely than any magic ever could.

When you finally pull away, he cups your face, his thumb brushing the dampness from your cheeks.

"Come," he says, voice thick. "Sleep in a real bed tonight, my queen."

You let him lead you back through the palace, back to a suite larger than your entire apartment, the bed piled with velvet and silk.

He undresses you carefully, reverently, until you are bare before him, and then he slips into the bed beside you, gathering you against him.

You fall asleep with his heart beating steady under your ear, the stars of another world shining outside your window.

And for the first time in a long, long while, you dream of peace.

---

Morning in Asgard doesn’t creep in.

It floods.

Soft gold spills through the sheer curtains, lighting the room in a warm, otherworldly glow. The silk sheets are tangled around your legs, the air still scented faintly with jasmine and something sharper—something distinctly Loki.

You stir slowly, one arm reaching out instinctively—and finding him already watching you.

Loki lies propped on one elbow beside you, bare-chested, the sheet slung low over his hips. His hair is mussed from sleep, his eyes lit with a quiet, adoring hunger.

"Good morning," he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.

You stretch, sighing softly as you roll toward him, your fingers tracing idle lines across his chest. "You’re staring."

He arches an eyebrow. "How could I not? You're beautiful in all lights, but in this one..." His gaze drops lower, slow and deliberate. "You're divine."

You blush, laughing under your breath, and lean in to kiss him. He meets you halfway, his mouth soft but deepening quickly, his hand sliding down to your waist. He pulls you closer until your leg is hooked over his hip, your bodies flush, heat rising between you like a slow tide.

"You deserve mornings like this," he says against your lips. "No alarms. No rushing off. Just me. Just you."

"I could get used to this," you whisper, breath hitching as his fingers slide up under the thin sheet draped over your back.

"Then do," he murmurs, voice a low promise. "Stay here. With me. For one more day."

You don’t answer—can’t answer—not when his mouth finds the curve of your throat, not when his hand slips lower, coaxing a gasp from your lips. His name escapes you in a broken whisper as his touch turns firmer, more deliberate.

The moment stretches, deep and golden, poised on the edge of something more.

And then—

Ding.

You both freeze.

Your brows knit, confused for half a second—until the sound comes again, distinct and familiar and horribly real.

Your phone.

Loki groans quietly, his forehead dropping to your collarbone.

"I warded your device to connect to Midgard's networks," he mutters, clearly regretting it now. "In case you needed it while here. I did not expect it to turn against me so soon."

You reach blindly for your phone on the nightstand, heart already dropping.

It’s a message from the hospital. Urgent call. Emergency case. Available personnel needed ASAP.

You stare at it for a moment, your body still thrumming with warmth, tangled in satin sheets and Loki’s arms.

Then reality slices through you like ice.

You sit up, dragging the sheet with you, thumb already flying across the screen to respond. Your heartbeat pounds against your ribs—habit, duty, instinct.

Loki watches silently, the lines of his jaw tightening, something dark and unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

You look at him.

"I have to go," you say softly, already slipping out of bed.

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just sits there, watching you gather your clothes, his gaze heavy with something between heartbreak and resignation.

"You just got here," he finally says, quiet.

You nod, throat tight. "I know."

His fingers flex slightly against the sheets. He doesn’t stop you. Of course he doesn’t. He never would.

But you can feel the ache in his silence as clearly as if he shouted it.

You dress quickly, moving through the motions on autopilot, and when you reach for your phone again, you pause.

You turn back to him.

"I wanted to stay," you whisper.

His eyes find yours. "I know."

And then he rises, steps toward you, and pulls you into his arms one last time.

He kisses you like he’s memorizing the taste of you, his hands cradling your face with a reverence that makes your chest burn.

When you finally pull away, breathless and aching, he rests his forehead against yours.

"I’ll bring you back," he says softly. "As soon as I can."

And then, with a twist of his fingers and a shimmer of green light, the golden palace disappears, and you’re standing once more at your apartment door.

Back on Earth.

Back in scrubs.

Back in the storm.

---

You make it through the shift.

Barely.

The emergency turns out to be a multi-car pile-up—three ambulances arriving back-to-back, a dozen patients flooding the trauma unit. It’s chaos. Controlled chaos, but chaos all the same.

You don’t have time to think. Not about Asgard. Not about Loki. Not even about the way your legs feel like they might give out beneath you.

You’re soaked in sweat before the first hour is over, your gloves red and sticky, your voice hoarse from barking out orders. One of the patients codes right there in front of you—a teenager with too much blood in his chest, not enough in his brain—and you don’t even flinch. You crack his ribs open and dig your hands into his chest like it’s just another procedure.

Because it is just another procedure.

Until it’s not.

Until he dies.

And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

You scrub out in silence, your hands trembling slightly under the hot stream of water. You stare at the blood circling the drain, the pink foam clinging to your skin, and you feel... nothing.

Not horror. Not sadness.

Just empty.

You barely make it to the locker room before you sit down and don’t get up for twenty minutes. You ignore the concerned glance from one of the residents, the gentle pat on the back. You say you're fine.

You’re always fine.

But inside, something has shifted.

And when your shift finally ends and you walk out into the cold night air, something in you breaks open, quiet and irrevocable.

You love your job. You know you do. The helping, the healing, the second chances. It’s all worth it. It has to be.

But you can’t keep living like this.

You’re going to die from it. Not all at once—but by inches.

Every night without sleep. Every trauma you carry home. Every time you walk into your apartment too exhausted to eat, to breathe, to be alive.

This isn’t sustainable.

And maybe for the first time... you admit it.

By the time you reach your door, you’re blinking back tears, your limbs too heavy, your chest too tight.

You unlock it with shaking hands.

And he’s there.

Of course he’s there.

Loki stands in the middle of your living room, dressed in black, his hair pulled back, eyes already on you. He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t need to.

Because the moment you look at him, really look, the dam breaks.

You don’t even drop your bag. You just cross the space between you and fall into his arms like a collapsing star.

He catches you instantly.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ask.

He just holds you.

And gods, it undoes you.

You cry into his chest, silent and shaking, your fists curled into the fabric of his shirt. He rests his chin atop your head and rocks you gently, his arms strong and sure around you.

"I can’t do it anymore," you whisper, barely audible.

He doesn’t stiffen.

He just kisses the top of your head.

"I know."

"I thought I could handle it. I thought I could save everyone. But it’s killing me, Loki. Slowly. Quietly. And no one even sees it."

He pulls back just enough to take your face in his hands, his expression aching with tenderness.

"I see it," he says. "I’ve always seen it."

You close your eyes.

"I don’t want to stop being a doctor," you murmur. "But I don’t want to lose myself doing it."

"You won't," he says, firm. "We’ll find a way. I will find a way."

You look at him, eyes glassy. "You can’t fix this with magic."

"No," he agrees. "But I can carry it with you. As long as you let me."

You exhale shakily, nodding before you even fully process it.

"Okay," you say. "Okay."

He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he’s trying to draw every ounce of pain out of you and replace it with something softer. Something safe.

He helps you out of your coat, your shoes, the bag still slung over your shoulder. He leads you to the couch, wraps you in a blanket, and curls around you like a shield.

You’re asleep before you even realize your eyes are closing.

And in that moment, even with everything still uncertain, you know one thing for sure:

You’re not alone in this anymore.

You never will be.

part 2 where reader leaves the hospital and lives on Asgard? maybe being a doctor there? do asgardians even need one? idk

[jazzyblusnowflake]

(If this was asked before, I swear to god.) FullCompany (NUziVJ) Headcannons?

aaaaaaaaa time to write once more- i missed being able to type away like the lil shit i am-

anyhow- okay lets see- gonna add some things here- tbh my ideas was mostly for Jenvy ideas mainly- but i guess ill fit Uzi in there lol

Some JeNVUzi HCs:

[once again- Drone au only, and maybe minor suggestive content but not nsfw]

The polycule is essentially formed around Uzi pulling them back together-

J's original reason for siding with Cyn which was rooted in fear- was on the basis that she still had her team on her side so she could keep them safe and so theyd have eachother to rely on even after Cyn destroys everything. she did not however, account for Uzi coming along and messing everything up and ruining her team's alignment while she was "dead".

the entire reason J tried to kill N or V at any time was cuz she knew a clone of them would be sent back anyway- she has basically become desensitized towards death in general given she had also died around 12 times herself [canon]- V and N try to help her through this- during which they also deal with Vs behavior and Ns trauma too.

to communicate with J they often had to spar with her- seeing as she hated talking about feelings- but this became their own thing they all did afterwards to unwind and communicate- as J opened up a lot easier after feeling like she was reached out to.

Uzi and J bond over anime and gaming- the latter being somewhere J could actually use her anger on more effectively XD

they all like reading books every now and then where one would read and the others snuggle or cuddle- they take turns. [this is from their manor days]

J is... unable to emote or show emotion easily and it eats her alive. she can't show the appropriate needed emotion to the mood of the room and it makes her have breakdowns- occasionally throw up- as though you are desperately trying to cry but the tears wont come so you try heaving it out- make yourself fit in and look normal by trying to FEEL something- but she cant. J is a dated business model drone- custom made for office work- she was made to be this way- Cyn didn't change her- and she grows to hate herself for it. so when a situation happens that she doesn't know how to react, she leaves or hides- until N,V or Uzi find her- usually disassociating or somewhat catatonic.

Uzi occasionally feels out of place with the group, as though she's just being a literal 4th wheel, since they have history together. the others try to show her that she is important to them each in their own ways-

addressing the elephant in the room- yes, it took a long time for N and J to come to terms with eachother- J eventually accepting that her original reason for hating N [him being better than her or preferred over her esp by Tessa] wasn't important anymore- and tries to appreciate him and V and Uzi more in whatever is left of her life.

make no mistake V and J are still very much bitchy on a surface level- just cuz they are all growing close does not mean they are all now lovey dovey with eachother or sweet and character-redemption-ed with everyone around them. therefore: "playful catfights" >:3 !

V and Uzi tease J alot- this is one of the reasons why J found more comfort with N- not gonna tell him to his face tho lol.

J teaches N to draw better and they bond over that alot-

Uzi and J like attention alot- and they wanna get it by being as wordless as possible- very cat coded.

Uzi, V and N like to drag J into doing more normal things that have less to do with work. so far J has mostly shown some interest in writing and maybe poetry but she WILL shoot your head off if you try to read her stuff-

J's first kiss was with Uzi- N and V having kissed once back at the manor being eachothers first kiss. J thinks V kisses the best tho lol.

N and V like to cuddle a lot- J and Uzi are usually dependent on mood-

V likes to bite- J likes to be bitten, N and Uzi like both- :3

J likes playing with N and Uzi's fluffy hair. V only lets N touch her hair.

during intimate cuddles- J has passed out the most lol. Uzi following a close second lol-

Uzi and J yap alot about tech work-

hmm this is all i can think about for NOW-

:"3

[towasdandelion]

YOUR SUGGESTIONS ARE OPEN!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆ HAI I HOPE YOURE DOING WELL!!! as always no pressure to write this but i have had an idea rotating in my head since like uhhh two weeks ago?? nd i think it would make for a very fun smau ♪(´▽｀)

LETS JUST SET THE SCENE: mc is hanging out with a ghoul who is a very good friend of theirs!! THEN the ghoul leaves their side for one reason or another, and someone else swoops in and starts flirting w the mc (someone like haku or rui for the sake of ghoul rivalry?? or maybe just some random general student who knows.)

mc texts them something to the effect of IM BEING HIT ON HELP and the ghoul comes RUNNING!!!!!

ofc you can do with this what you will these are simply my brain worms <3 (if i may ask for ritsu to be included pleasepleasepleaseplease okay THANK YOU)

and ofc thank u for you writing as always!!! hope u have the best day ever (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Hiiii! They are they are hehe (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) honestly I never even imagined getting any! Maybe that's why they make me feel a bit overwhelmed at times (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ writing for someone is fun but it definitely feels different! I'm doing good now though thank you!! That's a very nice idea by the way so let's get goooo. I decided to kinda do a mix, a few with ghouls rivalry and a few with general students since I couldn't decide!! This was so much fun to write (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Sinostra and Obscuary ghouls when someone flirts with you

Ritsu would be there in the blink of an eye. He would be like "Excuse me? I do hope you're aware you're breaking law right now. You can't touch people without their consent" (Proceeds to recite a whole ass paragraph) to which Kaito just pales before leaving in hurry without another word. He would then make sure you're okay and after that.. he'd drag you to the library, sit you down and open the Penal code, telling you to read the paragraphs he pointed to until you can recite them. He wants you to be able to fend off anyone who dares to get too close in case he's not around. Very thoughtful!

Taiga wouldn't usually care, but there's this important thing - you're his lucky charm. And that really changes things. He's there in literal seconds, glaring at the student as he approaches you, draping his arm loosely over your waist. "Ya lost or somethin?" Is all he needed to say to make the poor guy shiver. He would stand there frozen until Taiga grins at him, showing off his sharp teeth. The student gulps before quickly excusing himself. Problem solved. Without another word Taiga would smoothly escort you to his room, where he then make you pick a gun he'd later train you with... Extreme measures you say? Please, it's Taiga we're talking about.

Romeo would mutter to himself on the way, complaining how useless you are, not even being able to rid of some random guy. He gets furious upon noticing the student reaching for you, immediately slapping his hand away. "Just what do you think you're doing touching her!? Scram if you don't want me to make you beg for mercy!" The student's eyes widen. The guy is not even able to utter a single word. Finally he just let's out an awkward laugh and walks away. And now finally, Romeo can scold you for being so apathetic in this situation. If you dare to tease him about how protective he got just a minute ago I can't guarantee that you'll come out of this alive...

Rui lets out the biggest dramatic gasp upon seeing Haku openly flirt with you when he arrives. "Hey, hey buddy! Sorry but the role of her simp is already taken, thanks though!" He would say before throwing an arm over your shoulder and swiftly leading you away from the potential suitor, not even giving him a chance to say anything. Poor guy just got rejected not by the girl, but a ghoul who appeared to be your boyfriend. Yes, that was Rui's goal. Even if you two weren't together, it was more fun that way! He will pout playfully until you reassure him he's still your favorite flirt.

Ed, just where did he come from? You could have sworn you never heard any footsteps approaching yet there he was standing behind you, resting his head on your shoulder and looking at the guy with a lazy smirk. "My, my, and who is this gentleman? Is he a fresh meal for me? How kind of you" He'd lick his lips and you just know the guy wishes he never spoke to you in the first place. He sweats profusely before muttering a lame excuse and running as fast as he could. A shame, Ed admits but then he teases about you becoming his meal as a reward for scaring away the guy. By any means, feel free to get this idea out of his head.

Lyca's brows furrow the moment he spots you talking to Rui. He approaches you without hesitation, taking a stand between you and the blonde. "She's not interested in you" he states flatly, glaring at his 'opponent'. Surprisingly, he will then lecture him, saying to never ignore girl's body language and to never touch without consent. Rui blinks in confusion but nods along nonetheless, before laughing it off. He quickly excuses himself before walking away. Lyca doesn't understand the look on your face though. Why are you staring at him like that? Did he do something wrong?

[gnomewithalaptop]

I'm still too distracted to write so here have a list of YJ-cast centric fics that make me froth at the mouth

Kon-centric recs:

I Want It That Way (1990s Tim/Kon) by WynterSky / @wynterstars -- A revamped, 90s-style Superboy origin story with added Lex Luthor AND a lil bit of 90s Robin for spice and flavor. Honestly, this whole series is so elite -- goes hard with the Superboy mythos + angst PLUS the third fic leans hard into the secret identity shenanigans in a way that'd make Miraculous Ladybug jealous. The first fic splits its attention between Tim and Kon, but the latter two are solidly Kon-centric

one plus one (easy math) by connerdrakewayne / @comphetkoncass -- Cassandra Cain and Kon go to a gala together. I'm always a sucker for a good Cass + Kon friendship. This one's very short and sweet, and it gets the job done -- 10/10 would read again

a timeline can be a haunted house by connerdrakewayne -- post-universal reset Kon angst + terrible coping mechanisms! This one goes so hard I read it three times. Tbh this author has an excellent handle on Kon as a character in general, so I honestly recommend just checking out their whole fic stash

Tim-centric recs:

Top 10 Secret Identity Fails by @havendance -- Tim's new English teacher is his on-again-off-again superhero teamup Helena Bertinelli (aka the Huntress). This one's just fun, okay -- the whole thing reads like it could be straight out of Tim's 1993 solo run, plus I love the dynamic between him and Helena. Overall just a very cool vibe

only the dead stay 17 forever by Sky_Dust (couldn't find their tumblr sorry) -- Listen, I've really been restraining myself here, because I realize my love for time-travel bullshit is not universal, but I genuinely couldn't not include this one. This bad boy is a Tim-centric time-loop featuring a seriously unhinged Tim -- definitely a darker tone, but I can't stop rereading it

Bart-centric recs:

reflections on respawning: a gamer's uncertainty by merils / @mamawasatesttube -- Bart has a hard conversation about his death and subsequent resurrection (feat. Kon) man, I just vibe with this one so hard. It's such a thoughtful take on Bart's more contemplative side, while still managing to keep his personality intact

the backlash to the backlash to the thing that's just begun by @kermit-coded -- trans/gnc impulse my beloved <3 also we get some funky Max & Bart bonding, made much rawer and more real by the fact that it's the 90s and nobody knows what they're doing. Again, feels like it's straight out of Bart's solo series

Cassie-centric recs:

you and I, we are more than just this armor by @suzukiblu -- KonCassie bonding + gender feels. They're both so trans in this, and the author does a great job of really digging deep into their complicated feelings (both about gender and about each other)

(also PLEASE somebody give me more Cassie-centric fic recs I'm literally begging you)

Team recs

I'm all yours but you're all mine by suzukiblu -- Poly Core 4 Soulmates AU! Essentially, everybody gets their 'soulmark'/soulmate-identifier (not really, but the best word) right when Kon wakes up in his pod, and because Superboy hasn't really made his big splash yet, they misidentify their soulmate as Superman; this is an issue mainly because 1) they're all 14-15 and Superman is roughly 30-ish, and 2) by the time this fic takes place, Superman is pretty verifiably dead. Currently in-progress, but this is such an interesting and fun take on the usual soulmates trope. I pinky promise you won't regret reading it

Love, Not Loved series by @popsunner -- hoooomygod this series makes me cry literally every time I read it, it's genuinely one of the most realistic representations of grief I've seen on AO3. Basically explores the general fucked-up-edness of pretty much the whole YJ Core 4 Squad dying one by one, with each fic focusing on a different funeral (complete with survivor's guilt, regular guilt, and just plain old complicated feelings). We get Cassie feels, we get Tim feels, we get Bart + Kon feels -- it's the whole shebang. Don't worry -- there's a happy ending eventually, but you def gotta work for it. This series beat me up and stole my lunch money and I'd happily do it all over again

Lost the Last Piece of Me by InsaneTrollLogic / @last01standing -- YJ Core 4 Animorphs AU! I'm sad to say I've never read the original Animorphs series, but every single Animorphs AU I've ever read has been such high quality. Unsurprisingly (I love this author, okay), this fic is no exception to that rule. Solid alien-invasion plot, character driven, and the world-building is explained well enough that even a newbie like me can understand (feat. some TimKon, but it's not the main focus)

Ikonoclast by anantipodean (couldn't find a tumblr) -- Tim and Kon get sent to an alternate reality that's almost (but not quite) like their own. This one's just fun for me -- I love the TimBart buildup and the worldbuilding on the other Earth is a funky time. Also, the other universe's Tim is goth and absolutely cannot stand mainstream-reality Tim, and I find that extremely funny for some reason

[wannaeatramyeon]

The Crew Heads with Reader: Shopping

G/N. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo).

Bro Code | Dinner | Shopping | Television | Gacha | Board Games | Suits

The general public is split between taking a wide berth-

(Who can blame them? The four intimidating men in your company cast a menacing aura.)

-and ogling.

(Who can blame them? The four striking men in your company cut a very impressive figure.

Figures.

Tall and muscular, pretty and lean, charming and swoonworthy, sexy and brooding... There's someone for everyone.)

Samuel walks a few steps ahead, as if he's too good to be seen with the likes of you lot. He's not an equal, he's the leader.

In his head, anyway.

Yet when you catch up to talk to him, he slows, pace matching yours. Arches down ever so slightly to make it easier for you.

Jake and Eli flank you. Both smiling; one just a small, sweet quirk of the lips, the other a full toothy grin. Enjoying your company, your quips and running commentary.

Johan trails a little behind. Like a petulant teen out with his family. Still, being with you, even here, is better than not. So he follows, pouting and bored.

Yet can't stop the brightness in his eyes, when you turn around and give him a smile. A soft look to just say hi.

.

.

"No."

"It's just a t-shirt."

"I'm not paying for that."

"Workers pay that poorly?" Jake pulls a faux look of concern. Or it could be sincere. Who knows with Jake and Samuel. "You really should come back to Big Deal, we'll treat you right."

Samuel takes one deep breath before yanking the item from Jake's grip, and proceeds to the register with the rest of the clothing you have been interested in.

Some jeans you have ooh-ed over. A couple of jackets you have aah-ed from afar. And now also a stupid t-shirt.

Which is tacky and tasteless, Samuel thinks, mean and a touch childish.

"This one too?" You add a small dress atop the pile as the shop assistant rings through the purchases.

(Samuel pays for everything.

Took it as a personal offence the first time you said no, many moons ago. Now it's just a habit, almost expected. You're grateful, nevertheless.)

"Doesn't seem like your size," Samuel comments and you look up at him. Puppy eyes on full display and bottom lip jutted out.

A little, not too much. Don't want to overdo it.

Samuel sighs. "Fine."

He's not an idiot. He knows what you're doing, yet he's always powerless to resist.

You beam at him, giving his bicep a squeeze, "Thanks Sammy. Yenna will look adorable in it."

Samuel doesn't say anything. Couldn't give a flying fuck if Yenna will look adorable or hideous. Irritated that he even knows who Yenna is. Gives one quick glance over to Eli, who is still looking at the toddler's section, a pair of shoes in each hand.

"It's fine," he mutters as you lean up to kiss him on the cheek.

.

.

Johan perks up when it is time for lunch. The only time he has been anything other than sullen.

"So hangry all the time," you tease, and receive a scathing look in return.

"You've just proved me right," you snicker, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he slurps on his ramen. The glare remains, but there's no heat to it.

"You know," you give your coffee a stir, watching the crema dissipate, "You don't have to come out with me if you don't enjoy it."

Johan doesn't respond. You look back at him and he can't meet your eyes.

He swallows, feels the noodles and broth burning his throat. The tiniest, "I do," leaves his lips.

A ‘blink and you would have missed it’ admission.

.

.

"Y/N. Let's go." Eli whispers urgently into your ear, interrupting you gawking at a bag that costs three months of rent.

"What-"

"No time." Jake says, hoisting you up into a princess carry (effortlessly, you didn't fail to notice) and sprinting out the store.

"Put me down!" You squirm and wriggle to no avail.

"We'll explain later," Eli laughs, matching Jake step for step. Neither breaking into a sweat, neither even out of breath.

They round the corner, joining up with Samuel and Johan at full speed. All with matching gleeful expressions.

.

.

"We stole his clothes." Eli holds up a pair of trousers, Samuel a shirt, and Johan a jacket.

You're speechless. Almost. "How the fuck-"

"This genius," Jake nods at Eli, "saw Gun trying on a new suit. Admiring himself in the mirror. Probably seeing if the bucket of hair gel he usually uses is enough." A fake gag and roll of the eyes. "Johan and Sammy wanted to fight him."

"Samuel-" Sammy corrects, and is ignored. As per usual.

"I suggested the pacifist route," Jake grins. And you know he means he's not going to cause any trouble for you, even if you’ve noticed his eyes clouding over with anger.

It goes as quickly as it comes. He doesn't want you involved with Gun Park at all.

You snort, "Yeah but he can always just buy and walk away in a new outfit."

"Maybe," Eli shrugs, " Maybe not." And he fishes out the phone and wallet from each pocket.

Oh. Oh! 

You think of Gun Park standing bewildered in his undies. 

Left stranded. Clothes gone. Personal belongings gone. 

A victim of a crime committed by the bosses of the four crews and you laugh so hard you think you might never be the same again.

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

behind the curtain

Summary: Sequel to never been (stage) kissed. After shooting wraps, you and Ruby part ways. Eight months later, you see each other again at the premiere screening, and decide to “sneak away” during the after-party. How will you two navigate the paparazzi after they catch you in a compromising position?

Pairing: ruby cruz x actress!reader

Contains: mature language, adult humor, kissing, angst, fluff, hair playing, secret relationship trope, brief mention of an ED, publicity tweets and comments, invasive tabloids, the price of fame

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is a sequel to my previous RPF, so the RPF Guidelines still stand. This fic contains a very brief mentioning towards an ED, and should not be triggering (at least I don’t think so). I am not insinuating anything by this mention, it is simply meant to shed light on how invasive and presumptuous Hollywood can be. That being said, I had the most fun EVER writing this! Enjoy! :)

———

Ever since the first “kissing lesson,” you and Ruby had spent every on-set lunch break in her trailer. Nothing ever progressed beyond kissing, but with the way Ruby’s hands entangled themselves in your hair, and how she shivered every time your hand grazed her thigh, kissing was really all you needed.

Your mid-day rendezvous were kept a secret from the rest of the world. None of the cast or crew knew exactly what was happening when the door to Ruby’s trailer closed, but it was clear that something was working. Since the trailer lunches began, your on-set chemistry became palpable. It even got to the point where the director would shout words of praise after “cut!”

Eventually, like with all movies, filming began to wrap up. The last day on set, you and Ruby spent all of your down time wrapped in each other's arms, tears falling at the thought of parting. Everyone on set sympathized with the both of you, except for the makeup artist who kept having to touch up your alien makeup after every fallen tear.

You and Ruby promised to keep in touch, and you did for a little while. But daily FaceTimes eventually became weekly phone calls, which turned into sporadic texts, until silence settled between you, save for occasional likes on social media posts. You missed her terribly, and while your pride and fear of rejection kept you from reaching back out, you couldn’t help but wonder if she was missing you too.

About eight months after shooting wrapped for “Aliens of Atlantis,” you were going over sides for an upcoming audition when you got a call from your agent. Upon answering, she announced that “Aliens of Atlantis” post-production had wrapped, and the film had a scheduled premiere where the cast would be making an appearance.

A blissful daze settled across your face at this news. Your agent kept on talking about the when, the where, and the dress code of the upcoming premiere, but you were only half-listening. Her words mushed together, flying in one ear and out the other as the only thing that mattered to you consumed your mind.

You were going to see Ruby again.

On the morning of the premiere, you woke up with a knot in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if the cause was nerves or excitement, but you chalked it up to probably being a little of both. You tried everything to settle your stomach, from aspirin to deep breaths to simply distracting yourself with other tasks. Despite your attempts, when your driver arrived later in the day to take you to the premiere, the knot was still there and prominent as ever.

By the time you had arrived and were about to get out of the car, the knot had seemingly spread throughout your entire body, making you feel like an absolute disaster. You took out your phone and checked your reflection in the front-facing camera, just to remind yourself that you weren’t. In fact, you looked good. You were wearing a metallic blue floor-length gown as a not-so subtle nod to your alien character from the movie. Pale blue eyeshadow decorated your eyelids, and you left your hair down in loose face-framing curls. You knew the press would go crazy as soon as they saw you, and that thought alone gave you enough of a confidence boost to calm down a bit.

When the car pulled up to the red carpet, you took a deep breath and stepped out, immediately being bombarded with cameras flashing in your face. You blinked, overwhelmed at the bright lights, and quickly attempted to paste on a smile and act like this wasn’t your first red carpet event.

You stumbled down the red carpet and looked around for Ruby, but the constant camera flashes and bright lights made it difficult to see much. Every now and then you would stop to strike a pose and flash a pretty smile in some random direction, or answer one of the million questions being thrown at you.

“Who are you wearing?”

A fucking blue dress. “Valdrin Sahiti!”

“How do you feel about your first red carpet event?”

Overwhelmed. “So excited!”

“What are you most looking forward to tonight?”

Seeing Ruby again. “Everyone finally getting to see all the hard work from the cast and crew!”

After what felt like an eternity of paparazzi and bullshit answers to trivial questions, the end of the red carpet was finally approaching. You felt yourself let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It wasn’t easy, but you managed to make it down your first red carpet without making a complete fool of yourself.

Eventually, the cameras seemed to dissipate, focusing on the next pretty young thing that had just arrived. You blinked, trying to restore your vision infringed upon by the blinding lights. Once you could see in front of you again, you looked up, and a gulp forced itself down your throat at what might have been the prettiest sight you’d ever seen.

There, standing at the end of the red carpet, was Ruby Cruz, radiant amidst the flashing lights.

Her gown was long and form-fitting, sporting bright streaks of color and a slit up one of her legs. Dark brown curls hovered above her shoulders and cascaded down the back of her neck, while glittery red eyeshadow made her blue eyes pop. She looked so natural, posing and smiling for the cameras, that you couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of her.

Upon seeing you, Ruby’s eyes brightened, and a goofy grin spread across her face. She walked towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist and instantly making the cameras go wild. Your cheeks flushed into a bright pink tint. You missed her touch, and having her arm wrapped around you like that almost felt like deja vu.

While the both of you posed for the flashing cameras, Ruby leaned down to your ear and whispered one single sentence, the answer to a question you didn’t need to ask.

“I missed you.”

Unsurprisingly, the movie premiere turned out to be a massive success. The audience was extremely receptive to the storyline, cheering and gasping at all the right moments. Critics even approached you after the screening to rave about your performance and promise a glowing review.

The after-party was held at a nearby banquet hall, decorated to look like the underwater city of Atlantis. Filk music blasted through speakers while an open bar served space-themed cocktails.

You were busy making your rounds, establishing connections with other attendees while sipping a ‘cosmonaut’ from the open bar. While posing for a photo with a fan, you couldn’t help but realize you hadn’t seen Ruby in a bit. You craned your neck to look for her, but she was nowhere to be found. You shrugged it off, thinking it’s just a big venue and you’d probably run into her at some point during the night.

After several photos, impromptu interviews, and business cards you had nowhere to put, you were exhausted. You tried to make yourself as invisible as possible, leaning against a curtain by the back wall and downing the last sip of your cocktail.

While scanning the room, you noticed some of your castmates appeared slightly tipsy. You felt bad for them, knowing their press interviews would come off as less than professional, but there was a small part of you that wished you had more to drink throughout the night. The party was fun, sure, but took a lot out of you, and alcohol was sure to make it more tolerable.

Suddenly, while you were immersed in watching a crew member profusely apologize to an intern she had drunkenly stumbled into, you felt a disembodied hand appear out of nowhere and wrap around your arm. The hand pulled you behind the curtain you were leaning against, causing you to gasp and drop your empty cup.

You whipped around to see who grabbed you, preparing to throw a punch or scream for help if you had to. Instead, your eyes softened and you lowered your fist upon seeing Ruby, standing there staring at you with a devilish smirk.

“Hi pretty girl.” She cooed, taking a step towards you.

“Ruby…” you half-whispered in shock, eyes traveling up and down her body. “What are you doing?”

“I missed you,” she rested her hands on your hips and bit her lip, letting an ounce of vulnerability shine through her otherwise confident exterior. “I missed this. I feel like we barely got to see each other all night.”

“Me too,” you responded, internally melting at the feeling of her warm hands on your torso.

You wrapped your arms around her neck and leaned close to her before a sense of paranoia made you backtrack. “Ruby, it’s a big party, what if someone sees us?”

Ruby simply shrugged, completely unbothered. “Like you said, it’s a big party. Our castmates are drunk, the press is too focused on capturing their embarrassing moments.”

Her words seemed to reassure you, and you pulled her close to you again, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. “I’m glad you pulled me away.”

Ruby crashed her lips against yours, forcing a soft moan to escape your throat. She pulled back, looking deep into your eyes and holding your face in her hands.

“Careful now. We don’t want anyone hearing us.”

You nodded, non-verbally promising to keep quiet before Ruby brought her lips to yours again. Both of you sighed into the kiss, eight months of absence making itself prominent with passion. She tasted like sweet nostalgia with a hint of coconut rum, probably leftover from a drink she had earlier.

Ruby pressed herself against you, and you grabbed at the back of her neck, desperate to be as close to her as possible. She kept her hands planted at your waist, thumbing over the metallic fabric of your gown. Each time her fingertips pressed into your sides sent electrifying shocks through your body, making your knees stutter and causing you to lean more into Ruby for balance.

You brought your hands up to play with one of her curls, prompting a gentle sigh to travel from her mouth into yours. A smirk appeared on your lips, realizing your beloved brunette enjoyed having her hair played with.

Just when you were about to fully take advantage of this newfound information, a sudden crash engulfed your ears, followed by a blinding light and a collective gasp. You and Ruby pulled away from each other, turning your heads to check out the commotion.

One of the interns had drunkenly stumbled into the curtain and pulled it down with him as he fell, leaving you and Ruby entangled in each other and completely exposed to the rest of the party.

All hell broke loose. Interviewers screamed questions from across the room while paparazzi cameras flashed in your face. Those without cameras pulled out their phones and filmed the both of you, desperate for their fifteen minutes of fame.

Anxiety overtook your body as you felt a lump rise to your throat and your heart sink to your feet. You turned to look at Ruby, eyes full of fear, but she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking straight at the flashing cameras, with an expression that made your blood run cold.

You had never seen her bright blue eyes filled with so much anger.

The pit in your stomach grew as you scrolled through the tabloid headlines and Twitter articles featuring your and Ruby’s “stunt” from the other night. This was bad. So bad, that both of your agents had gotten together to hire a public relations manager just for the situation.

Two days after the movie premiere, an emergency meeting was called. Five of you were called to the manager’s office, with both of your agents sitting on either side of him, and you and Ruby placed across from the three of them.

The manager, named Rick, held out his hand and you gave him his phone back, sick of scrolling through the headlines anyway. As far as you could tell, Rick didn’t seem like a bad guy, but it was clear Ruby didn’t feel the same. She hadn’t said a word throughout the entire meeting, instead keeping her arms crossed in front of her chest and pointing a cold glare towards the man in front of her.

She didn’t trust him, and everyone in the room knew it.

Rick gave the both of you a sheepish grin. “As you both can probably see, you’re kind of the flavor of the week right now.”

Ruby’s agent nodded in agreement. “I have a friend in New York, and she heard a rumor about an SNL sketch being written about the whole thing.”

Your agent sighed, clearly having heard the rumor herself. Ruby simply scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Is it really that big of a deal?” You piped up.

All eyes turned to look at you, making you shrink in your seat. “I mean, can’t we just wait for it to blow over? All we did was kiss at an after party.”

“It’s not like we were fucking, Rick.” Ruby growled through her teeth, causing a blush to appear on your cheeks.

Rick cleared his throat, uncomfortable with Ruby’s candidness. “Well it’s not really that simple…”

“No one knows what you are.” Your agent interrupted. “All the public knows is you were caught going at it like teenagers in a basement, and now the media is going to be on top of everything you do until they figure it out.”

Ruby’s agent nodded. “Before this, we wanted you both to appear single to the public. You’re both very attractive girls. People want you, and we want them to think they can have you.”

“But that’s not really an option now.” Rick pointed out. “Fortunately, both of you have pretty reputable status in Hollywood. People see two of their favorite actresses together, feedback is bound to be mostly positive.”

He opened up a notepad in front of him and started scribbling down something you couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m thinking, we take this relationship and go completely public. Social media posts, dates open to the paparazzi, everything. That way, the media won’t have to do any guess work and this whole thing will blow over sooner.”

Suddenly, Ruby stood up from her seat and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Ruby!” Her agent called after her.

She turned to flash an apologetic smile towards all the shocked faces staring back at her. “I’m sorry. She’s not usually like this. I’ll talk to her.”

She ran out of the room after Ruby, leaving Rick and your agent to go over the details of the plan. Their voices faded into the background as millions of thoughts swam through your mind. You had a bad feeling about this ‘public relationship’ idea.

How were you supposed to go public with your relationship, when you weren’t even sure if there was a relationship to go public with?

You adjusted your oversized hat and sunglasses while staring up at the cafe sign that read “Grind n’ Dine,” shuddering at the slightly suggestive name.

One week after the meeting with Rick, he worked with your agents to schedule a public date for you and Ruby, tipping off the press to make sure there was media coverage. Grind n’ Dine, a local business, had apparently paid Rick a large sum of money to schedule your date here in the hopes that the publicity would be good for business.

Taking a deep breath, you walked in through the restaurant doors and looked around. Several members of the press were already present, wearing cameras around their necks and sipping coffee at various tables. You breathed out a sigh of relief that they didn’t recognize you yet, thankful for your agent who suggested arriving in disguise.

In the very back of the restaurant, tucked into a booth, you spotted Ruby hiding behind a menu. She had her body and hair buried under a large black hoodie, and masked her face with sunglasses similar to yours. You made your way over to her, trying to act natural, and making sure to avoid press members as much as possible in case they recognize you before you’re ready.

You slid into the seat across from her and cleared your throat to alert her of your presence. She put down her menu and laid it flat, before tilting her sunglasses down to meet your eyes.

Her blue eyes, once lively and bright, were now bloodshot and emotionless. Dark circles hung like bags underneath them, as if she hadn’t slept in days. You felt a sharp pang in your chest. Ruby had never looked at you this way before, and you wished more than anything that she would stop.

“Ready for this?” She asked, her voice monotone and lifeless.

You gulped, nodding defeatedly. “As I’ll ever be.”

Ruby removed her sunglasses and pulled down her hood, shaking out her wild brunette locks. You followed suit, taking off your hat and slipping your sunglasses into your purse.

Almost immediately, members of the press recognized the both of you, and practically trampled the poor servers and other diners to get to your booth. Cameras were suddenly shoved in your face, followed by microphones and what felt like hundreds of pointless and rather invading questions.

“Is this a date? How would you define your relationship?”

“If you had to describe your sex life using only three words, what would they be?”

“Ruby! Do you think every liberal democrat should take home a migrant to show their support for the proposed open border policy?”

The two of you mumbled terse responses to some of the questions, and completely ignored others. After several minutes of verbal torture, a perky blonde waitress fought her way through the press and stopped at the end of your table. She sported a wide politician's smile not directed at the two of you, instead flashed to the surrounding cameras in search of fifteen minutes of fame.

“Hi guys,” she started, her voice unnaturally high pitched. “My name is Bethany, what can I get started for you today?”

“I’ll have a quinoa salad and cranberry juice, please.” You answered, handing Bethany your menu.

The press murmured imperceptible comments regarding your order, some even scribbling notes on napkins. “Quinoa… salad…”

“Just a coffee’s fine.” Ruby mumbled, order being followed by press comments as well.

As soon as Bethany walked away, the paparazzi shoved the cameras back in your face and bombarded you and Ruby with questions once more.

“Did you order cranberry juice because you like cranberry juice or because you have a UTI? How did you get this UTI?”

“I noticed you were the only one who ordered food. Could it be because you’re eating for two?”

“Speaking of, why didn’t you order food, Ruby? Are you battling some kind of eating disorder? Would you like to comment on it?”

“Enough!” Ruby exclaimed, perhaps louder than she should have.

Immediately, the press was silent, with only the sound of sporadic camera clicks being heard. Ruby turned to look at you, tears starting to well in her tired eyes.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this…” she whispered, getting up and running out of the restaurant.

“Ruby! Wait, please!” You stood up and ran after her, leaving the paparazzi in the dust behind you.

You found Ruby leaning against a building across the cafe. She had her head resting against the cool brick, and her face pointed to the sky while she blinked back tears threatening to fall.

A lump formed in your throat as you started to approach her. You couldn’t stand to see her like this. She looked so… miserable.

“Ruby…” you muttered softly, reaching out your hand.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the concrete, refusing to look you in the eye. “I just wasn’t hungry! It’s barely ten in the fucking morning!”

You sighed. “Ruby, we both know that’s not what this is about. What’s going on?”

She sniffed, and focused her gaze on something behind you. “Can we… go somewhere else?”

Turning to see what Ruby was looking at, you noticed a teenage girl filming the two of you on her phone. You rolled your eyes, completely exasperated at this point.

“Let’s go.” You muttered, grabbing her hand to pull her away.

It didn’t take long to find a nearby alleyway, deserted except for an empty dumpster. You dragged Ruby into the back, letting go of her hand once the coast was clear.

“Talk.”

The pale brunette pushed her bangs out of her face, blinking a couple times while gathering her thoughts.

“I just… this is why my Instagram is private. This is why I’ve never explicitly labeled my sexuality. This is why I rarely talk about my personal life! I don’t want the media invading my space! I don’t want random strangers knowing intimate details about my life! It’s fucking freaky!”

You nodded, understanding her perspective, especially as you’d been recently dealing with the wrath of the paparazzi as well. She continued.

“I mean fuck! I can’t even order a damn coffee without some tabloid claiming I have a fucking eating disorder!”

Her breathing seemed to be evening out the more she spoke. She let out a shuddering breath and crossed her arms, staring at the gravel beneath her feet.

“I just… I just wanted to kiss you at an after-party. I missed you. And now everyone’s forcing us to be in this relationship and make it public but…”

“But no one asked us if we were even together,” you finished.

She nodded. “Exactly! We never even had a conversation just between us. Everyone just assumed.”

You pulled the brunette girl into your arms, wrapping them around her torso. She buried her face in the crook of your neck as you stroked her soft locks.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “If I had known that’s how you felt…”

“No.” She interrupted. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t do anything, I… listen…”

She pulled away, and you felt a pit form in your stomach. You waited for her to tell you that she didn’t want to see you again, that it was too hard, that it meant nothing.

You held your breath as she took your face in her hands, her blue eyes piercing into yours.

“I like you.”

“You… huh?” Shock painted your features as Ruby said the last thing you were expecting to hear.

“I like you.” She repeated, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned. “I meant it when I said I missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire eight months we didn’t talk. I should have reached out more, I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I was scared? I don’t know…”

She was babbling, and you didn’t think she could get any cuter. You took her hands off your face and held them in yours, flashing her an encouraging smile.

“I like you too,” you replied giddily. “More than you know.”

Ruby chuckled, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. She stared down at the gravel again, chewing on her lip before speaking.

“I like you… I really do, but if we’re gonna start this… something, I’d want to take it slow and be completely private. No socials, no media, at least for now. Would… that be something you’re okay with?”

You squeezed her hands, flashing her a goofy grin. “I would… love that, actually.”

As you stared at your former celebrity crush, turned co-star, turned friend, turned… something, a wave of courage suddenly washed over you. Letting go of her hands, you seized her face and brought your lips to hers, tentatively, testing the waters. She gasped, but soon kissed back, sighing as she wrapped her arms around your neck and leaned into your body.

You moved your hand towards the back of her neck, then slowly inched upwards until your fingers were entangled in her hair. An almost inaudible moan escaped her lips and vibrated against yours as you played with her soft tresses. You smirked into the kiss, remembering exactly how much she liked having her hair played with before getting caught at the after-party.

Finally, after what could have been an eternity, you pulled away from each other. The two of you gasped for breath, both smiling like giddy children at the other.

“So… what now?” You asked breathlessly.

Ruby hummed to herself, seemingly in thought. “We could… go on a real date? Just you and me? No paparazzi. There’s this great little hole-in-the-wall place I like to go to when I don’t want to get recognized.”

You tilted your head, shooting her a lopsided smile. “That sounds perfect, actually.”

Before leaving the alleyway, Ruby put her sunglasses back on and pulled her hood over her head again, while you dug your sunglasses out of your purse and readjusted your hat. The two of you were disguised, hidden from the world, but happy to be able to pursue each other away from public opinion.

Ruby reached out her hand, her blue eyes somehow still managing to shine behind her sunglasses. “Ready for this?”

You smiled back at her, taking her hand and intertwining her fingers with yours. “As I’ll ever be.”

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Hello I love you and your tdbk cats sm can we put costumes on them? :3

I NEED to see sho dress up in ribbons and a little tutu, it's for my mental health (?

Will play dress up willingly

Kaito LOVES attention, as long as you are solely focused on him and nobody else he doesn't mind brushing his hair, dressing him up or putting bows in his fur. It might be because he was the runt of his litter and a stray but he loves the affection.

Leo is a mini internet celebrity! Every so often he does a photoshoot with so many different outfits and accessories. He is such a spoiled brat who adores being the center of attention and because of it loves every step of it

Haru and Towa have matching accessories!!! At first Haru refuses, he has to scout the garden!! But Towa manages to convince him after saving Peekaboo from Taiga. On the other hand Towa LOVES all the attention of getting brushed and styled and getting clothed!!

Romeo is a special case, naturally, he doesn't allow everything. He is strict with it being nice collars and ribbons, nothing too in bad taste. At most you could link a bejeweled bat charm in his collar but he does let you brush his .

Dress Haku as a caterpillar because he is a snuggle bug, or rather as a baby kangaroo given how much he likes to nap in your hoodies’ pocket. Regardless he doesn't care too much about it but likes the attention.

Zenji chimes in singing when you dress Haku so you assume he wants to be dressed up too, sadly anything you put doesn't stay long, any ribbons on his tail get undone and clothes slip off. He seems saddened by that so kiss and hug him.

Allows you to dress him up

Following the rule of the least effort, Jin doesn't want to move much from his loafing position next to the AC so if whatever you are doing isn't very intrusive (think crowns or headbands) he won't do much more than look at you nasty but if it's something you have to manhandle him in you might get a hiss or even a scratch.

Even if Thoma isn't excited about it he allows you to put him accessories or vests as long as they don't bother his movements too much

Luca doesn't really understand why you like to see him so much but he stands there like a gentleman.

Alan is so baby coded even if he is so huge! Even if he isn't especially keen on being a dress up doll he accepts it without any complains

I think that if you managed to put things on Romeo and Taiga he might understand and allow you something. Imagine Ritsu with a little tie!!!!

Old man Ed truly doesn't care as long as he can sleep jajaj so feel free to tie a cloak around his shoulders and call him a vampire

Is anyone surprised Jiro doesn't care? As long as it doesn't hurt him or Yuri doesn't pull it out of him he is keeping it

Get away from him

Sho is usually a very agreeable kitty so it's surprising when he hisses at you when you get closer to him with one of Leo's bows in your hands. He ends up being pinned down by Leo and you get to tie a ribbon in his fur. Even if it was against his will he keeps it on.

Ren is this close 🤏 to bitting if you get close with a costume.

If Ren was close, Taiga would maul your hand open if you attempt to manhandle. He isn't feral but he acts like that sometimes, don't test your luck.

Subaru doesn't like to be touched! He is very touch adverse and putting them in costumes requires a fair bit of touching, he already accepted it when he was an actor cat but he retired so don't force him.

Rui runs away when you attempt to hold him like always he runs off

Lyca doesn't have as much of a problem being touched for a long time but he is surrounded by cats he mimics that don't really allow you to (Subaru and Rui) so he doesn't allow you to put anything clearly costume-y just like them.

He is one of the smallest cats so Yuri hates anything that might make you think he isn't as imposing as any of the other cats, that includes most ways of baby talking and making him wear things

[eeldritchblast]

Lae'zel is Autistic

(Note: This post was written by someone with professionally diagnosed autism. A lot of what I'm about to say of Lae'zel, I can personally relate to! This is not intended as negativity or hatred of her character; rather, it is one of the reasons I adore her.)

-----

I really don't like that the writers have attempted to tone down Lae'zel's "rudeness" perceived by the larger fanbase. It reminds me too much of how "rudeness" is so often less about hostility and more about one's ability to perform social interactions to the standards of neurotypical people. So for the writers to decide that Lae'zel is too "rude" for not saying her please and thank yous every time she speaks, for being direct, for struggling to have two-sided conversations... well, to me, that's just saying that there was something wrong with her they felt the need to fix. I spent years with people trying to "fix" me in special ed. To teach me how to present as neurotypical, like memorizing appropriate responses to common questions, and pretending to hold eye contact by looking at people's lips. While I will admit it helps me in the workplace for example to perform these things, it also taught me to hate myself for being faulty in the first place. That's something I still struggle with to this day. So when a character like Lae'zel comes along, who I can relate to in her coded autism, I don't want to see her changed. I want to see her celebrated.

Here are some of the signs of autism I've noticed in Lae'zel:

Difficulty regulating and understanding emotion:

Lae'zel is a very passionate person, and can get carried away by that passion. At the same time, she is not very good at self-inventory of her emotions. After she defies Vlaakith in Act 3, she asks the player to help her understand what she is feeling, because she cannot place it herself.

Directness:

As said above, Lae'zel is vert blunt in the way she communicates. If you've picked up the game only in later patches, let me tell you that she was originally even more so. If the player asks Lae'zel why she is the way she is, she says it's just because she is githyanki. While I certainly think some of this could be attributed to a difference in culture, we meet other githyanki, and they do not carry the same speech and manner she has.

Taking things literally:

Lae'zel equally does not understand indirectness from others, or idioms. For example, when Shadowheart asks if they have "buried the hatchet" between them, (an American idiom to mean "making peace" which by the way, is not a very appropriate idiom,) she answers with "why would I bury a weapon?" Again, this could be attributed to a difference in background, but nonetheless something to relate to.

Dislike of small talk:

Literally the first thing Lae'zel says to you after you recruit her is, "chatter already? Tas'ki."

Inflection:

Lae'zel is voiced with minimal modulation of intonation or pitch. As such, she sounds monotone and serious, even when the words she says are lighthearted or joking.

Difficulty handling change of routine/expectancy:

When things do not go as Lae'zel is determined they are supposed to go--for example, the machine she thinks will remove her tadpole not working as she believed it would--she has wild, uncontrolled outbursts.

-----

There's probably even more one could list here, but for now I'm done. I may edit this later, though.

[dairogo]

After seeing your discussion on Roy and Alex talking in volume 9 about Ed turning 16 soon, which means he'd be of age to be used as a human weapon, along with Roy's plans, I thought to ask, what are your thoughts (possible analysis maybe) on that scene with Roy and Alex a bit later?

The one where after Maria Ross is "killed," the news gets passed on to Knox, the Eric's, and Armstrong? (I feel it never gets talked about)

I find it intriguing in that scene that the mostly comic relief character, Armstrong, looks like he was trying to physically restrain himself from harming, even killing Mustang, his superior, after Maria Ross' "death", visibly enraged for the first time in the manga. I felt it was a reminder of his discussion with Mustang of using his (Armstrong's) strength for good. So, in that scene, doing otherwise would just be repeating Ishval again.

Thank you so much for this question!! It made me so keen to look into that section further, and YES ISN'T IT SO INTERESTING.

First of all

Hi, Doctor Knox! I love him? Every character who went through Ishval deserves to have their brain put through a dishwasher, but This Guy is the only one who knows what that would do to the brain and still agrees. He has seen things. What things? The human experimentation through the war! More precisely, Roy's human experimentation!

There are very few adults in this series who haven't been responsible for reprehensible things. And Knox's story is such an interesting part of that. But that's later.

First, a few things:

(I snipped the next panel before considering the structure of this post, but's it's just pointing out that Roy is also there.)

He hasn't done it for a long time ... Yeah, Knox knows exactly how long it's been, and he doesn't think very much of you.

But this, now, anon, is what you're talking about:

Armstrong's absolute RAAAAAAGGGE! He has been slowly heating up in this story, a pot just now coming to a turbulent boil, but still he reins himself in!!

What I'm reading here is betrayal. He thought Mustang had these same ideals, would value them too - had some integrity! Enough to wait for the facts, to seek the truth and not just what was handed him! They've been looking at corruption in the military and here - here, Armstrong KNOWS this is part of it, because he knows Hughes was killed looking into it, and he knows Maria's story checks out, so he KNOWS that she is being framed, and here is this man he trusted? Who killed her without waiting to find that out?

I wonder - I just wonder - if he's sizing Mustang up for Hughes' murder, too. If he's trying to remember what about Mustang made him want to hint at everything about the corruption and bring him along for the ride. Mustang was Hughes' friend, and Armstrong thought that meant he wanted to find the killer, but he's suddenly wondering if Mustang was snooping to weed out everyone involved. He'd be next. Or Denny Brosh. Or the Elrics.

And ohh he is so filled with grief at losing the chance to save Maria. He knew it was a long shot, if they weren't even accepting Brosh's testimony, which would account for her lost bullet, but there was still hope as long as she hadn't been hanged, right?

Hints and clues all over again - but while Mustang can be a jerk, he's not one to repeat a phrase meaninglessly.

A beautiful young woman, Knox said. And in the East, Mustang tells Armstrong, there are plenty of beautiful ladies to go around.

Or maybe just one.

Armstrong is shattered. We saw the rage flowing through him and yet he didn't burst out in anything. He hung limp. He fell into his chair. Everything he saw was against his understanding of people and truth and what was right.

But if Mustang really means what it sounds like - if he is talking in the same codes Armstrong had to use to tell him about the corruption in the first place ... then he hasn't betrayed Armstrong. If he is still the kind of man Armstrong would follow out of Ishval to fix the bloody path left behind them - then these are words of hope!

Ohh, I love how Arakawa pulls these things together. It's just all so dense with meaning :')

Thank you for your question, anon! I'd love to hear what you think! And if you (or anyone else!) have more questions, I'd definitely love to hear them. I'm likely to post answers as I reach sections, so if you ask for something super far ahead I will take a while to get to it :)

[maxdibert]

⚠️TW: cutting, EDs (not Ed Sheeran)

I know you're a Mauraders/Snape page, but take a detour with me: I think that Draco had very low self-esteem and probably had some sort of vice we aren't told of. Draco is expressly mentioned to be that kid - conventionally attractive, rich, popular, the top of the food chain. At the same time, he also has (very canon) massive daddy issues, hinting that his home life probably isn't all pickles and roses. He's a brat because his parents are racist and classist and the kids he would have grown up with are either bricks (see: Crabbe and Goyle) or total bootlickers (see: Pansy). At the end of the day, Lucius is an absent drunk and Narcissa is probably off doing whatever rich women do, leaving Draco with the house-elves and his own thoughts a lot of the time. He was probably brought up around adults and expected to become one from a very young age (many only children are). Once out from the surveillance of his parents, elves, and probable tutors and governess (I see him as very Mary Lennox-coded), he turns wild with parties and warm firewhiskey someone swiped from their parent's cupboard or the Leaky Cauldron. These are all pretty accepted fanon for Draco, but I think he was at least a little depressed. He knows Harry is on his trial that his family is involved with Death Eaters, he knows Dumbledore favors Harry, and he can see his parents becoming more worried and arguing more as the whispers about the Dark Lord rising again become louder. It would drive anyone crazy with worry. He probably does some type of self-harm, or maybe he refuses to eat or throws ip his food because if he can’t control anything else at least he can have power over his own damn body. Idk tell me your thoughts

I don’t think Lucius was an alcoholic, nor do I believe life at home was hard for Draco. I think he had a very happy childhood, and it seems to me that people feel the need to villainize the lives of those who end up in cults or are raised with conservative ideals, maybe because they have deep personal trauma related to that, or simply because they need a justification for why someone would fall into that kind of system.

Honestly, I went to school with kids from very conservative, ultra-Catholic families, and while I definitely know of cases that were truly dramatic—people who ended up completely estranged from their families because their parents were fanatics—I also know of people whose home environments were perfectly normal. They just had terrible ideas and an awful worldview. But those people lived very normal, happy lives, even if the rhetoric they parroted after hearing it at home was awful.

To me, Draco is a bit like that. I think his childhood was like that too—happy and sheltered—until the war came and everything changed. His parents went from being privileged members of their community to becoming pariahs, and he was forced to do whatever he was told in order to keep them safe. It’s like when someone is cast out of a religious community and they’ll do anything to regain their former status.

But the fact that, at some point, things take a turn and he finds himself caught in the middle of something he neither wants nor believes in—and is forced to go along with it—doesn’t mean his entire life was like that. I honestly think Draco was completely alienated within his own world before Lucius fell from grace, because I truly believe he was raised in a way that kept him unaware of how the world really works, and made him feel genuinely untouchable. The moment he realises he isn’t, that’s when something breaks. It’s a kind of loss of innocence. But I’m convinced that, up until then, he was a pretty happy child.