#to wish you had been in a coma before so that you have something in common with the new guy too'

[blurglesmurfklaine]

You already know where this is going

🤠🤠🤠

I'm not even working on this section of the fic yet but you gave me this idea so i'm giving it back <333

-

Edamame ignored and eyes still trained on Evan, it's clear Paul is in one of his hyper focused getting-to-the-bottom-of-this states and has no intention of letting the subject drop. Then, Paul's eyes widen, alight with recognition.

"You're that firefighter who saved those people from that stuck roller-coaster!" He announces proudly, satisfied with his ability to piece together the past. The rest of the table choruses in agreement. "I knew I recognized you, man. Damn, Evan, that stuff made national news."

The light in Evan's eyes dull and Eddie finds himself staring as Evan does everything in his power to keep the rest of the 126 from noticing. " I uh, yeah. That was me."

Mateo jumps in, shaking his head in protest. "No, no, that can't be it. I saw this news article about this firefighter who got his leg crushed by a ladder truck, and I'm positive it's him."

Evan purses his lips sheepishly. "That was me, too."

Eddie snorts. "What, next you gonna tell us you lived through a hurricane, too?"

"It was actually a tsunami."

Nancy gapes. "How are you alive?"

"The tsunami was less scary than the comas, honestly," Buck begins frantically in an attempt to downplay it.

"Comas?" Mateo asks. "As in multiple?"

"You could give TK here a run for his money," Marjan points out.

TK laughs, pointing a fork at himself. "Overdose, gunshot, and hypothermia."

"Breadstick, gunshot, and lightning strike."

"That was you!?"

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader

summary: what if optimus' obsession bypassed his memory loss? what if he was so infatuated that even his past self yearned for you?

cw: fluff, pinch of angst, canon divergence: orion is taken by the autobots, obsessive thoughts, clinginess, orion literally cannot be left alone for one(1) second, tbh nothing happens in this, i just wanted to write obsessed!orion interacting with you, bad writing, silliness

an: i wanted to implement more ideas, but it came out as it did. i will definitely write some more fics with orion, maybe some smut??? ;)) who knows

word count: 4700

"Come to the base. It's urgent."

As you stare at the terse message from Ratchet, your chewing slows and stops. A storm of questions whirls in your mind, panic creeping into your body. Before you can even type a single letter, your phone rings. The caller is none other than the Autobot medic himself. You answer in less than a second.

"Hello? Ratchet, please don't scare me—what exactly happened?"

"It's about Optimus." Your heart skips a beat. "During the last mission, he was... injured. Or, to be precise, damaged."

"Is it serious?" you ask, pacing nervously around the break room. Lunch now long forgotten. "Will he be all right?"

"Physically—he's never looked or felt better. Mentally, however... that's a different story. I'll explain the details when you get here. And make it quick."

"Hold on, wait—I can't just leave work early like that. There's a whole procedure for this. I can't just waltz out, even though I’d love to leave right now."

"...In an hour and a half, I expect to see you here at the base. See you then."

He hangs up. You stare at your phone screen for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. Something serious must have happened—Ratchet wouldn’t disturb you at work otherwise. And it involved Optimus... You bite your lip, torn by indecision. You need to at least make sure he's okay, to see with your own eyes what Ratchet was talking about. Otherwise, you'll regret your negligence and spend the rest of the day worrying.

Shoving the half-eaten sandwich into your bag, you rush to your computer to draft a request for early leave, praying fervently that your boss will grant it.

You kept pressing the gas, speeding toward the base, trying to balance obeying traffic laws with worrying about the Autobot. You knew he had been preparing for a mission recently, he had told you about it during a ride you shared, but you didn’t expect it to end like this. Maybe you should have, considering you were associated with a race of aliens deeply embroiled in a centuries-long war, but you always pushed such unpleasant thoughts to the back of your mind, wishing your friends the best. Now, though, all the worst scenarios were coming to the surface. Had he fallen into a coma? Was his processor damaged? Had he died? You didn’t want to think about such an ending. Optimus was alive. You were sure of that.

Seeing the familiar red rock, a tight knot of anxiety gripped your throat. In a few moments, you were about to drive into what was practically your second home, not knowing what awaited you. You glanced at the clock. You were half an hour late—well beyond the time Ratchet had given you.

As if on cue, the medic called you again.

“Don’t enter the hangar. Leave the vehicle at the entrance.”

He hung up before you could say a word, and you sighed. The situation had grown even more worrying.

Before you could say a word, he hung up, leaving you to sigh in frustration.

Following his instructions, you parked at the main entrance and made the rest of the journey on foot. The lights seemed especially harsh, glaring into your eyes as the tunnel stretched endlessly ahead of you, as if warning you, giving you one last chance to turn back. But no force on Earth could stop you now. Determined, you marched forward, needing to know what had happened to your friend.

The hangar was full of Autobots, their sheer presence intimidating. You had thought you were over the feeling of smallness that came with being one of the humans among them, but now it hit you again, hard, dredging up memories of when humans in their midst were still a novelty. You froze for a moment, your courage momentarily disappearing in the shadows of giants.

It wasn’t until your eyes landed on the reason you had left work early that you began to breathe again. Optimus stood there, seemingly whole and healthy, facing the platform where the kids likely were. Relief washed over you. He was alive. Your heart was still racing, but the weight of dread lifted slightly, leaving you braced for the next wave of bad news.

"Hey, sorry I’m late. Work took longer than I expected," you called out.

Your voice immediately caught his attention. Optimus turned to you so abruptly that it shocked everyone present, abandoning the conversation he had been engaged in. Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you were surprised when he knelt down on one knee, making himself more accessible. You still had to look up, but now his face wasn’t obscured by his… windshields.

The first hint that something was off was his smile—wide, cheerful, and curious. Optimus didn’t smile like that, not even when something genuinely delighted him. Worry started gnawing at you again. Something was wrong.

"Greetings. You must be our next human ally, correct?"

At first, you were at a loss for words. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, memory loss hadn’t even crossed your mind. But before the conversation could veer into awkward territory or panic could take hold, you managed to reply, mirroring his smile.

"That’s right."

"You seem… familiar. As though we have met before."

The hangar fell silent, the atmosphere thickening.

"Of course he would remember her," Ratchet hissed under his breath. You shot him a glare filled with venom.

Focusing back on the mech before you, you forced a calm smile, masking the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You felt like you were on the verge of exploding—uncertain whether to jog his memories or pretend this was truly your first meeting. Why hadn’t anyone given you guidance on how to handle this?

"Erm, well…" you began, only for Ratchet to step in and spare you.

"Humans can look quite similar at first glance," the medic interjected. "Orion, this is [Name], the last human who should know of our existence."

A flicker of something lit up in his cyan optics—something indefinable, known only to him.

"Greetings, [Name]. It is a great pleasure to meet you."

He extended a servo toward you. Tentatively, you clasped one of his digits, ignoring the ache in your heart. This shouldn’t have been happening. You shouldn’t have to forge a new relationship with someone so dear to you. It felt uncanny—like he was wearing Optimus’s skin but was someone entirely different inside. It was unnerving, disorienting. Yet this stranger had knelt before you, reduced himself to your scale to show respect, just as Optimus always had. It was a glimpse of his alternate self, a sign of the inherent honor and kindness he still carried.

"Hello, Orion. The pleasure is all mine."

Letting go of his servo, you gave him an apologetic smile, signaling the end of the conversation. You needed answers, clarity about the situation, before you could decide how to proceed. As Orion straightened up, you stepped past him toward the platform. You could feel curious optics on you, particularly his, as you fist-bumped the kids. Unbeknownst to you, Orion clenched his servo in the same way you had during your handshake.

"So," you said to Ratchet, "what happened?"

The medic sighed, clearly weary of recounting the story yet again. But you had to know. You listened intently, the details unsettling and at times horrifying, but you felt a growing sense of calm. At least now you knew what you were dealing with—what topics to avoid, how to act. The relief faded, however, when you learned that the first attempt to restore Optimus’s memories had failed, and no date had been set for the next.

As Ratchet spoke, most of the team dispersed, leaving only you, the medic, and Orion in the hangar. Taking a moment to process everything, you glanced at Orion, catching his curious gaze.

This was your new reality. Optimus was gone, yet not entirely, standing just a few meters away, watching you intently. It was too much to dwell on. You needed something to distract yourself.

Standing from the couch, you headed down the stairs. You figured you’d be here for the rest of the evening, so you might as well find something productive to do.

"[Name]?" Orion’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He looked genuinely concerned. "Are you leaving already?"

His behavior puzzled you.

"I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll be right back."

"I see. May I accompany you?"

Oh, that was adorable—especially with the hopeful tone in his voice.

"I’m not sure you’ll fit in the tunnel in your current form," you teased with a laugh. "It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a minute."

This time, you quickened your pace.

For several hours, Orion's life had been filled with uncertainty. He didn’t know how he had ended up on this planet, who the Autobots around him were, or why they called him "Prime" when he felt he was unworthy of the title. And now, another enigma had appeared—you. Orion could not rationalize the overwhelming need to be near you. He had felt it the moment he laid his optics on you. The need to stay close, to converse, to observe. The need to know you better. Never before had such intense emotions stirred within him for anyone, let alone a stranger. But you weren’t a stranger. This may have been your first meeting, and he may have spoken to you for the first time, but you were not unfamiliar. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into hours since you had disappeared into the tunnel. He regretted not following you, even if it meant transforming into his alt-form. At least he would have kept an optic on you, preventing the gnawing feelings of confusion and longing from devouring him from inside.

Ratchet watched his friend closely. He recognized that look, that body language. He knew what it signified, what storm was brewing in Orion’s processor. Optimus had been the same when it came to you. For a brief moment, his friend was back. Too bad it was under such circumstances.

"Do you really remember that woman?" he asked.

"I am not certain," Orion replied, still gazing toward the tunnel. "I feel like she is not a stranger, even though I know this was our first encounter. And as… Prime, if I indeed held that title, was she close to me?"

Primus.

"Perhaps closer than any human, but only Optimus knew to what extent. That might explain why you recognized her."

"Then she is special."

"Everything points to that."

Orion glanced at him, offering a faint smile. For reasons Ratchet couldn’t quite explain, the gesture was hard to look at. Fortunately, you emerged from the tunnel, giving him an excuse to start working again.

"See? I told you it’d only take a minute," you laughed, a black backpack slung over your shoulder.

Orion didn’t confess the truth—that by his reckoning, you had been gone an eternity. He watched intently as you climbed the stairs and took a seat on the couch.

"So, Orion," you began, "what did you do on Cybertron?"

Oh. You were curious about him? Truly? He had never thought of himself as particularly interesting.

It was fortunate that you were not looking at him because his body language betrayed his embarrassment.

"I was an archivist. Do humans on Earth have similar professions?"

"Of course. You know, I’ve always admired archivists. It’s meticulous work, requiring patience and nerves of steel—if you know what I mean. Anyway, it’s an important job, and anyone who takes it up is very cool in my book."

"Cool?"

"You know, fascinating, impressive, admirable."

"Does that mean that... in your optics, I am… cool?"

He asked without thinking and immediately regretted it when you gave him an amused look. Embarrassed, he tilted his helm downward. For such a towering and formidable being, he was also astonishingly skittish. It was peculiar to see a former Prime in such a light, but it made him more relatable, more emotionally accessible. Even so, you couldn’t deny that you missed Optimus.

"Of course, you’re cool to me."

That answer brightened him. A spectacle of stars dances in his optics.

You returned to typing on your laptop, but Orion had other plans for you.

"It seems I still have much to learn about this planet."

"I think you’ll catch on quickly. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, the other bots don’t know everything either. If you’re ever unsure, just ask. I’ll do my best to help."

"Thank you, [Name]. Your kindness is very important to me."

"Anytime. If you’d like, you could also explore our literature—it’ll give you a good insight into what humanity is all about. That sounds like a fitting activity for an archivist, doesn’t it?"

He would much rather have you as his sole source of knowledge about your species, as it meant spending more time with you. He wanted to know not just what you were but who you were—your interests, where you worked, how you spent your free time, your philosophy, beliefs, and hobbies. Everything you were willing to share. He wanted to know you inside and out, to solidify this sense of connection and make it real. And if you wished, he would bare his own secrets, reveal his spark, and show you every part of himself. Perhaps then you might look at him just for a second longer.

"Yes, I believe that would be an enjoyable activity. And what is it that you do?"

He asked question after question, each answer adding a new layer of understanding about you. He shared a little in return, preferring listening to you—your opinions, your perspective.

Time passed swiftly in your company. Relentless and unforgiving, it waited for no one. Orion realized this when you set aside your device and began stretching. It was a mesmerizing sight—your movements were so different from those of Cybertronians, fluid, and light. That was until the air was pierced by the loud crack coming from your back.

Energon froze in his fuel lines, and his spark leaped to his intake.

"[Name]? Are you alright? Are you harmed?"

"Hm?" you hummed, confused. He looked as though calamity had befallen him, as though you’d been beheaded. Then you remembered—it was Orion, not Optimus, and the human body was weird. "Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s perfectly normal." To prove your point, you began cracking your knuckles, stopping quickly when you saw his horrified expression. "Okay, sorry about that. But really, I’m fine. I just need to stretch."

"Alright…" he replied, though he didn’t seem convinced. You couldn’t blame him.

You rose from the couch and stepped down from the platform, intending to take a short walk. Panic erupted in his spark. Oh no. No, no, no. He didn’t want to be left alone, not after such a jarring experience. He wouldn’t let you out of his optics now—not even for a moment.

"May I accompany you?"

"Of course!" you replied without hesitation, smiling—a gesture he immediately mirrored. "It won’t be very exciting, though."

"On the contrary, I find you to be a most intriguing individual."

"Oh, thank you," you said, clearing your throat, embarrassed. Compliments delivered in that baritone still flustered you.

Together, you ventured deeper into the base, bypassing various sections. In the training room, Arcee worked on her speed, while Bulkhead struck a makeshift punching bag fashioned from an old car. The children watched the spectacle, occasionally entertaining themselves. You both quickly slipped past the always-open entryway and continued on your way.

“[Name]?” Orion inquires. You turn into an empty hangar with a high platform, starting to ascend the stairs.

“Hm?”

“How do humans attempt to court their partners?”

You hadn't expected that kind of question. You stop mid-step, pondering your answer. When you look at him, his expression is dead serious, though his optics betray a determination. Why would he want to know this? You decide it’s probably mere curiosity.

“It depends on the person.” You continue climbing the stairs until you finally reach the top, now level with his faceplate. “Some buy gifts like flowers, others go on elaborate dates. But the common factor is spending time together, and getting to know one another. Feelings tend to develop naturally that way,” you explain. “Actually, that’s an interesting topic. How did it work on Cybertron?”

“Similarly. However, instead of exchanging ‘flowers,’ we presented rare metals or crystals to leave the best impression. To demonstrate strength and potential as a partner.”

“I know a few people who would totally fall for that approach. Heh, I’d be thrilled to get a geode myself.”

Orion suddenly lights up. Were you suggesting something or just sharing an opinion? Whatever it was, he felt compelled to try. To prove himself worthy. Perhaps he could even find the ‘flowers’ you mentioned.

“I see. Thank you for enlightening me.”

“You’re welcome?” you reply, unsure exactly how you’ve helped, but the sight of his broad smile and bright optics makes it all worthwhile. He was utterly adorable.

The two of you chat casually until you’re forced to check the time. You inhale sharply, and Orion tilts his head slightly, curious about your reaction.

“It was great talking to you, but I really need to go. I have work tomorrow and I’d like to get some sleep.”

Panic flashes across his face. He had enjoyed your company so much. He didn’t feel alienated or alone when he was with you. The sense of connection played a significant role, but Orion had already let you into his spark. He had found a safe harbor in you and wasn’t ready to drift away just yet. He wasn’t ready to let go, even if the world around him were to crumble.

“May I accompany you?” he asks, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Excuse me?”

“May I accompany you?” he repeats, now begging.

“My home isn’t exactly designed to host a giant robot. Besides, it’s dangerous and... wait, do you even know the traffic regulations?”

His expression answers the question, but he still attempts to defend himself.

“I have acquainted myself with them partially.”

“Who has the right of way at an uncontrolled intersection?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it again, visibly crestfallen. He looks as though he might cry.

“Orion, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” you reassure him. “The first thing I’ll do after work is come here.”

He frantically searches for an argument to keep you with him—anything to prolong your company. Then he remembers his first encounter with human children.

“Every child was assigned a guardian who escorted them home and ensured their safety,” he states, refusing to give up. “Do you have a protector?”

“Unofficially, that was Optimus…”

“Then I would like to carry on his mission.”

“I’m not a child, Orion.”

“I understand that. I merely wish for your safety, [Name],” he explains earnestly. “And… I would prefer not to part from the company most dear to me.”

Your thoughts drift back to something he said earlier—how he recognized the bond you once shared, even though this was your first conversation. He hadn’t recognized Ratchet or anyone from his team—only you.

You tried to put yourself in his position. To suddenly find yourself in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers addressing you by a false name and feeding you information that might as well be fiction. And then, in a world where nothing is familiar, someone steps in—someone you vaguely recognize. You might not know their name, but you know there was once a connection. Wouldn’t you cling to that tiny thread, desperately pulling it closer if someone tried to take it away?

Orion had found solid ground, and you were unintentionally trying to undermine it. You exhale softly. You already knew you’d be saying goodbye to sleep tonight.

“Alright.” His smile makes it all worth it. It’s as though you’ve handed him a star from the sky. “Let’s see what Ratchet has to say about all this.”

"I see no objections."

Orion looks at you with excitement sparkling in his optics.

"Wow, that was quick."

"It's a good excuse for Orion to explore the area and get accustomed to his alt mode."

The medic refrains from adding that if the former leader remained at the base, he would likely have wasted away in longing for you, lamenting to every sentient being that he couldn't wait to see you again. Though the comment teeters on the edge of his glossa, he opts for discretion. Optimus, at least, had never vocalized his peculiar obsession with you quite so openly.

"Should anything unusual occur, contact me immediately. Someone will come for you in the morning," Ratchet advises his friend before turning to you. "Good night, [Name]."

You thank the medic for his diligence and ask him to take some rest, earning a piercing glare that almost feels lethal, then retrieve your backpack and head toward the tunnel. Orion stays close by, not leaving your side even after transforming. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, visibly delighted at the prospect of your first shared drive together. In his mind, this was more than a mere drive—it was a deeply intimate act, almost akin to inviting a partner into one’s private space.

But his dreams are promptly shattered when you inform him that you have your own car.

The journey is uneventful but nerve-wracking; you constantly check your side mirror to ensure Orion is still following you. Thankfully, there are no issues, and he even remembers to use his turn signals when necessary. Everything proceeds smoothly until you pull into your driveway and are struck by a dreadful realization: Will a Peterbilt even fit in my garage?

You park your car to the side, leaving Orion enough space to drive safely. Exiting your vehicle, you open the garage door and wave at him to proceed. You nervously bite your thumb, watching the massive truck carefully edge into the space. There are barely three centimeters between the roof of the truck and the ceiling. When you close the garage door, the already limited space shrinks further.

"So, do you regret your decision now?" you ask, stepping around to the front of the truck.

Orion transforms with meticulous precision, carefully positioning his limbs and helm to avoid damaging the walls. The process goes well until his helm grazes the ceiling with an audible thud, dislodging a few small pieces of debris. He winces slightly and rubs his helm but offers you a warm smile.

"I do not regret my decision."

"Pfff, well, that's good. Are you all right?"

"I am unharmed."

You can’t help but feel guilty for confining him to such a cramped space, but it was his choice. If he insisted, he would simply have to endure it. Of course, that meant you would have to endure it, too, as the issues began almost immediately.

"All right, I’m going to grab my things. I’ll be back in a moment."

He panics again—something you’re beginning to expect from him.

"Please, do not leave me."

His voice is unchanging. A deep and thick baritone that permeates your body, speaking straight to your soul. It is strange to hear the same voice coming out of a shamed and uncertain being, begging you for company.

"I’ll only be gone for two minutes."

You reach for the door handle, but his servo shoots forward, blocking your exit.

"Orion," you chide, your tone sharp and reprimanding.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, his apprehension laid bare.

"Please, I do not wish to be alone."

"Two minutes," you say firmly, though your annoyance falters when you see the raw emotion in his optics. Sighing, you place a hand on the edge of his digit, catching his attention. "I’ll be back. I promise."

He believes you, of course he does. He trusts you to return, yes, he even knows it. It doesn't change the fact that he is frightened, he feels alone, and your proximity calms the storm raging through his processor. His whole body is clamoring for you, screaming for you to stay with him. He craves bodily contact, he wants your soft hands to stroke his metal and your lips to whisper sweet nothings. He wants more, he wants to feel the softness, more, more, more.

He takes his servo away.

"Good mech."

As you disappear through the door, Orion buries his face in his hands. Despite his embarrassment, he can’t suppress a grin. He had enjoyed that moment—far too much.

He wants to hear you say it again.

When you return, you’re carrying a blanket, a deck of UNO cards, some snacks, and your laptop. Orion beams at the sight of you but frowns when he notices you shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asks with concern.

"Hmm? A little, but I’ll warm up soon."

Without warning, he gently scoops you up in his servo, handling you with the utmost care. The shock is brief—you don’t even have time to protest before he places you on his chassis. His servo remains loosely wrapped around you as a precaution, but your back presses against his warm metal frame. Tilting your head up to glare at him for pulling such a stunt, you find him already watching you, amusement dancing in his optics.

"Ask next time before you do something like that," you scold lightly.

"I make no promises," he teases, earning a playful flick to his digit.

"I was planning to play UNO, but since you pulled that move, let’s watch a movie instead. Unless you’d rather do something else?"

"I leave myself entirely at your mercy."

He would have been content doing nothing as long as he could hold you close.

"All right, then. A movie it is."

It's hard for him to keep up with the plot when he's overstimulated, but he tries, because your questions encouraging discussion come out of nowhere. And it was just at moments when he started to drift off, when the optics shifted from the tiny screen to you; when there was only you and him in the world. Sometimes, however, he would focus for longer, especially during the romantic scenes. He longs to experience something similar with you, an indestructible, sappy love. To recite poetry into your ear and watch you blush, to announce to everyone how much you mean to him. To bestow expensive gifts, the geodes you mentioned earlier. He needs your tender words, your praise, your touch. You could do whatever you liked with him, and he would give you his spark.

He worries when you fall silent for too long.

"[Name]?" he calls softly, leaning closer to check on you. Relief washes over him when he sees you’ve simply fallen asleep. Poor thing—you must have been exhausted.

Still, a part of him resents it. He wanted to talk to you longer, watch more films, learn more about human romance to win your favor. But he knows his thoughts are selfish. Setting the laptop aside, he carefully covers you with his other servo, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

He's not sure he'll be able to recharge. At least not now, when he was too absorbed in devouring you with his optics. You felt safe with him. You gave him your trust. You chose him.

A spark of possessiveness sweeps through his processor. He doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want you to go to work tomorrow and leave him for eternity. He also knows he shouldn't think that way. The spark goes out.

Watching you sleep, his processor churns with thoughts. You trusted him. He vows to prove his worth tomorrow, to show you just how deep his feelings run.

Because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be himself. How much longer he will remain as Orion Pax.

[mrshowlettsgarden]

hiiii can i please request prompt 11? thank u!!

─➭ i got two requests for this prompt! ugh, I wish somebody would hold my hand the way logan would. hope you guys love this one! - kaya <3 (prompt list)

Hold My Hand, Please - Logan Howlett: the one where you get anxious, and he notices

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: prompt #11, very mild anxiety, comfort, soft!logan

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

Logan noticed right away when he first met you that you play with your fingers when you're nervous. But after the last few months he’s spent his time with you since he came to the mansion, you do it when you’re stressed too. Whether you're caught in an uncomfortable situation, you’re thinking, or simply when he’s around you.

But for the last reason he hasn't come to that conclusion yet and he does not need to know that he makes you nervous in a good way. 

Sometimes you tap each finger on the opposite hand with your thumb once or even twice per finger. Other times if you’re wearing a ring or rings you continuously turn the ring over and over again, along with turning it the opposite direction. Another time he’s seen you pick at the skin of your fingers but that one is a rarity. You’ll even tap your nails on each other to a beat.

It seems that you play with your hands and fingers to distract you from whatever it is that’s pushing your buttons, but he can sense that sometimes it does little to nothing to help.

During his time at the mansion, he's made it a routine to check on you when you're hiding in the greenhouse at night. It puts himself at ease even though he knows you’re safe in your element. And he enjoys the quiet walk towards the greenhouse away from the chaos going on back inside the house.

Today he noticed that you’ve been in the greenhouse all day. You haven’t come inside the house at all so he went to check on you.

As he walks towards the door, he senses something is off right away. Especially with the way the branches nearly threw the door open in his presence. He scrunches his eyebrows as he picks up his pace to find you. 

“Y/n?” he called out as he walked further through with caution.

“Over here, Logan,” he hears your soft voice come from his far right.

He comes out from one of the flower covered archways to find you standing in front of the chalkboard that’s filled with a bunch of letters and numbers that he can’t find the will to decipher. When he walks closer to you, he sees that you're rolling a piece of chalk between the pads of your fingers as you stare holes into the board. 

“Hey, you alright?” he asks as he stands next to you mimicking your stance in front of the board.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” a gentle smile graces your lips as you continue to roll the chalk all over your fingers. 

You haven't looked over at him yet. Too afraid to lose the pattern that you’ve been studying about a plant Charles had given you this morning. You’ve never met a more stubborn plant before, and it's been hard to communicate with it because well… you almost want to say it too shy to speak.

It has an unnatural growth pattern and possesses something in the stem of it that has paralyzed those who’ve touched it with bare hands. So far, the ones who have touched the plant haven’t recovered yet. They're still paralyzed from the neck down and one is under a coma.

It’s a powerful and dangerous plant. And you just can’t figure out what the fuck it is… 

“Well, for one thing you almost tore the door off while I was walking up here,” he smirks as he gazes through your neat writing. But the jumbled up words and numbers is hurting his eyes."Jeez, are ya' tryna' create a new math equation in here?" he jokes.

A small, quiet laugh was heard from you and when he looks over in your direction he can see the distress in your bunched up eyebrows. Upon seeing the look on your face, he moves his gaze to your hands. The grip you have on the small piece seems to have gotten stronger that it’s close to breaking with bits of it falling off.

“Hey, hey,” he says worriedly as he takes a hold of your hand, and you finally look at him. You have an upset look on your face and he’s ready to punch a hole into whoever and whatever it is that’s causing this. He removed the chalk from your hand and weaved his fingers between yours in comfort. “Talk to me… What’s buggin’ ya’?” 

You're almost in tears as the weight of your stress starts to release, feeling the warmth of his hand engulf yours. You look up at him and you begin to feel at peace seeing his hazel eyes matching your gaze. You sigh before explaining to him that Charles has tasked you to figure out what, when, and how this plant came to be. And despite literally having the power to help you figure out what the problem is, it’s not helping whatsoever. 

“I don’t know what to do, Logan,” you say in an uneasy tone as you look down at your shoes in defeat.

The hand holding yours tightened as he took a step closer to you. You feel Logan’s free hand lift your chin to get your eyes to look back at him and when you do, your eyes widen a little to see the most tender look on his handsome face. You don't think you've ever seen a look on him like that before.

“What do you need, darlin’” he says just above a whisper. 

You didn't have to think about what you needed because he was already doing it.

“Just keep…holding my hand, please,” you whisper.

Logan gives you a simple nod of understanding. 

“And I won’t let go till you tell me too.”

Even when you do, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to.

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.

AO3 LINK ONE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

PREVIEW

Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.

"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.

"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.

Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.

This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.

You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.

Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.

“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”

The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?

“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?

Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.

“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.

"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.

“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.

“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.

“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.

“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.

“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.

“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.

"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.

“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.

“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.

[declareqenius]

all the ashes in my wake

summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.

warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma

a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!

The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.

Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.

Your eyes are closed now.

Wanda hates every second of it.

Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.

So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.

Right now, though, you are her priority.

The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.

"Wands-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."

Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.

She almost leveled the entire block.

The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.

So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.

They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.

Tears form in Wanda's eyes.

"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.

"After she wakes up."

Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.

"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.

"Nat."

It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.

Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.

She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."

It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.

At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."

"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."

"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"

Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.

Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.

"I'm sorry I let this happen."

Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.

Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.

"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."

Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.

"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."

"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."

Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"

"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"

Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.

"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.

Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.

Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.

The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.

She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.

"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Me too, Natalia. Me too."

They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.

Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.

"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.

Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.

"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."

"Natasha."

Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Please, Wanda."

Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.

"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."

Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.

"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.

"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.

Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.

"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.

Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."

She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.

Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.

"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."

[watermelonlovershigh]

Baby Fever /blurb/ (housemate!harry series)

AN: i now wish i would have made this blurb into a regular chapter with more details, making it longer, but i can't go back now. so this will be the first blurb in my series. i wrote this because i was having issues coming up with something to write for part 16. but after this, i'll get on top of starting part 16. i hope you enjoy and feel free to send in blurb ideas for this series.

This story contains: pure fluff, baby fever

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - uncle!harry }

word count- 1,076

Harry has to babysit his niece for the day unexpectedly, and you get to watch Harry interact with a baby for the first time, which gives you baby fever.

It's evident that Harry was great with children, given his profession as a teacher. However, you were unaware of the extent of his skills with young children and infants until he was given the responsibility of caring for his sister's baby for the day. This situation arose when his sister urgently called him at four in the morning, explaining that her husband was facing a family emergency and needed someone to watch their daughter, Juniper, for a few hours.

Being the wonderful uncle that he is, Harry told his sister he'd be happy to spend his Saturday babysitting his niece. You had not yet met his sister or niece prior to this morning. But after meeting in Harry's entrance way at half past five in the morning, his sister was incredibly kind to you, even in the midst of her hurried departure after leaving little Juniper in her uncles care. As for Juniper, although she's just a baby, 8 months to be exact, she graciously allowed you to hold her, which you regard as a positive first greeting.

Since it was very early in the morning, Harry encouraged you to return to bed for a few hours while he kept Juniper entertained. Knowing he's an early bird anyways and you liked your sleep. You were hesitant at first but ultimately chose to follow his suggestion. You fell asleep again until around seven, when the delightful sounds of giggling stirred you awake. Rubbing your eyes, you got out of bed to see where all the laughter was coming from.

As you made your way down the hallway, the cheerful giggles intensified. Upon your arrival in the kitchen, you found yourself captivated by the sight. Juniper was comfortably seated on Harry's lap at the kitchen table, one of his arms providing her with support to ensure she remained steady, while his other hand carefully held a tiny spoon containing what seemed to be mashed peas from a jar of baby food.

Given that you've only been dating Harry for three months, you've not yet explored his views on the idea of having children one day. However, you're curious about whether he envisions a future with kids. You would be thrilled to give him as many children as he desired, especially if it meant starting each day with this delightful view.

Before long, Harry noticed your presence as he's feeding his niece and smiled gently at you. You walked over and took a seat at the table, continuing to observe him as he fed her the unappealing mushy peas until her tummy was completely satisfied. Harry then rose with Juniper in his arms and headed to the sink to get a damp paper towel, which he used to clean the green food that had smeared around her little mouth.

As soon as you heard the rumble of Harry's stomach, you decided to prepare breakfast for the two of you while he carried Juniper into the living room. You made avocado toast and served yourself a cup of coffee, aware that Harry had already enjoyed two cups since being awake.

Based on your background in waitressing during your teenage years, you skillfully transported two plates of avocado toast and one cup of coffee to the living room. As you stepped inside, you observed Harry gesturing to keep quiet with a finger pressed to his mouth, and then you understood the reason for his request.

Likely in a food coma, little baby Juniper rested soundly against his clothed chest. The sight brings a tingle to your ovaries. He slowly rose and made his way to the baby swing in the corner provided by his sister, gently setting a sleeping Juniper inside before activating the motor, which caused the swing to move softly while playing a calming melody.

Harry walked back over to the couch where you handed him his plate of avocado toast, saying, "Thank you, baby." before leaning in to peck a kiss to your lips.

"You're welcome." you replied sweetly, then begun silently eating your toast and sipping your coffees, being mindful of the sleeping baby. Once you're finished eating, you turned to Harry and can't help but blurt out the question you've thought all morning. "Do you want kids one day?"

Harry looked taken back at your question before a warm smile spread over his features. "Yeah, I would love to have kids in the future."

Keeping a quiet tone, you continued to prod, "You've always wanted kids?"

"Um yeah, I think so. I mean, after comin' to terms with my sexuality, I knew there may be a chance I can't have any biological kids. I would've been okay with that because there's adoption and stuff of the sorts. But havin' biological kids would be just as great. So yeah, I want kids one day. What about you?"

"Yeah, I want kids, but only if I'm with the right person." you answered and Harry gets a cheeky smile on his face, knowing you're dating. So if the answer doesn't describe him, then he must be doing something wrong.

Just to tease you, he asked, "Oh yeah, and what does the right person look like to you?"

You repositioned yourself on the couch, settling into a position that allowed you to straddle Harry's lap. In this close proximity, you explained, "I donno. Someone who is kind and gentle. A person who's responsible and smart. Someone who would always encourage our children to be themselves. And someone who may or may not pass on the charming trait of dimples to our kids."

Smiling, Harry cupped the sides of your face in his large hands and cooed in a mere whisper, "Does this person have a name by chance?"

You nod, "Mhm, his name is Harry." Right as his name rolled off your tongue, Harry leaned forward to capture your lips with his. The kiss is gentle yet passionate. It lasted a total of ten seconds before you pulled away. "We better stop before we start something we can't finish right now. There's a baby asleep in the corner."

With a fake pout, Harry commented, "Fine, but just so you know, in the future, when we're hopefully married, or not yet married because things happen, I'd love to be the father of your children. And I'd love you to mother our children. You'll be the best mother in the world."

Yep, it was the right decision to start dating your housemate.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[justwinginglife]

I have to request again you keep me alive at this point!

Can we get some angst, maybe reader gets injured while Soshiro is away from base and he rushes back to base while she’s in critical condition praying she’ll be okay in the end and at the same time devastated he wasn’t able to protect her???

Hello again! Very pleased to be keeping you alive. Have some more life.

Whole World

You're Soshiro's whole world.

You're his whole world and at this moment, his world appears to be crashing down on him.

He can't even think straight enough to drive, and he doesn't want to drive anyway. Driving isn't fast enough. He commandeers a helicopter and pretty much kidnaps a pilot, trying his best to rush to your side. He'd grow wings himself if he thought it'd get him to you faster.

You're his whole world, and when they told him you had been badly injured and were now in critical condition, he felt that world trembling, he felt the ground splitting beneath him, the earth swallowing him whole, the magma eroding away at his body, at his heart.

He spends the entire agonizing flight fidgeting with his fingers, with his seatbelt, with anything he can get his hands on. He'd pull his own hair out if it'd distract from the pain throbbing in his chest. He wonders why this flight is taking so long. Why he's so useless. Why he's so far away from you. Why did he allow himself to ever be this far away from you?

He knew it would be difficult to be far away from you, from the moment he saw you waiting by the door for him in just his t-shirt, all drowsy and sleepy-eyed, but still eager to give him a proper goodbye kiss and wish him safe travels before he left, but he didn't know it would be this devastating. He wasn't supposed to be gone this long. And you weren't supposed to be gone by the time he got back.

Would you hold on for him? Could you hold on for him? Was it even physically possible? Or were you too far gone? Would he get to say goodbye? Would he even be able to bring himself to say goodbye? Would he just die right there beside you once he saw your lifeless body?

His thoughts grew louder and louder in his mind until he couldn't even hear the buzz of the helicopter's blades, just the deafening sound of despair echoing in his ears. He thought his eardrums might rupture from the devastation, might bleed from the heartbreak.

He gets notice while he's still in transit that you've fallen into a coma and may never awaken again. And now the only thing waiting for him in the hospital is a difficult decision- to keep you afloat, limp and lifeless, or to send you off to the paradise you deserve. He wonders if he'll go to hell for depriving you of heaven, because he doesn't think he can send you off. He doesn't think he can let you go.

He thinks about how selfish he's always been, how selfish he was when he first claimed you as his own and then kept claiming you everyday since, and how selfish he is now, even when you've almost passed, clinging to you until the very last second.

Will you forgive him if he can't live without you? Will you forgive him for not being able to save you? You always forgave him when he couldn't forgive himself. He doesn't want you to forgive him, he just wants you to be here. He just wants you to be waiting for him when he gets to the hospital, griping to him about how shitty hospital food is. He just wants to be able to say he'll take you home and cook you something even better, something fit for a queen.

He wants to hold you, spoil you, love you. If he could, he'd hold you more, spoil you more, love you more. He'd do better, he'd be better, he'd be anything you wanted, anything you needed, as long as you were still alive to need him.

When he gets to the hospital, he runs to you. As he takes sharp turns around every corner, sprinting down every hallway, he wonders what he's running for. You won't be there waiting for him, you won't be ready with a smile. But he runs anyway, desperate to just be near you again.

When he realizes that you are in a coma after all, that it wasn't all just some bad dream, he collapses beside your bed. He can't think of anything to say at first, and then all of a sudden he's rambling, and now he can't stop saying things. He sounds crazy and he doesn't care. You always liked his crazy. You always matched his crazy. He needs you to come back and be his again and he'll beg you on his knees if he has to.

"Please, I need you. I'll quit my job, I'll retire, I'll give you as many babies as you want. I'll buy you a nice house, the one that you wanted that I said was ugly. I'll teach our kids how to ride bikes. I'll cook every single meal. You don't even have to lift a single, gorgeous finger. I'll do it all. Just please, I need you. Come back to me. Please. Please. I'll do anything. Just please."

He murmurs please over and over again until he's forgotten what the word even means. Until he's forgotten how to say anything else.

He grips your hand tight, squeezing it to a beat, like the sensation will remind your heart what its job is.

Then his heart beats once. It beats again, this time louder. Then it gets louder and louder in his ears and he wants to tell it to shut the fuck up so he can just be in this moment with you but then he realizes it's not his heartbeat he's hearing.

It's yours. On the monitor. It's increasing.

He starts rambling again.

"I'll change my hairstyle, if you want. I'll get a new hobby. I'll learn how to use a gun right. I'll learn how to bake that dessert that you like. I'll fix the fence when it breaks, fix the pipes when they burst. I'll be dependable. I'll be there for you. I'll never leave you. I'll never leave your side ever again. I'll handcuff myself to you. I'll superglue myself to you. You'll be so sick of me and it will be fine because you'll be alive and I'll love the shit out of you every second of everyday, so just PLEASE."

He pauses but all he hears is the hum of the machines, the clatter of nurses running by. Nothing he wants to hear. Not your voice, not your laugh.

He thinks he might drown in his own tears and that would serve him right.

Then a weak voice splits through the thick air.

"I... I quite like your... your hair. Don't... don't change it."

His head snaps up.

He doesn't even bother to wipe the flow of tears from his face as he throws himself at you.

"S-still... injured... h-here."

He laughs and releases you slightly, though still clinging to you, still needing to be near you. "Injured is so very much better than dead. Thank god."

"Also... as much as I'd love to be handcuffed by you... I don't know how I'd like being handcuffed to you for life. And let's skip the superglue, yeah?"

He laughs again and when you laugh, though weak, the sound gives him hope and gives him permission to keep laughing, to keep enjoying this moment with you.

"So don't ever leave me again and I won't have to resort to such drastic measures, okay?" He kisses the top of your head and then he kisses your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He keeps kissing you all through the night but you never get tired of it. You don't even wave him off when the nurse comes in to check on your vitals and is shocked to see you sitting up in bed, with your husband's lips trailing paths all over you.

You're just glad to be alive and nothing makes you want to live more than he does.

You're his whole world.

But he's yours too.

[loko4koko]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ Gojo Satoru x f!reader ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

100 FOLLOWER MILESTONE CELEBRATION ✰

>fanart_credit: _3aem (via_twitter)

MDNI 18+

>word_count: 7293

>contents: slight crack (it’s a gojo fic what do u expect), established relationship, fake engagements, excessive use of “fiancé/fiancée”, satoru is DOWN BAD like ultra simp 3000 levels, kiiinda rich boy!gojo but like barely, gojo calls you “angel” and baby” a lot, cunnilingus, kinda feral!gojo too, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), multiple positions, explicit p in v, rough(ish) sex, creampie, gojo being a lil slut for you, itty bitty dacryphilia (if you squint mad hard)

there’s a standoff happening in your kitchen. a staring contest of sorts. the tension in the air is palpable, so thick you could taste it if you stuck out your tongue. your opponent is a worthy contender, giving just as good as it gets. your nose twitches with the intensity of it, eyes narrowed as you keep your gaze firm, focused.

your adversary in this battle? a red, velvet ring box.

god, it’s like it’s taunting you with it’s delicate heart shape. smug little box, just sitting on the dining table unopened. you’re not sure how long you’ve been caught in the orbit of this suspicious item, but it must’ve been quite a while, according to your boyfriend.

“babeee, i’ve been calling you! what’re you doing?” satoru appears from the direction of your bedroom, frown on his face from his belief that you’re purposely ignoring him. he slips behind you, arms around your torso as he leaves a kiss on the top of your head.

“oh,” he laughs as he fixes his eyes on what has you so engrossed, “it’s not what you think.”

this is what gets your attention, turning your head so your gaze is no longer on the little box, but on satoru instead. “what, you proposing to your other girlfriend or something?” you pout. he laughs again, annoyingly louder this time.

“baby, i’m not proposing to anybody yet. and you know i don’t have another girlfriend. it took me 3 years to get you to say yes to one date, you think i’m pulling that off again? thanks for putting faith into my game, though.” you can’t help but to roll your eyes in jest, turning in the man’s arms to wrap yourself around him.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. so…what is it then?”

“it’s a ring.”

“i thought you said you weren’t proposing…”

“okay well, technically, i am. but listen! i saw online some guy and his girlfriend went to different restaurants with a fake ring and when he ‘proposed’ to her, they gave them free food and desserts! so. we’re doing that.”

you pull yourself from satoru’s grasp, staring up at him blankly. he gives you a goofy smile in return, bringing a hand up to boop your nose when you remain silent.

“satoru….really? doing this just so you can get free chocolate lava cakes and ice cream? i’m definitely deleting tiktok from your phone, damn app gives you way too many ideas.” and there he goes frowning again, pretty pink lips downturned so dramatically.

“baby, no…i’m doing this so that WE can get free chocolate lava cakes and ice cream. what kind of selfish, evil man do you take me for? … and you’re not deleting my tiktok! how else am i going to send nanami videos he claims to not watch but always knows about when i ask him?”

a sigh leaves you as you shake your head, truly experiencing defeat. you, and everyone else that had ever met him for that matter, knew that there was no changing satoru’s mind when the words “free” and “dessert” were involved. he’d eat himself into a goddamn diabetic coma if you let him get away with it.

satoru enacts his master plan the next night, surprising you with a stunning new dress and a note that says to “look super sexy and marriageable (where the hell had he even learned that word?) as usual” left on your bed. you try your best to comply with his wishes, getting your makeup and hair as perfect as you can before slipping the very revealing dress on. you realize something rather odd while you doll yourself up; satoru hasn’t come home to get himself ready. it was almost 6pm, the time designated by him in his little note, and you were practically ready aside from some jewelry and shoes. you couldn’t imagine that he would make you wait while he showered and dressed, so you were a little bit confused, but you decide to brush it off while you pick between solid gold hoops and diamond-encrusted dangles, both courtesy of the man in question.

when 6:04pm rolls around, and your fancy yves saint laurent heels are wrapped around your feet, the front door opens. you look up from your seat at the kitchen island with a wine glass in hand, and, in the most cliché way possible, your breath is stolen right out of your lungs. satoru was always stupidly beautiful, just so gorgeous that it made you sick, but now? he looked even more alluring than usual. those inhumanly blue eyes were hidden behind his typical shades, masterfully tailored suit adorning his lanky form like it was painted on. his deep red button up, the same color as your cocktail dress, was unbuttoned for the first three (because he was a slut.) and to top it all off, he was wearing that same award winning smile that he’d dazzled you with so many years ago. if he wasn’t so set on his goddamn desserts, you’d bend over and spread your thighs for him right there on the counter.

“holy fuck,” is the first thing he says to you, grip on a bouquet of what looks like dark red carnations and burgundy roses tightening as he takes you in. he takes off his glasses as he draws in closer, pure reverence in his eyes the whole time. “angel, you look…you look fucking edible. my god. what a woman.” you’re not new to satoru’s comments and compliments, far from it, but tonight, they were hitting a little different, for lack of a better term. maybe it was the look in his eyes, some kind of compound of love and burning desire, but something else, too. something almost…determined, but you don’t know what he’d be determined to do other than put on a good show.

“so, eat me then,” you tease, though the heat in your cheeks and your eyes not meeting his gives away how flustered he’s got you. he’s still looking you over, scrutinizing every pretty inch of you with an overwhelming intensity before his steely gaze levels to yours.

“mm, tempting, but it’ll have to wait; we have to go get engaged first. these,” he holds the flowers out to you, “are yours, my arrestingly beautiful queen.” you can’t help but to laugh at his ultra-corny pet names, but they warm your heart nonetheless, rising from your stool to find a vase to fill with water.

“where were you, anyway? you show up all dressed to the nines on me out of nowhere. what, did you get ready in the car or something?” you ask, back to the white-haired man while you dig around in a cabinet.

“suguru helped me out, kept my suit and let me shower at his place..” he says, almost distantly. you can’t see it, but satoru is watching you, worshipping you with his eyes as you flit around the kitchen in your heels and your dress and your oh so seductive aura. he’s never seen anything or anyone be more mesmerizing in his life, and he knows he never will.

arriving at the first restaurant of the three satoru had planned has your nerves alighting. what if they knew you were faking it? god, how disgraceful that would be—caught in your goober of a boyfriend’s silly scheme would have you too embarrassed to show your face in public for at least two months. but then he smiles at you from the driver seat- a genuine one that eases your anxieties and soothes your concerns, one so brilliant that it instills you with the necessary confidence to go commit…whatever form of fraud this whole thing is. you give him one in return, reaching out to cup his cheek before you’re leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. you can feel him smile even wider when you do.

“so, how much do you want me to sell this? ‘cause, if i cry now, it might not be so believable at the next place.” satoru’s pushing in your chair when you speak, smoothing his hands down your shoulders before giving you a squeeze. he takes his own seat, flipping the menu open to browse through the beverage list.

“best as you can with no tears. gotta save those for the last one,” he tilts his glasses down to send you a wink, and, for the millionth time within your relationship, you’re light-heartedly rolling your eyes at him. “you got it, baby. but! if you don’t share whatever disgustingly sweet, sugar-stuffed, chocolate-drizzled, candy-coated bullshit you ask for, it’s gonna be your pretty little ass.” he laughs at your threat and throws his hands up in resignation. you might be smiling when you say it, but you surely aren’t joking, and he knows it.

you both decide to keep dinner small and light, knowing you’re going to gorge yourselves on whatever insulin-raising dishes your dear boyfriend chooses to indulge in. it’s not long after you put your fork down when he gives you ‘the look.’ you have to use all of your willpower not to smile, woosah-ing yourself into the role of an unsuspecting girlfriend about to be proposed to. you paint a look of surprise on your face when he gets down on one knee, giving you a charming little speech about how he’d “wanted to do this for so, so long” and how he “could never love another the way he loves you, never want to. so please baby, will you marry me?” it’s actually rather romantic, makes you wonder how close it all is to his true feelings for you.

you and satoru hardly ever explicitly talked about marriage, but he did always talk about how he wanted to be with you forever (or rather, that he’d jump off a bridge if you ever broke up with him, but that wasn’t as eloquent.) he’d mention plans of a big house he wanted to put you in, so he could come home to you and your warm embrace every day until he was old and wrinkly beside you. so, maybe not an outright “hey, we’re getting married some day,” but it was most definitely implied.

at the end of satoru’s little scripted scene, he pulls out that same heart-shaped ring box from the table, opening it up to showcase a square cut diamond, one you’re sure must be a piece of costume jewelry for the occasion. you gasp, climbing out of your seat to throw your arms around him with a “yes! yes, i’ll marry you!” he picks you up, standing back up to his full height as he delicately sways you back and forth. you share a kiss, one you let a few secret giggles into, before you part, allowing your boyfriend the pleasure of sliding the ring onto your finger. the patrons of the restaurant that’d been watching the spectacle all clap at what they believe to be a genuine display of affection, including your waiter from his station near the kitchen. it’s a lot of attention, but being with someone that looks like (and acts like, and is) satoru means you’re relatively used to stares and whispers. he gives you one more sloppy smooch before he’s helping you back into your seat, giving a bow of thanks to the other customers before he’s sitting, too.

when the waiter comes back to offer up your grand prize, with eyes dampened from your well-acted performance, satoru keeps it simple and orders a non-nauseating plate of assorted mochi ice cream. and when it comes to the table, he plucks one of the cold, sweet little treats in between his long fingertips and reaches his equally lengthy arm across the table to feed it to you with not a lick of selfishness. fuck the dessert, he’d share the entire moon with you if it was in his possession.

“babe, we fucking killed that. that lady? in the black blouse? she was crying, like, actually crying! i almost feel bad, but that mochi was to die for, so i’d say it was a worthy crime.” you jabber excitedly on your walk back to the car, hand in hand with your stage fiancé. he’s staring down at you as you prattle on, knows he should be watching where he’s going but fuck, you’re so stunning and you go along with his admittedly very childish desires for free sweets and yeah, he really is so whipped, it’s not even funny. he’d never deny it, either—the man who carries multiple pictures of you in his wallet and as his phone background, the man who gives you massages and shares from his candy stash when you’re on your period, the one who can’t get mad at you when you fall asleep on him during a movie he really wanted to see? there’d be an ice-cold day in hell before that man—the only gojo satoru—ever denies being hopelessly, foolishly, irrevocably in love with you.

the second restaurant that you and satoru pull your scheme on is a tad bit more upscale than the first—not to say the first eatery wasn’t upscale, would never be the case with your luxury loving boyfriend—and you absorb your surroundings from your place on the man’s arm while he checks your reservation in with the maître d. for this place, as fancy as it is, you think you’ll tone down the theatrics, keep it a little classier this time around. you don’t want to embarrass yourself or satoru with some overly acted performance that screamed fake. the suited man behind the counter leads you to a table, not smack-dab in the middle of the dining area but not very secluded either, something perfect for the exhibition you were going to put on.

“you know, you’re setting me up for some very high expectations, ‘toru,” you speak from behind your wine glass, eyes on what would be his if it weren’t for the glasses he still wears. he looks up from his menu, head tilted inquisitively.

“is that so?”

“mhm. that ring you got looks nice, but you’ve spoiled me. i’m gonna need one way bigger now. and,” you pause, taking another swig from your glass, “you’ll have to really surprise me. i mean, this restaurant is really nice, but if you keep this up, we’re gonna run out of fancy restaurants for you to actually propose to me in. there’re only so many, y’know.” your tone is coated in sarcasm, but satoru doesn’t laugh. instead, he smirks, closing his menu and placing it to the side.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about that, sweet girl. you’ll be very surprised when it happens.”

the meal is delicious, as expected, and your plates are cleared soon after. satoru’s laughing at a story you have about your neighbor’s adorable little kitty cat that keeps trying to sneak into your apartment while he pours you another glass of an unnecessarily expensive wine he insisted on.

“are you ready?” he asks when you finish, and you give him a short nod, quick to prepare yourself again for the false astonishment you have to give and the onslaught of eyes that were soon to be on the two of you.

he reaches across the table to take your left hand in his, eyes peering up at you over his glasses when he leans down to press his lips against your ring finger.

“i love you,” he murmurs before he’s up and out of his seat. he approaches your side of the table but he doesn’t do his part of getting down on one knee yet, opting instead to cup your cheek with a hold so gentle you’d assume he thought you were made of glass.

“i mean it, i really do love you more than anything in this world.” you don’t have time to respond to the declaration before he’s descending to his knee, taking your hand yet again as he gives you another speech. this one is different than the last, but just as full of genuine love.

“you make my days worth living, baby. you make the sun look like a streetlight in comparison to how much you light up my life. you’re so funny, so smart, so generous, and you put up with the…less than favorable parts of my personality with very minimal complaints.” he says that last part with a little bit of disdain and it has you giggling in a way no one else can bring out of you, despite your slightly glossy eyes. “my perfect girl, will you marry me?”

and there it is, the ring box you’d been waiting to see since you stepped into this establishment full of onlookers. he opens the box and slides the ring onto your finger before he even gets your verbal answer, but it doesn’t matter because you’re nodding and smiling like a damn idiot, as if it’s real. you try not to dwell on that thought for long.

“of course i’ll marry you, satoru.” he carefully pulls you up out of your chair and cups your face again, this time with both hands, lips against yours in a kiss much more serious than the last time you did this. there’s more applause following suit, but you can’t pay attention to anyone but satoru, who’s kissing you so deeply that the restaurant could be burning to a crisp and you would be none the wiser. when you part, he’s grinning, a little bit from the wine buzz and a lot from the adrenaline of proposing to his gorgeous girlfriend, staged as it was.

your waitress is quick to congratulate you both, and when she mentions the one thing that satoru came here for—that goddamned free dessert—he lets you choose. but you’re so generous, his sweet little sweetheart, just like he said in his speech, and you pick something sugar-stuffed, and chocolate drizzled, and so fucking satoru that it makes your teeth ache. you’re always, always, thinking about him, and he loves you all the more for it.

when you get to the last restaurant/soon-to-be victim of theft of services, you’re feeling very practiced in the art of deception. the tears you were able to evoke out of the unknowing guests, and the ones satoru almost pulled out of you had you unwaveringly confident in both your own and satoru’s level of skill as thespians this time around.

this place is a far cry from the previous two and you can tell before you even step foot inside, the architectural marvel of a building radiating the energy of one of those “sorry, we’re booked 3 years in advance” kind of places. you have no doubt that satoru could get in anywhere if he wanted to, though- the man was quick to offer bribes well into the range of some people’s entire salaries. if he wanted something, he was unrelenting, tenacious even—traits you admired greatly about him.

the moment you step inside, you start to feel a little swell of anxiety. this was..intense. the lighting was much more moody, with floor to ceiling windows giving the diners a view of a beautiful garden, lush with greenery. you and satoru had dined well before, but this was something entirely different. he leads you to the reception desk where another maître d, not dissimilar to the one before, greets you with an air of extreme professionalism. satoru gives the man his name, and you’re left a little confused when his eyes widen in what you think is surprise. he gives your boyfriend a quick nod before he dashes off, and you try not to focus too much on how expensive this place must be or why satoru would come here of all places for a free dessert, but it’s hard not to. the wall behind the reception desk is practically covered in plaques of awards, the words “michelin star” and “winner of..” plastered on most of them. you know those aren’t easily earned, so you try to think less about the exorbitant cost you know your boyfriend is paying, instead doing your best to enjoy this probably once-in-a-lifetime dining experience.

the man from before returns, with another more sharply dressed man, who grins wide when he sees satoru and yourself. he shakes your man’s hand firmly, giving a nod of his head in the direction of the dining area. the restaurant is gorgeous, past that really, but a little under-populated for satoru’s plan to have it’s most effectiveness. besides, what’s the point of a fake proposal if no one is gonna see it?

you mention your previous thoughts to satoru once you’re seated, but he just gives you a smile and says “don’t worry about anything other than enjoying yourself.”

so you don’t. you reminisce on funny, and sometimes embarrassing stories about your past with satoru—sharing laughter, and food you can’t fucking pronounce, and glasses of ridiculously high-priced alcohol.

“you’re the most wonderful woman in the world, angel,” he muses some time down the line, “thank you. i don’t fucking deserve you.” his words have you putting your glass down, reaching across the table to mirror his earlier actions by taking his hand, with your face set into a frown.

“i don’t like it when you say things like that, satoru. you do deserve me..because i say you do. you’re not- you’re not hard to love, satoru; it’s actually very, very easy. and i love loving you, and i’m gonna keep doing it every fucking day that you’ll have me. okay? so none of that,” you say, squeezing his much larger hand in your own.

“what if i wanted to have you forever?” he asks, eyes still hidden behind those increasingly unnecessary glasses. the restaurant is far more dimly lit than the first two, but the urge to complain comes only from how much you miss looking into those dazzling blue pools.

“well, i’d give you forever and then some. you’re not getting rid of me, ‘toru,” you grin, taking the stem of your glass between the fingers of your free hand and lifting it to your lips. satoru follows the movement behind his shades, watches how the delicate line of your throat bobs with your swallowing with a sort of reverie that is usually described in religious texts. he’d pray for you, pray to you, anything. he’d learn how to sculpt just so your beauty could be immortalized for all of eternity.

satoru says your name and you hum, quick to swallow down the rest of your sake before giving him a sweet smile with your eyebrows raised.

“i hope you meant what you said—about forever.” you’re about to ask him what his foreboding words mean but you’re interrupted by none other than satoru himself, rising from his seat for the third and final time this evening to bring himself down to one knee. you’re about to laugh and quietly chide him for not giving you time to prepare for the show when you hear the sound of a piano, looking over your shoulder to see a man sitting at the once unmanned instrument. you turn further still and see that all of the staff has crowded around the edges of the room, all holding intricately crafted bouquets of..dark red carnations and burgundy roses, much like the one he’d given you, both granting you space but still wanting to watch the grand gesture that your boyfriend prepared.

“satoru, what’s….did you call ahead or something? this is…kind of a lot for a dessert i could make you at home..” he smiles and shakes his head at your endearing ignorance to the situation, reaching up to pull his glasses off for the first time all night. those eyes that you missed so much, they were rimmed with a faint redness. you couldn’t help but act on your instincts, reaching out to cup his face in your careful—caring—hands. you don’t get the chance to ask him what has him tearing up so much before he starts, a speech entirely new leaving his lips.

“if you think that loving me is easy, then loving you is child’s play. loving you is…one of the greatest gifts that i have ever or could ever be granted. you don’t always see it, and i like it that way, but sometimes—a lot of times—i look at you like you created the heavens and the earth. you are the heavens and the earth to me. you’re everything to me. your laugh alone could cure me of any ails. i don’t know what i did to make such a beautiful, loving, gentle, smart, hilarious, talented woman fall in love with my stupid ass, but fuck, baby, i thank the universe every day for you. you give me purpose. you give me strength. you give me the want to continue, when it feels like there’s no fight left in me.”

your eyes shimmer with unshed tears, lips parted in genuine shock that you hadn’t expected to feel tonight. you spare another glance at the staff before bringing your gaze back to satoru, voice caught in your throat and tongue heavy in your mouth.

“satoru, if- if you’re playing with me..if you’re doing this for your damn dessert, i-“

“no, baby, this- this is real. you are…the most exceptional person i know. you love me in a way that i didn’t know was possible before you came into my life. i’m so goddamn unworthy of you, but you chose me, and i swear, that for the rest of my life—the rest of our life—i’ll never let you down. please, angel. please make me the most blessed man on the planet and marry me?”

satoru reaches into the pocket of his suit pants as you stare in amazement, mascara tears fully running down your cheeks now. the ring box in his grasp is much different than the one from your faux-engagements—it’s black, shaped like an oval with silver ornamental designs around the perimeter. and when he opens it, your lip begins to quiver.

the ring is something so uniquely satoru, a thin silver band that splits into multiple vine-like channels, with little diamonds attached for the appearance of flowers. they meet at the top where the stone resides, and fuck, it’s big. it’s aquamarine, with several little prongs holding it’s marquise shape in place. it must’ve cost a fortune, and you can’t help but marvel at it as satoru takes your hand in his own again, lips against your ring finger one last time before he’s slipping the delicate piece of jewelry onto your finger.

“i need you to say it, angel. say you’ll marry me,” he pleads, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. you can’t hold back the sob that leaves you, nodding vigorously as you caress his face.

“yes, ‘toru, i’ll marry you.” you say through the tears, pressing your salt-covered lips to his. there’s applause behind you, just like the other “engagements,” but this time, you don’t need them there. you’d have said yes to him if it was 3 in the morning and you were half asleep, you’d have said it in the car on the way to the grocery store. you’d say yes to him anywhere, at any time.

true to satoru’s word, he doesn’t bother with the free dessert this time around. he’s too busy thinking about going home and getting a taste of his fiancée to bother with some fancy piece of cake. and he almost doesn’t make it home, pressing you up against the car with his right hand on the side of your face and the other on your waist. he kisses you so voraciously, like if he tried just that much harder, he could swallow you whole.

“satoru, stop!” you giggle against his ravenous mouth, “a public indecency charge wouldn’t be a great start to our engagement, you think?”

“i can’t help it. my fiancée just looks so good, i don’t think anybody’d blame me if i hiked your dress up right here,” he says, leaning his head down onto your shoulder to leave a kiss or two on the bare skin. you gently push him away, coy look in your eyes when you meet his own.

“at home, the dress comes all the way off.”

satoru has you both in the car with the keys in the ignition and the gearshift in ‘drive’ within 14 seconds.

the front door to your apartment is solid wood, and it’s cold against your back where satoru has, yet again, found a surface to press you up against. you barely made it three steps inside before he was on you, groping and squeezing anything his reach would allow. his lips are sweet where they meet yours, kinda like how they always are, from all the desserts and wines he’d indulged himself in. and somewhere in there, a taste that’s wholly satoru resides. it’s your favorite flavor. his tongue never asks permission to enter your mouth—it just does, licking up every bit of you that’s on offer, and it never satisfies his appetite.

“what was that you said earlier, baby? you want me to eat you, right?” he says between his desperate kisses and fuck, when did everything get so hot all of a sudden? the hand you have on his shoulder slinks up, coming to find its place in the short hairs of his undercut, and when you scrape your nails against his scalp he sighs into your mouth.

“you’re not too full from your desserts?” you tease breathily but it cuts into a gasp of surprise when he yanks your dress up and shoves his hand under the bunched fabric to rip your panties off, only to find your bare skin at his fingertips.

“oh, fuck- no panties, baby? y’want me ta eat that pretty pussy this bad?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, snatching your lips up in a quick, biting kiss that leaves you dizzy. he drops to his knees—funny how much he’s done that today—and lifts your dress further, gathering the material up at your waist. the way satoru marvels at your pussy is something he’d always done but fuck, can you blame him? you get so wet and you taste like the world’s rarest delicacy on his tongue and you’re so fucking warm and tight when he digs you out—he’d sing hymns about your pussy from the top of a mountain.

“my pretty fiancée givin’ me such easy access…such a sweet girl you are,” he praises with a kiss to your mound, “so fucking good t’me.” but he’s just as good to you—especially now, as he spreads your thighs and hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, unhesitatingly dipping his tongue in between your soaking wet folds. the contact of the slippery muscle on your sensitive flesh has you mewling, eyes slipping shut as he feasts on you. his mouth is as slick as it is when he’s talking, stroking his tongue up and down from your clit to your hole, and back again.

“fffuck- satoru..” you whimper, subconsciously grinding your hips into his face. he doesn’t mind, though- actually he encourages it; he loves it when you use him for your pleasure, makes him feel good to make you feel good. and that rings especially true now, as he stiffens his tongue and slides it into your aching hole that’s been clenching around nothing this entire time. he fucks you with it, much like he does with his cock- giving you a mix of slow and fast thrusts and keeping you on your toes. his large hands smooth up your thighs before one sneaks away to aid in him pulling you apart. his thumb finds your clit, massaging the little button in circles and you almost lose your balance, your hand flying out to grip onto his snow-like hair. your little mewls act as encouragement for the man between your legs; he’s studied you—your body—for years, and how each little flick and roll and curl of his tongue or fingers brings you closer and closer to cumming all over him. and he uses that knowledge so freely, long tongue prodding and pressing further and further into you, tip of the muscle kissing your g-spot.

satoru knows you, knows that when your thighs shake and your breathing turns to panting, he’s got you right where he wants you. you confirm that for him, when you look down at him to see those sparkling blue eyes staring back up at you and you moan “god, fuck- ‘toru, please baby, don’t stop, gonna cum f’you.” he’s ever so obedient, thumb moving in faster circles around your clit and his unrelenting tongue fucking into you just as quick. he keeps his gaze glued to your face because you look so goddamn pretty when you cum that he can’t bear to miss it. and he doesn’t, watching lustfully as your head sinks back against the door, hips stuttering as he licks the orgasm right out of you.

“out of all the meals i’ve had tonight,” satoru starts, lips shiny with your release when you open your eyes again, “you’re the most delicious.” you’d laugh at how corny he is, but your mind still hasn’t come fully back to you yet. satoru rises back to his normal stature of towering over you, even in your heels, and he can’t help but to dip his head down and kiss you. all those same flavors from before are muted behind the taste of you, and you almost hate to admit it, but you like that a lot.

“i need to be inside of you, baby,” satoru sighs into the kiss, leaning down to wrap his big hands around your outer thighs, and you get the idea quickly, letting him pick you up so you can wrap your legs around his hips. he carries you off to the bedroom, laying you down on the plush comforter that covers your bed. you sit back on your elbows and toe your heels off, eyes following his movements as he takes off his blazer.

“god, you look-“

“fuckable?”

“very.”

“so, what are you waiting for? fuck me, fiancé.”

he takes your invitation with fire in his eyes, moving in close to undo whatever horrid contraptions are keeping you clothed. when he gets the zipper down, he’s practically ripping you out of the dress, tossing the expensive garment off somewhere behind him. he’s pulling his own clothes off just as quickly, and when he gets his pants down you can’t help but to feel him through his black boxer briefs. he’s so hard, and he’s leaking like a goddamn faucet, the wet spot you feel near his tip growing larger and larger. he’s groaning against your neck as you touch him, pushing his hips into your palm desperately. but then he decides that he can’t take the teasing and the waiting anymore, so he’s sitting up on his haunches to shove his boxers down his thighs. he doesn’t even get them fully off before he’s grabbing your calf and dragging you towards him, gripping the base of his painfully stiff cock to line it up with your sopping pussy hole.

“ohmy-GOD, fuck- ah! satoru, slow downnnn!!” you gasp, crying out for him as he slams into you with no warning and sets a pace that could rival a jackrabbit.

“s-sorry, baby, jus’ need you- need you so fucking bad, shit- hnnng, fuuuck,” he moans, gripping your hips tight as he keeps hammering into you. you can’t keep your eyes open as much as you’d like to—satoru always looks so angelic when he’s flushed and panting from the vice-like grip your pussy has on him—but it’s okay, because he moans like a bitch in heat when he’s fucking you and that’s all you need. your nails are digging into whatever they can find, one hand twisted up in the blanket and the other pressed against satoru’s flexing abs as if you’re trying to stop him, but you both know that’s not true.

“so. fucking. wet.” he groans, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. he’s so deep inside that you know you’d feel him if you touched your belly, and the thought has tears of pleasure spilling down to your temples and into your hair.

“y-you feel so fucking good- ah- mmm- look so p-pretty taking my cock like this,” he whines, one hand leaving your hip to find your throat. he doesn’t add pressure, doesn’t squeeze, just lets his hand rest there like he needed to ground himself. he finds himself angling his hips just a little differently, and only a moment later, he knows he’s got it when your teary eyes shoot open and you scream his name.

“right there, angel? my fiancée likes it t-there?” he teases, trying his hardest to keep some composure but fuck, it’s so hard when you clench that tight cunt of yours and suck him deeper and deeper.

“yeeessss,” you sob, “please! feels..so good…love you so much, love the way you fuck me..” satoru moans with you, snaking a hand under your lower back to arch you a little more, and the slight change of position has him hitting your g-spot head on with his merciless thrusts. you cum, wordlessly and unexpectedly, and satoru’s eyes widen as he looks down to see the ring of your cream that covers the base of his cock.

“ohhhh f-fuck yeah, angel, cream all over my dick, ‘s all yours, always- always yours,” he gasps.

he brings you fully into his lap and your arms instinctively curl around his neck, your head falling back as he bounces you on his cock that’s impaling you. you’re both covered in sweat now, and your slick, too—it leaks down around satoru’s dick and onto your thighs. the eye contact he makes with you in this moment is hard to look away from, so you don’t—eyes locked with his while you pant and moan and whimper his name. he does the same right back to you, choking out declarations of his love interspersed with your own name.

soon, the position changes again, when you use the little strength you have left to push satoru onto his back with your hands splayed out on his chest. he groans in surprise, sliding his hands up your hips to hold onto your waist. your gaze shifts between his blissed-out face and the sparkling stone that rests on your finger, grinding against him nice and slow.

“does this feel good, satoru?” you don’t mean for the question to come out as seductive as your tone does, but it has his hips bucking up into you nonetheless. his eyes open to find yours and he nods, digging his fingers into your flesh more when you ride him harder, roll your hips a little faster.

“f-fuck, feels like heaven, baby..keep- mmf, keep fucking me like t-that,” he answers, and you’re his sweet girl, his giving little angel, so you do. you keep fucking him just like that, pulling yourself up and dropping back down on the lengthy cock inside of you. your ass smacks against his thighs on the landing, and it joins your ragged breathing and satoru’s huffs as the only sounds in the room. he can’t help but to meet your hips with his own thrusts, not keen on taking the reigns back but adding to the insurmountable pleasure you both feel.

“will you cum with me? please, ‘toru- need to feel you..” god, how could he ever deny you when you ask so sweetly, one hand still on his chest and the other on yours, palming at your tit with a pinch of your pert nipple every now and then. his brow is furrowed—plush lips parted with his moans and he’s nodding in response again.

“yeah, baby, yeah- ‘m so fucking- hah- c-close.” a look of focus forms in his eyes when one of his hands slips down from your waist, nimble fingers toying with your sensitive clit. your moans rise in pitch and volume, heart pounding in your chest as you get closer and closer to the edge. you can practically feel him pulsing inside of you, know he’s almost there too, and you ride with more determination, tits bouncing with the effort. he looks so desperate from his position beneath you, desperate to cum, desperate to fill you to the brim with his hot load. you’re left gasping, shouts of his name torn right from your throat when he plants his feet into the mattress and starts to thrust up into you, fingers still pinching and pulling at your engorged nub. he fucks into you so roughly, eyes shifting between the spot where you conjoin, watching raptly as his cock slides in and out of your hole, and your sweet face, mouth hung open and tear streaks on your cheeks. both are a pretty sight to him.

“‘m gonna cum, ‘toru- cum for me, too, need it inside me so fucking bad,” you whimper, and you weren’t lying. only a few more thrusts and some circles rubbed onto your clit and you’re crying his name, creaming all over his cock again. and satoru can’t hold off anymore, doesn’t want to, and the way you clench and squeeze him makes that an impossible feat anyway. he stills his hips the best he can but they still stutter with the intensity of his orgasm, letting out rope after rope after rope of his sticky fluid inside of your needy little hole.

you roll off of him when you get the strength to do it, still panting with the exertion. but satoru is clingy, even more so after sex; so with your eyes closed, you don’t see it, but rather feel the man’s hands tugging you close. he drapes his sweat-sticky body around yours, nuzzling his face into your neck where he leaves a few cheeky kisses.

“thank you.” it’s silent for a while before he speaks, and the words have you cracking your eyes open to look at him. he’s already beaten you to the punch, wide blue eyes looking up at you.

“for what?” you respond, bringing your hand up to smooth his hair down. he practically purrs at the sensation, but he answers you regardless.

“for saying yes to me, to forever.”

the snort that comes out of you is unintentional, but you can’t help it. he sounds silly thanking you for that, so you tell him as much.

“satoru, you make it sound like you had to bribe me into being with you when you say things like that. y’know, i meant what i said, about you being stuck with me. couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, baby. this just makes it..more official.”

“guess that’s true, huh?”

“you’re damn right. and when we get married, i’m going to use my new powers for evil.”

“what??”

“oh, yeah. i’m gonna terrorize everyone. pranks galore. and i’ll tell them gojo did it. and they’ll just assume it was mr. gojo, not the kind and sweet mrs. gojo.”

satoru’s jaw drops, sitting up to gape at you. you just shrug in response, smiling innocently at your soon to be husband. he shakes his head, deep in thought for a moment before he grins, eyes hard set on you.

“what?” you ask, playfully narrowing your own eyes.

“i think i want to marry you tomorrow.”

>authors_note: WELL. it’s finally here (took me long enough i knowwwww🤫) ENDLESS THANKS FOR 100 (we’re almost at 200 now but let’s cross that bridge when we get there heheh)

>next up: firefighter!satosugu (after like 3 months of me talking about it IM SORRYYY)

>thank you for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

© loko4koko 2024

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (6)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, shooting, gunfight, injury, angst

word count: 2.09k

note: I did not proofread this so if there is any errors, apologies in advance. Hope this chapter answers some questions, enjoy!

Five years ago…

You didn’t like how much changed in the short time of your senior year. You had moved out of your father’s house, moved to an apartment with Baela - for surprisingly cheap- and had gotten into your dream school.

Yet with all the change you still had yet to confide in the one person who meant the world to you. Months of agonizing over whether to stay or go, months of worrying how he’d react, months of chickening out finally lead you to your decision.

You had to tell Aemond you were going to North College.

It was a decision you had arrived at with a heavy heart but this was your dream school and one that had offered you a scholarship that you would never have dreamed of. Baela had said you would have been a fool to pass it up and you couldn’t agree more with her. She was the only one who knew about this- considering she heard some of your late night breakdowns over the decision.

You knew that you needed to tell Aemond as soon as possible, especially with graduation happening in less than a month. You didn’t know why you held back from telling him, maybe scared that telling him would make it all the more real. Maybe telling him meant that your relationship would be in limbo. You didn’t want to end things, but there were expectations for him, you knew that, and with those expectations meant that he needed to be relied on. He needed to be here, always.

Which meant that you would be on the backburner.

You knew he’d be proud- happy even, at least at first. But once he’d think about what that meant for the two of you, for your relationship, you didn’t think he would be so agreeable anymore. He loved you, he loved being around you, so to tell him you were going to be six hours away meant he would have to love you from afar.

And Aemond would never agree to that. 

Things were brewing with his family business. The Lannister family was getting bolder, interrupting business dealings, interfering in public elections, and putting the Targaryen power into question. It didn’t help that Aemond’s older sister was beginning to be put on the ousts of the family as Aemond’s father fell into a coma. 

A coma that Aemond had told you he had suspicions about.

Aemond was on edge most days now, even now as you watched him from across the dancefloor. You had snuck off from your friends, from him, to get some fresh air from the sweaty ballroom. He was stiff, his shoulders taut, even as Jace seemed to have told a joke to the group, his smile didn’t meet his eyes. 

You desperately wished that he would open up to you about anything. At first you were fine with the secrest, knowing Aemond would tell you eventually but now… he never talked about it. It was starting to feel like there was a space forming between you two that was filled with all the secrets he kept.  Maybe that’s why you kept your leaving a secret, you wanted to know what it was like to hold something back from the person you love.

And it didn’t feel good.

“You don’t look like you're having fun.” Baela stopped beside you, handing you some punch. 

“Just… a lot on my mind.”

“Then you haven’t told him yet.”

You let out a breath, looking at the punch in the glass before taking a sip. “I’ll tell him tomorrow, let him enjoy tonight without having to worry.”

“He seems worried already.”

“So you’ve noticed it too.”’

“He’s more assholey than usual. I had thought it was because you had told him but guess not.”

You shook your head. “Somethings wrong. I don’t want to pry but he's not talking to me anymore.”

“It might be his dad, Jace was telling me they’re in talks of taking his dad off life support.”

You looked towards Aemond, frowning. “He didn’t mention anything about that to me.”

Baela frowned. “Sorry for breaking the news.”

As if he could feel you watching him, he looked towards you, your eyes meeting. He smiled slightly, a light coming back to his eyes that he had been missing before. He nods his head towards the exit, a silent question being asked.

“I’m going to head out, tell everyone I said bye.”

“Of course.”

You made your way through the crowd of people, meeting Aemond by the door. He took your hand giving you a quick peck on the lips before leading you out to the awaiting car.

“A little early to be leaving,” you said as you slid onto the leather seats.

“As much as I love organized events, our night is fully booked.”

Aemond’s driver wordlessly started the car and began driving towards downtown. Aemond put his hand on your thigh, his thumb lightly drawing circles on your skin. You wrapped your hand around his arm, pulling him closer, looking up at him. He was staring straight ahead, sweat gathering at his brow, he looked… nervous.

You put your chin on his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everythings great.” He turned to face you, kissing your forehead before looking straight ahead again.

“Aemond… talk to me.”

“We’re here.”

The car had stopped in front of Federicos, the restaurant unusually closed for a prime time for elegant dining. Aemond opened the door, offering his hand to help you out before leading you inside. 

The restaurant was filled with candles, a rose petal pathway led down to a flower arch and a bottle of wine. Aemond walked down the path, his hand in his pockets pulling out a velvet box.

Your heart beat rapidly, palms sweating. “Aemond… what is this?”

“I haven’t had the best role models for relationships.” He turned back to you with a shy smile on his face, tears in his eyes. “But you taught me what it’s like to love safely. You are probably the only good thing in my life and I know I’m not deserving of you but… you have been someone who has always made me feel lighter.”

Your feet moved without thought down the path of rose petals.

“I hope that everyday, for the rest of our lives together I can prove that I am deserving of you, that you and I are meant to be in every way. I don’t want to say that you make me a better man because that’s not your job, but you do. You make me likable, tolerable.”

You laughed at that as he took your hand in his.

“I am so in love with you that I know not even death could tear us apart. Your kind, determined, tough, and a fucking smart-ass, but I love you and… I want to marry you.”

He opened the velvet box to expose a beautiful diamond ring, sinking to one knee. “So, will you marry me?”

You stared not at the ring, but at him, at the love in his eyes. The word yes on the tip of your tongue but all you could think about was that gaping hole that had formed in your relationship and the future you had been dreaming of.

Your mouth became dry and your ears began to ring.

You loved him, god did you love him, and yes you wanted to marry him eventually. But now? You had plans and dreams, you had wanted to see the world outside of King’s Landing and he… he needed to stay. He had to stay and you had to leave. 

The Aemond you fell in love with, the Aemond from a year ago would have known that this was not what you wanted- marriage at eighteen was not something you wanted. 

Aemond’s smile dropped slightly, his eyes flickering across your face, reading you. He was so good at reading you.

He slowly stood, closing the velvet box.

The snap echoing through the quiet room.

He grabbed the wine from the small table, pulling out a chair and uncorking it. He took a gulp- once, twice. He wiped a bead of red that escaped from the corner of his mouth.

“Why not?”

He sounded so dejected, so… hurt.

“It’s not what I want.”

He snorted, setting the bottle on the table. “Not what you wanted…” he shook his head putting a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, I asked my mother for her ring- a family tradition you know- she wouldn’t give it to me. She said, ‘she’s not ready.’” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “I… I guess she knew you better than me.”

You walked over to him, kneeling to look him in the eyes as you put your arms around his neck. “Just not right now, we… we have so much time but-”

“How do you know that?”

“What?”

He pulled away from you, to stand and begin pacing. “How do you know how much time we have? I could have a month, tops, I could have a fucking hour and-”

You stood, grabbing his arm and pulling home to face you. “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, tears in his eyes. “I… I can’t.”

You leaned up, putting your forehead against his. “I can’t help unless you talk to me.”

He sniffled, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

“I’m tough, remember? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

He let out a long breath. “I’m handling it, (Y/N/N), but-”

A popping sound sounded from outside followed by glass shattering. Aemond moved before your brain could even process what was happening, pulling you behind the bar as he shielded your body with his own. 

He drew one of the guns that was stashed behind the bar, pulling out his phone and dialing as he popped up from the bar and firing back. 

“Shots fired! (Y/N) is here and I need an extraction and coverage.”

More shots fired from outside, as more glass broke. Aemond took cover, putting his body over yours again as the bullets ricocheted throughout the restaurant. You did your best to become as small as possible, curling your body into a ball as you put your arms over your head.

“Just breathe, (Y/N), okay? Help is on the way, they’ll be here soon.”

There was a loud bang as if someone had broken down a door and then more gun fire, this time from the back of the restaurant.

“Fuck! They’re inside.”

Aemond stood once again, firing off some more shots, the sound of a few heavy things hitting the ground. The sound of another gun went off, this time closer causing Aemond to duck down as bullets hit the bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind him.

“One more,” he whispered to himself.

When the shots ceased. Aemond stood up again only to get thrown back as a burly looking man tackled him to the ground.You screamed, scooting back as the man began hitting Aemond over and over. 

Aemond’s face became bloody and swollen, he tried to turn his head to look at you but with each hit the blows got worse.

Your body was on autopilot as you picked up Aemond’s gun that had fallen from his grasp and pointed it at the man about to kill the love of your life. Tears streamed down your face as you turned your head looking away as you squeezed the trigger. 

The gun reverberated through your arms, causing you to drop it. The sound of the hitting stopped but you still couldn’t look. Familiar arms wrapped around you, pulling you away.

“You’re okay,” Aemond said. “You’re okay.”

“Aemond,” you sobbed, clutching him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I’m so fucking sorry.”

It was then that the adrenaline began to wear off, your body shaking with what just happened. A burning sensation erupted from your hip. You looked down to see a lot of blood staining your pretty dress.

You clutched Aemond’s arm tighter. “Aemond.”

He looked down to see the wound, swearing profusely as he put his hand over it, pushing down.

“I don’t want to die.”

Tears streamed down Aemond’s face now. “You won’t- you won’t, I promise, you won’t.”

Your vision spotted, your ears ringing as you saw Aemond look up and calling out to someone. It took everything in you to hold on long enough to see the man with the medical case kneel above you.

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[goatcheesecak3]

How about Adam x reader who were dating before the trap, maybe got into a fight, but Adam lives because that’s definitely what happened and they find each other.

Also ur NSFW hcs were good so feel free to sprinkle some spice if you see fit :)

Lost and found

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Fic type: angst, fluff

Warnings: missing person, medically induced coma

A/n: hello!! Thank you for your request, it was such a cute idea!! There's no nsfw because I couldn't find a way for it to fit into this story, but while we're on the topic I just wanna give a message to anyone who saw my Adam nsfw hcs!! I originally posted the unfinished version by accident, but I've gone back and added more to them since! So make sure you're all caught up on those, in my very biased opinion they're extremely canon teehee :^) all can be found in my masterlist as usual

You and Adam had dated for two years before finally ending it about a month ago. The relationship was tumultuous to say the least, epic highs followed by epic lows. Being with Adam could be so wonderful at times, the way he kissed you like you were the only person in the world, the way he would have you folded in on yourself laughing. Your memory was filled with long nights spent talking and falling deeper and deeper in love. Adam was good with his words, which was a blessing and a curse- he could make your heart flutter just as easily as he could crush it. Arguments were frequent, and volatile, he always took things too far. Deciding that this was no way to live, with heavy hearts, the two of you called it quits.

You'd heard around from mutual acquaintances that he'd gotten into a pretty rough spot after the breakup, apparently he'd become some kind of stalker for hire? Like a private investigator but with absolutely no credentials or regard for his or anyone else's safety. It didn't exactly surprise you that he'd gone into a somewhat shady line of work, considering his lack of high school diploma there weren't really many options for him, you wished you could help, but you'd both agreed to keep your distance and move on.

One day however, you couldn't help but break the promise you'd made to yourself, and you asked about him. You'd run into his best friend, Scott at a video store, and despite all your restraint, the words tumbled out of your mouth:

"How's Adam been lately?"

"Pfft how should I know? I haven't spoken to that asshole since he totally bailed on my band photoshoot" Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes disinterestedly.

It wasn't like Adam to turn down paid work of any kind, so you decided to pry deeper,

"What do you mean? He just didn't show up?"

"Yeah, no call, no nothing. He hasn't spoken to anyone. Probably thinks he's too good for me and the guys now with his investigator bullshit, but lemme tell y-"

"Wait, he's actually doing that?! That's so dangerous, you don't think he's gotten himself into trouble do you?"

"I don't know, I got my own shit to worry about. Besides, no one bails on me and gets my sympathy. Scott Tibbs don't chase, baby." He said, all too loudly. You could practically see his ego bulging out of his head.

As you left the video store, the interaction played on your mind. After you and Adam had broken up, Scott was pretty much the only person in his life, and he didn't seem to give two hoots about Adam's wellbeing. Essentially, there wasn't a single person on earth who'd heard anything from Adam in the last week, and no one seemed to be trying to find him. You knew his family were estranged, and pretty much everyone else in his life were all acquaintances at best. If he was in trouble, it was up to you to help.

You headed to his apartment, just to see if he was home. Best case scenario he was, and you got some of your cds back, worst case.. well, you didn't wanna think about that.

You crept up the creaky mildewy staircase of his apartment complex until you reached his floor. Something in your gut felt wrong as you got closer to his door, something that you couldn't quite understand. It wasn't fear, it was overwhelming dread. You always thought there was a big difference between those two feelings; fear was wondering if something bad would happen, and dread was knowing in your heart that it would.

You knocked on his door and waited a beat. Nothing. For whatever reason, a voice in your head told you to try the door handle, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Adam's apartment looked frozen in time, a half eaten bowl of mouldy noodles sat on his coffee table, an empty beer bottle next to it. Everything looked untouched. That was until your eyes made their way to the floor next to his closet- his camera. Smashed to pieces, and left strewn all over the floor. Your eyes darted up toward his redroom, which appeared to have been ransacked.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You repeated over and over in your head like a mantra.

Your first thought was that someone he'd been stalking had caught him, followed him home to destroy any damning evidence, then deal with Adam.

Panic set in at this moment, as you rushed through his apartment, desperately hoping he was just passed out somewhere.

"Adam?! Adam?!" You cried out, to no avail.

Of course, the second you had regained enough composure to remember to do so, you called the police and filed a missing person's report. The next few days were filled with police interviews, cutting out and sticking the few pictures of Adam you had onto missing person's posters and plastering them all over the city. You handed them out to anyone who would take them, you gave them to all the venues and corner shops that Adam often went to, and you hounded the police relentlessly.

Sure, Adam was your ex, but my god how you had loved him, how you still loved him. You were the only person in his life who loved him, and you refused to give up.

After 6 never ending days, your phone rang. It was a call from the police.

"We've found a young man fitting Adam's description on the outskirts of the city. He's currently in the hospital in a medically induced coma while the staff tend to his injuries. As he is unable to identify himself at this time, we would greatly appreciate it if you could come down and identify him for us" the voice from the phone said.

This was like music to your ears, you tried not to get your hopes up, but you just knew it was him. It had to be, you could feel it in your heart.

As you stood by the bed of the man, you fell to your knees and wept. He was far skinner, his skin pale and almost translucent, his hair tangled and dirty- but there was no doubt about it, that was your Adam.

"That's him! That's my baby! Oh my god, that's my Adam!" You sobbed, clutching into the police office for support. He looked happy for you.

...

After a few days, Adam woke up. He was by no means in good shape, but he was alert, he was safe, and he was asking for you. He'd had to speak to police before he could have any visitors, but they'd assured him that you had done a great deal to help them find him, and he was touched.

"I thought I was gonna die in that room.."

"You probably would have, if y/n hadn't tried to find you"

"No one else reported me?"

The cop shook his head solemnly.

"Damn... I gotta see her, i- I gotta thank her,  i-"

He rambled like this for a while, until he was assured that you were able to come visit him.

...

"Hey, sugar" Adam smiled cockily, despite how weak he was.

You approached the chair next to his bed and reached down to stroke his face lovingly.

"That didn't sound very ex boyfriend of you" You teased.

"Aw come onnnn, I nearly die and you still don't want me back?" He whined, giving you a playful pout.

You chuckled and kissed his forehead,

"I basically saved your life, don't get greedy"

Adam's eyes narrowed, and he looked uncertain, "wait.. are you saying you actually don't wanna get back together?"

You rolled your eyes and pinched his cheek,

"Of course not dummy, I just like watching you squirm"

Adam mustered all of his strength to lift his arms and place his hands on your cheeks, pulling your face towards his.

"You're such a bitch" he mumbled against your lips with a smile

"You're a bitch" you giggled back.

The playful teasing went on for a while, until you were sat in a love filled silence, just holding eachother's hands. Adam was the first to break the silence.

"I'm a changed man, you know, y/n"

"Huh?"

"While I was in that room, you were all I could think about. I kept thinking about all the times I hurt you and I knew I needed to make it right. I made a vow to myself that i was gonna get out of there, and I was gonna get you back... and I was gonna love you the way you deserve to be loved. I'm gonna do that, y/n. I'm gonna prove I deserve to be with you, even if it takes a lifetime... which it probably will now that you basically saved my life"

"Yeah, it's gonna be pretty difficult to level that playing field" you smiled jokingly.

"I mean it, y/n," Adam said, his voice serious, "I promise I'm going to devote the rest of my life to loving you, it's the least I could do".

And several happy years later, he's kept that promise.

[ohtobeleah]

Day Twenty Two [Do Not Look Away]

Summary: After the events of Bruises, Bradley comes face to face with his new reality. You’re experiencing a physical manifestation of PTSD and Jake’s still in a coma.

Warnings: Jake Seresin x F!reader. Mentions of death. Mentions of Sexual assault/rape. Mentions of torture/violence. Bad medical portrayals. PTSD induced psychosis

Word Count: 2.7k

Whumptober Prompt Day Twenty-Two: Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Bruises Masterlist

In a recent experiment, scientists observed that single human cells in a petri dish will seek each other out…and adhere to each other to form new connections. When cells team up, they become stronger. They thrive and evolve and eventually become something that their single selves ever could have been alone. 

“I don’t want to pry,” Bradley’s voice broke through the deafening silence that lingered between the two of you as you sat at Jake’s beside. The only other sounds that filtered through were the humming of life-saving machines and the incessant beeping of medical equipment. “I can’t even begin to relate to what you’ve both been through,” Bradley continued as you looked over to where he was standing. Right at the foot of Jake’s hospital bed.

You spent more time at Jake’s side than you did in your own hospital room. It often got you in trouble. There was even one particular time when you were still in a wheelchair, where you’d decided to take yourself down the hall to see him. It didn’t go over very well with the orderlies. Your team of doctors and nurses alike were furious with you. But they understood the burning desire to be with the one you loved. They understood and could recognise the early stages of post-traumatic stress disorder. They could see the signs of codependency. 

They could see that you were more at ease by Jake Seresin’s side than you were by yourself. Once your primary doctor had signed off on it, you were essentially treated at Jake’s bedside permanently. Screw hospital policies and politics. 

Rooster’s hands gripped the railing at the end of the bed with such a force you thought his grip alone might crumple the metal. But it never wavered. The metal held strong under the pressure Bradley was putting it under. Much like Jake who never gave up on you. 

“But–” Bradley paused one final time before the question left his mouth forever. Once he asked he couldn’t take back such a charged question. “Was there ever a moment where you wished–” He didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was asking. 

“Every day,” You interrupted as you sat perched in the world’s most unsupportive, uncomfortable hospital chair known to man. “I prayed for death more than I prayed to be rescued, Rooster.” You knew Bradley was prepared to hear you say that, he wouldn’t have bothered to ask if he didn’t already believe to some extent that you would have prayed for the sweet release of death. “But Jake kept me going even when I wanted to die.”

“I–” Even though Bradley knew that answer was coming, it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Bradley sighed as he shook his head in disbelief. “It should have been me.” 

“I wouldn’t wish any of this on my worst enemy, Bradshaw,” You replied as you shivered in the cool of Jake’s bleak hospital room. Rooster saw and quickly made his way over to where spare blankets and pillows were thrown haphazardly. They sat crumpled in a pile on a forgotten chair never used by the neverending list of visitors that cycled through. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” You tried to tell Bradley as he collected a spare blanket. “Rooster–” 

“You know, I remember not long before the mission rolled around,” Rooster explained as he placed the blanket over you. Covering your legs enough to maintain some warmth. “Jake got obliterated one night at the Hard Deck, so much so that Penny actually got a few of us to just drag him out to the front deck by his ankles.” 

You couldn’t help but to chuckle. You were mourning the loss of the version of Jake Seresin you hardly got to know before the mission. But you would have liked to bear witness to some more of his antics. However, you had tried your best to stay clear when you didn’t need to be in his direct vicinity. 

“Sounds like something he’d do.” You smiled softly all the while you looked over your shoulder to where Jake lay still heavily sedated and comatosed. “I miss him so much.” 

“I drove him home that night,” Bradley continued on as he made sure you were warmer than you had been moments before. “He was rambling about some woman, you know, in between when he had his head out the window of the Bronco pealing the paint off with his bile.” 

Again you couldn’t help but to laugh, this time with more intention. Bradley could see it in your eyes though, you wished Jake was awake to laugh at his own stupidity with you. 

“He told me about this woman, how he couldn’t stand her,” Rooster explained as a frown plastered itself across your face. “He couldn’t stand anything about her really, from her smile to the way she laughed without fear of ridicule to the way she just knew how to call him on bullshit before anyone else could,” 

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked with a tone laced with something you didn’t recognise. Rooster knew exactly what it was though. It was jealousy. It was the all-consuming green goblin called jealousy. Who was this other woman Jake was talking about in his drunken rambling and why was she on his mind? 

“He even hated the way she ate her food, with purpose and intention.” Bradley laughed to himself as he looked down at where Jake was lying unresponsive in his hospital bed. “Mother fucker had hate confused with love though.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He loves everything about you Hollywood,” Bradley sighed as he tried to keep the tears in his eyes from welling too much. It wasn’t his time to cry. No. For you, he had to be strong. “I can remember giving him so much shit for it, he was droning on about how he hated the way you always beat him at his own game.” You could feel the heat in your cheeks rising as Rooster crouched down before you. His hands were gentle atop your blanket-covered knees. “Han–Jake, loved you before he even knew he loved you.” 

“What if he doesn’t wake up, Roo?” tears rolled down your face through a pained smile. It was nice to know Jake truly did love you before he saw hell’s most horrible torture performed against you. But it made the fact he wasn’t awake so much harder to handle. “What if he–”

“He will,” Bradley replied as he reached up to wipe the stray tears streaming down your cheeks. “He wouldn’t leave you behind, not after everything you’ve been through, alright?” Rooster wanted confirmation from you. He wanted you to nod. He wanted to see that you were listening to what he was actually saying. “He loves you too much to leave you now, he wouldn’t do that to you, not after fighting every day to keep you two alive.” 

“I wanna be able to tell him that I love him too,” You sobbed in your chair all the while Bradley did his best to comfort you. He looked up at your own monitor. The one that told all the doctors and nurses what your heart was doing. What your stats were. You were still hooked up to IV fluids. “I just wanna hear his voice again.” 

Bradley let the silence linger for a moment as he stood. He couldn’t deny how tired you looked. How weak your movement pattern was. He saw the exhaustion written in between the lines on your face. You needed to rest. You needed to sleep. But getting you to agree to head back to bed even just for an hour would be a battle Rooster wasn’t sure he’d win. 

But you were the woman Jake Seresin loved. A title Bradley would never have but would envy from a viewpoint just shy of the front row. He would forever force himself to watch the man he loved love another human with all the fire and grace he had to offer. Bradley swore that he’d never look away from the gift he’d been given. The gift of witnessing his best friend fall in love. Get married. Have children perhaps. He wanted to be right there in the thick of it. 

So he needed to be your person, even just for a little while. For Jake. For Hangman. For the sandy blonde with the emerald eyes across the bar. For the aviator who knew how to get on his last nerve. For the man who’d risked his life to save his. For the best friend, he never realised he’d lost and subsequently found again. 

“I want you to know I suggest this with so much respect,” Bradley sighed. He tensed a little as if he was bracing for impact. “But I reckon Jake would want me to tell you to get some rest.” 

You listened to what Bradley was saying. His words were something comforting amidst all the pain and suffering you’d endured. He was, if anything, a good friend. You knew that Jake would never truly regret his decision to put his life on the line to save his wingman. But it would be a decision that haunted him every night. Every morning. Every second that passed him by where he had to live in a world where he’d seen you experience the worst of what humanity had to offer. 

And you understood why he was telling you to get some rest. But you couldn’t sleep when your mind would get stuck on a loop. Replaying all the hurt. The pain. The suffering. All in HD while your body tried to recover. 

The mind is dark, wonderful and weird. But the last thing you wanted was your subconscious at the helm. 

“No.” It was a complete sentence. No follow up required. But Rooster thought otherwise. 

“Uh, I really think you should just get maybe like, a solid half an hour at the minimum?” Bradley replied as he stood with his hands resting slightly cunty on his hips. “Jake would–” Before Rooster got the chance to finish, you deadpanned him. His blood ran cold when you glared his way. A look he never wanted to be on the receiving end of ever again. 

“They made Jake watch a lot of things happen to me,” Bradley had no idea where you were going with this. But he chose to listen regardless. “They made him watch them rape me, over and over again.” You paused just to listen to Jake’s heart rate monitor. The rhythmic beeping soothed your troubled heart in a way you felt ungrateful to experience. Sure Jake was in the hospital after being held as a prisoner of war…but at least he was alive. 

“They forced him to watch every time, and said it was always his fault.” Bradley’s heart sank at the thought of having to go through that, let alone watch it unfold. The levels of physical and psychological torture you were describing were almost unbearable to listen to. But for you, he would. “But he never gave them what they wanted. Jake never gave up on me even when he could have.” 

“Y/n–” Again Bradley tried to speak. But you kept talking over him. Just trying to get your point across. 

“They forced him to hurt me, they used him against me in ways I wish I could describe to you right now,” You began to shake your head as your tears ricocheted down your heated cheeks. “‘Don’t look away. Don’t look away Seresin’–on goddamn repeat, while I was cut and used and beaten until I could barely breathe and without fail after everything was said and done he was still there.” Bradley could very much see you unraveling right before him. He didn’t recognise the look in your eye. He chose to take a few cautious steps back towards the door, giving you some space and himself some distance. 

“He was there for me to crawl home to even when I couldn’t see,” Your voice softened as you looked over at Jake. Bradley saw it, the moment your eyes caught the rise and fall of Jakes chest. God, it broke his heart. All of this did. 

“So no–” You hissed. “I will not be leaving his side and I will not sleep until I get to tell him that I love him and not until I get to see him wake up,” You explained for the last time. You were sick and tired of people telling you to rest. To sleep. To take care of yourself. They didn’t know what you had been through. They didn’t understand what you were going through. They didn’t understand what it was like to witness torture, to experience hell day in and day out. “Do you understand?”   

Bradley didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at you with a look you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. One of sympathy. One of pity. So you snapped. “I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?” Your voice echoed down the hall as Rooster backed away even more. He placed his hands where you could see him as if he wanted you to know he wasn’t there to hurt you. 

“Hollywood, take it easy.” Rooster cooed. “It’s me, Rooster.” 

“Get me out of here!” You screamed all the while clawing at the wires and tubes attached to various parts of you. Your arms, chest, stomach. “Let me go!” 

“NURSE!” Bradley called down the hall towards the nurse’s station. He turned his back for five seconds only to turn around to witness you trying to pull the vent from Jake’s throat. The one helping him to breathe. The life-saving piece of equipment you were now messing with. “Fuck! Y/n!” 

“I’ve got you,” You cried as you tried to save Jake. Not understanding you were in the middle of a panic attack mixed with exhaustion. “I’ll save you, I’m here.” 

“Hollywood!” Rooster wrapped his arms around your torso from behind. “Stop it, you’re in the hospital!” 

“Let go of me!” You cried out as a handful of nurses approached Jake’s room. They saw the look of utter shock plastered across Bradley’s face. “LET ME GO!” You shouted again as you violently kicked and thrashed against Rooster as your feet left the ground. 

“I don’t know what I said to set her off like this?” Explaining himself to the nurses, Bradley held you tight as you fought against him. 

“JAKE!!!” You cried out in unimaginable terror. 

“She’s having an attack again,” One of the nurses explained as she jabbed you with a sedative. “Anything will trigger her right now.” 

Bradley listened to your screams get weaker as your body grew heavier in his embrace. He knew you were gone the second your head lulled to the side. 

“She’s in a bad way, they both are.” Rooster groaned in frustration. Not at you or Jake, but at the situation as a whole. “Someone needs to be held responsible for all of this.” 

“I’m just the night nurse, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” One of the nurses replied much to Roosters’ shock. He was venting more so than looking for a response. “But if I were gonna start somewhere, I’d start with having a conversation with her father.” 

Rooster took that note onboard as he carried you back down the hall towards where your empty hospital bed was. A room just as bleak as Jake’s. 

“I got you alright?” Bradley sighed as he laid you down, taking notice of how at peace you looked. So content. So…Sedated. “I’ve got you and I’ve got Jake.” As the nurses followed him in to fix up your machines and copious wires, Rooster took a moment to sit in his torture. Reminding himself of the promise he’d made. “Always.” 

We are an extension of our cells. Just like them, we are programmed to find others…to reach out to one another and find nourishment and love. Much like our cells, we’re not meant to be alone. So once we find each other…

We try our best to hold onto what we’ve got. Even after horrific petri dish experiments.

***************************

[literaila]

How would reader comfort megumi after tsumiki is placed in a coma? :(

“hey.”

megumi doesn’t look up, but his body tenses at the sound of your voice.

he nods in greeting, but it’s really more of a flinch. just a slight acknowledgement—all that he’s got left in him, for the moment.

you sit down next to him, squeezing tsumiki’s leg as your own little greeting to her. and then you hold out a styrofoam cup to megumi. “here. i got this for you.”

he looks over, face blank. “black?”

“duh, megumi. i know you.”

the fourteen year old nods, taking the cup from you without so much as a thank you. but can you blame him, really?

he takes a sip, not even wincing at the burning taste, the bitter feeling sliding across his tongue. he can’t feel much of anything. “where’s gojo?” he asks.

“he went to find something to eat. he’s a ‘growing boy,’ apparently.”

megumi snorts. takes another sip of his coffee.

you swallow, looking at tsumiki. you wish she looked peaceful—maybe it would make this easier. make it seem like she was merely taking a rest, and not strapped to the bed, covered in a bunch of tubes that seem to serve no purpose.

shoko explained it to you, but… honestly, you weren’t really listening.

“how is she?” you ask megumi, softly. if anyone knows, it’s him.

“don’t know. no one’s stopped by.”

“yeah… but how is she?”

“at least she’s not awake. she’d probably tell us that we’re wasting time being here.”

you reach a hand down, holding it out to megumi. he doesn’t even need to look down—he’s taking it without any consideration, and you squeeze.

he swallows. “do you think she can hear us?”

you bite the inside of your cheek, watchinf her. her eyelids twitch every few moments, like she’s dreaming of a whole other world. a couple of days ago she’d started thrashing around—hence the restraints—but she hasn’t moved much since then.

you miss her big eyes, her sweet voice, her constant laughter.

it would’ve been smart to bottle it up, you think, before any of this.

“i don’t know,” you tell megumi. “i hope so.” you reach out towards her again, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. “hey, ‘miki. we’re right here. we’ll be here when you wake up.”

megumi almost flinches, but doesn’t say a word.

so you continue. “except for dad, probably. he’ll be at the vending machine, downing a chocolate bar or something. i’m gonna have to hide his wallet.”

megumi almost laughs, and you can imagine tsumiki laughing right along with him.

you look over to your little boy—his eyes are tired, unblinking. his face is a mirage of plastic feelings, a wall between him and the world.

you squeeze his hand again. “visiting hours will be over soon,” you say. “have you been sleeping at all?”

“yeah.”

“hey, i taught you not to lie to me, kid.”

he sighs, looking over to you. then he shrugs. “it just feels different. i can’t… it feels different without her there.”

“yeah. it does.”

you brush some hair out of his eyes, wishing you had some magical fix for him. it’s cruel that in a world of such limitless power, there’s nothing you can do.

nothing even satoru, as strong and magic as he is, can do.

“but you know she would hate to hear that you’re not taking care of yourself,” you add. “she’d probably knock you out herself.”

“she’d just give me the silent treatment until i took a nap.”

“true.”

he sighs.

“do you want to watch a movie, or something? i’ll stay with you. it’s not the same, but…”

“what about gojo?”

you wave a hand. “he can sleep alone. he hogs all the blankets anyway.”

his lip quirks, just slightly. “yeah, okay. just for tonight.”

“just for tonight,” you echo.

and megumi leans his head down, resting against your shoulder.

you want to cry right there—both of your kids in some type of pain, hurting in ways you can just fix—but you won’t. if there’s anything you know, it’s that you’re going to have to be strong for both of them. at least for now.

“i love you,” you tell him, softly. “and so does tsumiki.”

“yeah, i know.”

it’s then that the door opens, a ridiculous man walking through, holding a carton of ice cream that he probably teleported in here. “oh good, this is the right room.”

“shh, satoru.”

he smiles at you, smaller than usual but just as condescending. “nap time?”

“where’d you go?”

“well, i tried the cafeteria but they didn’t have anything good, so i went down the block to get this. and no, im not sharing.”

megumi rolls his eyes.

satoru comes to kiss both of you on the head, and megumi tries to push him away, but his hand gets caught in the air.

but satoru moves around him so he can kiss tsumiki on the head two. and you can all hear it when he whispers to her—“you’ve gotta wake up soon, ‘miki. i think they’re going to murder me.”

and he beams at the two of you when you start laughing.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗘'𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡 - part five, finale max vertsappen x  fem! reader ( angst ) series summary . . . when the love of your life gets hurt and he for some reason still won't leave you, even in death.

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous )

V. I DON’T THINK WE’RE GOING TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN . . . As the Monaco GP roars back to life a year after Max's accident, Yn watches from her balcony with a heart full of unspoken emotions. Max is back on the track, but with no memory of their shared past—or the love that still haunts her. While the world moves on, Yn finds herself stuck in the shadows of what was, and what could never be again (591 words).

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The roar of engines echoed through the streets of Monaco, vibrations humming in the air as Formula 1 cars sped past the circuit below. From the balcony of your apartment, the view was almost surreal—the sweeping streets of the famous track winding through the city, shimmering under the Mediterranean sun.

You stood there, fingers gripping the cold metal of the railing, eyes fixed on one car in particular. The blue and orange blur streaked by, leaving only a split-second glimpse of the number on its side: 33.

Max Verstappen.

Your breath caught in your throat every time his car zipped past, the familiar ache swelling in your chest. He was back. After the coma, after the accident that had almost taken him away forever, Max was racing again. But nothing was the same.

It had been a year since you’d watched over his lifeless body in that hospital room, spoken to a ghost that no longer haunted you. His out-of-body experience was now just a memory—your memory, not his. He didn’t remember any of it. Not the conversations. Not the pain. Not the love you had confessed in the silence of that dim hospital room.

To him, you were simply a chapter that had closed long before.

You wiped at your eyes, though there were no tears this time. Just that hollow, gnawing feeling of loss. Of regret. He still thought you and him were just over. That your relationship had ended like a storm—sudden, unpredictable, and devastating. And maybe in his world, that was the truth.

But in yours, you had never let him go.

A year ago, you’d watched him crash, heard the sickening sound of metal grinding against the barriers. You had prayed in ways you hadn’t since childhood, begged for him to wake up, to return to you. And when he had, there was a cruel irony in the way fate had played its hand. He was alive, but he didn’t know the love you had for him—the love that had deepened as you watched over his sleeping body, clinging to every beat of his heart that proved he was still with you.

Now, he was alive in every sense. Back on the track, back where he belonged. But with each lap he completed, it felt like he was moving further and further away from you.

The crowd’s cheers rose in the distance, the sound mingling with the growl of engines. You swallowed hard, blinking up at the sky. The sun was blinding, and you wished, just for a moment, that the weather would match the storm inside your chest. Maybe if it rained, you’d feel less alone in your misery.

Max didn’t know, couldn’t know, how much this hurt. The Max who had begged you to stay, who had hovered over you like a guardian angel in the bleakest moments, was gone. He was a dream. A ghost.

And this Max? He didn’t even look up at the balcony as he passed by.

You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to scream his name, to call out, to do anything that might make him remember. But you knew it was useless. Max was back on the podium, back in the car, and in his mind, your story had ended long before he ever woke up.

So you watched. Silently. With a heartache that no one else could see.

The world might have moved on. Max might have moved on.

But you… you were still stuck, watching from a distance, wishing for something that no longer existed.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

for the prompt: accident - whump give me all the whump.

Made myself cry a bit with this one lol.

***

The thing is, even though they both were well aware of their dangerous jobs and that every day they each left for their shift that there was a chance something could happen to either of them, there was still a part of each of them that believed that it never really would.

Call it wishful thinking, or naivety, or just plain stupidity, but they both never thought that something serious would actually happen to either of them.

So, when the Chief Alonzo turned up at harbour station out of the blue one day, with a solemn face and asking to speak to Tommy alone, Tommys heart immediately felt like it had been shoved into a blender before the chief even spoke.

The next thing Tommy saw was the road ahead of him as Lucy drove. His body was rigid. Every process inside his body - his blood pumping, his lungs inflating, his heart beating, felt like each had to be done with a concentrated effort. Nothing was automatic anymore.

He tried to remember what the chief had said but it was only coming back to him in pieces. Fragments of words and sentences.

Accident. Fertiliser. Explosion. Internal bleeding. Coma.

He’d ran to his locker, grabbed his bag and jacket and went straight to Lucy’s car. He was aware she was speaking but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He was trying to remember if he’d told Evan he loved him when he left for work that morning.

Logically, he would have said it - he said it every time either of them left work for work. And when they returned. And before sleep and at random moments throughout the day. He relished the opportunity to tell his Evan that he loved him.

But he couldn’t remember saying it that morning. Why couldn’t he remember? It was important. Evan was important. Loving him was important. So why couldn’t he recall saying those words? What if Evan.. he couldn’t have the last time he ever saw Evan, not knowing he was loved.

Last time. He was already thinking about worse case scenario and they weren’t even at the hospital yet. How could be so pessimistic? If Evan had taught him anything it was to be positive.

He shut his eyes tight and tried to think of good things.

The first time he’d kissed Evan and that feeling in his heart when their lips met - like it had been cracked open and he knew in that moment that was absolutely done for. When he’d arrived at the hospital for the wedding and Evan had greeted him mouth first in the waiting area to his surprise.

The way Evan had so proudly introduced him to people as his boyfriend to the other wedding guests, face covered in soot, even though they hadn’t even discussed what they were yet.

He pictured the look on Evans face when they’d had sex for the first time; like Tommy had hung all the stars in the sky just for him. And the look on his face when Tommy had said I love you to him for the first time.

He watched Evan dance around his kitchen in that ridiculous apron with a charicature of a lingerie-clad woman’s body on it that Christopher had bought him as a gag gift but Evan had insisted on wearing. He thought about the joy on his face when he’d finally perfected one of Bobby’s recipes or created one of his own.

He pictured the adoration on his face when he played with his niece or how proud he was when he showed off the friendship bracelet he wore that she had made for him.

He remembered the night Tommy flew the two of them miles away for the evening and they laid on a blanket in the middle of nowhere watching the stars, and Evan telling him the story of Cassiopeia.

He thought about how happy Evan was when Tommy told him a drawer in his bedroom and space in his closet wasn’t enough and he wanted Evan to move in entirely. The excitement he had when they went shopping for ornaments for their first Christmas tree - absolutely NO angel for the top because they’re creepy, he’d insisted.

He thought about 2 weeks ago when he’d dragged Lucy into the jewellery store to help him pick out a ring. How he’d swatted her hand away when she’d pinched his cheek telling him how fucking adorable he was being in love.

He imagined how he was going to propose by flying them somewhere under the guise of a weekend getaway. How he’d cook Evan one of Bobby’s recipes that he knew that Evan loved, then maybe sit outside under a blanket in front of a fire listening to Evan reel of facts about the place they were staying or something about campfires.

He thought about how he would tell himself in the moment not to cry when proposing but that he probably wouldn’t be able to help it. He imagined that they’d argue about how to get married - big wedding with everyone or elope somewhere like Vegas. He thought about Evan probably insisting that he take the name Kinard and how he’d find it funny watching people trying to figure out why people call Evan Kinard ‘Buck’.

“Tommy.” Lucy voice broke though the fog. “We’re at the hospital.”

“Right. Sorry.” He said getting out of the car. They got to the desk as quick as possible.

“I’m here for Evan Buckley.” He told the woman.

“Are you family?” She said not even bothering to look up. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. He WAS family, sort of. He meant the same to Evan as actual family but legally he wasn’t. At least not yet.

“Uh, kind of. I mean, I’m his emergency contact. Thomas Kinard.” Her eyes finally looked up at him before looking back down at her computer as she typed away.

“Tommy?” Bobby’s voice came from his right.

“Bobby! How is he? Where is he? How bad is it? Is he-“ his voice was frantic. Shaky. Bobby out his hand on Tommys shoulder.

“Tommy, take a breath.”

“I can’t, Bobby. Not until-“

“He’s alive, Tommy.” Tommy’s lungs finally deflated hard and he bent forward resting his hands in his knees, finally being able take in and let out a full breath which he hadn’t been able to do since the chief spoke to him.

“How bad?” He asked.

“He’s definitely got a pretty nasty concussion. They suspect he’s got some internal bleeding which is what they’re most concerned about, so right now they’re running scans to determine if and what internal damage there might be.” He led Tommy over to a seat and practically forced him to sit down.

Tommy rested his elbows on his knees and tried to calm his breathing.

“What the hell happened, Bobby?”

“We were at a fire at a fertiliser factory. There was an explosion and the blast threw Buck back about 30 feet.”

Tommy ran his hands through his hair. Bobby nudged him and gestured toward the Doctor walking towards the waiting area.

“Thomas Kinard?” Tommy practically leaped out of his seat toward him.

“That’s me. How is he?” His voice was shaky still.

“We were pretty concerned about internal injuries and there is a small amount of internal bleeding which we need to keep an eye on for the next couple of days. He has a pretty nasty concussion which we’ll also be monitoring. He has numerous bruises and abrasions from where he landed on the concrete floor but miraculously no broken bones. All things considered he is an extremely lucky man.”

“Wait, wait.. so he..” Tommy blew out a forceful breath to steady himself. “So, you’re saying that he’s going to be okay?”

“I can’t make any guarantees, as I said we need to monitor him for the next few days, but his prognosis is positive. He’s currently stable and if he stays that way over the next 24 to 48 hours then he should be fine to go home in about a week.”

“I thought he was in a coma?” Tommy said to the doctor.

“There was a discussion about whether or not he would need to be put in a medically induced coma to allow his body to heal, but as it stands currently there’s no need.”

“Can he have visitors?” Bobby asked.

“He’s currently getting some more tests but I’ll send out a nurse to let you know when you can see him. It shouldn’t be too long.”

Tommy couldn’t stop the tears from exploding out of him. His body began to crumple and Bobby thankfully moved quickly to catch him. The fear, the shock, the adrenaline, the relief.. it all hit Tommy at once as he grabbed onto Bobby tightly.

“Hey, hey, I got you.” Bobby reassured him. “You’re okay. Bucks okay.”

***

Tommy apprehensively walked into the room. His heart damn near broke at the sight. Evan lying on the hospital bed, leads and monitors attached to him. Numerous cuts and scrapes ran along his forearms and there was a bandage wrapped around his head.

It struck his as a stark contrast to his facial expression as he slept. He looked peaceful. As though he wasn’t aware of the condition of his body.

Tommy slid a chair as close to Evan as possible and sat down, gently taking his hand into his own.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” He looked up as Evan hoping that his words would magically make him wake up. He knew that wasn’t how it worked but he still hoped. “God, I was so fucking scared. When I saw the chief walk into harbour and the way he looked at me, I thought..” He sniffed and wiped the tears away from his cheek. “I thought I’d lost you. I can’t lose you, sweetheart - I’ve only just found you. You are everything to me, Evan. Everything. And I can’t live a life without you in it. So you need to come back to me, do you hear? You need to come to me so I can marry you. Then we can sell the house and we can buy some place bigger. Some place with a big yard so that you can get a dog that I’ll complain about but will inevitably fall in love with anyway. Where we can have big barbecues and invite the whole of the 118, and Jee and Denny and Mara and Christopher can play around in it. And maybe we’ll build a tree house for the kids to play in - I know you always wanted one when you were a kid. I can picture you now up there reading them stories under blankets. I want everything with you, Evan. I want the rest of our lives and the world with you. Just please be okay. Please just come back me and we can-“

Tommy felt a squeeze to his hand and immediately looked up to Evans face. His brows were tightly drawn in, his eyelids fluttering.

“Evan? Sweetheart?”

“To…” his voice was barely there and hoarse. He swallowed and tried to take a deeper breath. “Tom-my?’

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He stood up and ever so delicately smoothed back Bucks hair and gently pressed his lips to his forehead. Buck tilted his head slightly into the direction of Tommys voice and his eyes finally opened a little to meet Tommy’s.

“There’s my Evan.” Tommy smiled.

*

“I’m okay, Tommy. Really.” Buck told him for what felt like the one hundredth time in the last 48 hours.

“How is your head?”

“A little sore but okay. The morphine is definitely helping.” He raised his arm up.

“If you feel anything else you need to tell me. Or the doctors. No pretending that you’re fine if you’re not. You-“

“Tommy.” He interrupted taking his hand in both of his and looking at him as softly as he always did. “I know you’re worried, but I promise you - I’m alright. If anything changes I will tell you. But I’m okay.”

Tommys shoulders visibly lowered.

“I just.. i.. when the chief came to see me and he told me that you.. Evan I thought that was it. I thought I’d lost you. I thought.. all the plans I had in my head about our future - I thought they were over.” Buck reached out and wiped the tear from Tommys cheek.

“Tell me about them.” He carefully shifted over on the bed and patted the space he’d left. Tommy got up from his chair and gently laid on the bed, raising his arm and placing it behind Buck allowing him to lean in towards Tommys chest.

“I plan on selling the house and us getting a bigger one, with a big yard for family barbecues and maybe a dog.”

“Yeah?” Tommy didn’t have to look at Evan to know he was smiling at the idea.

“Yeah. Maybe building a big tree house for kids to play in.”

“I can sit up there with them and read them stories. Well, maybe Jee and Mara - Denny and Chris are probably a bit too old for stories. What else?”

“The most important one.”

“What’s that?”

“Marrying you.”

Tommy heard the heart rate monitor speed up and he couldn’t help the smile. He leaned back a little look at Evan who was looking back him with those beautiful earnest blue eyes, quickly filling with salty liquid.

“Y-you want to marry me?” He asked, this time his voice was the shaky one.

“Well that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you want to marry me.”

“From the moment you walked into the hospital at my sisters wedding.” He said plainly. Tommy felt like his heart had burst in his chest. He gently got up from the bed and walked over to his bag and pulled out a black velvet box before sitting back next to Buck.

Bucks heart rate monitor was still beeping faster and Tommy glanced at the door waiting for the nurses to come running in thinking he was having a heart attack.

He opened the box and held it out.

“Evan Buckley will you marry me?”

Buck reached out gently and held Tommys face and kissed him softly.

“Absolutely.” He grinned. Tommy kissed him back before removing the ring from the box and sliding it onto his finger.

“I love you so much, Evan.”

“I love you too.”

“Mazel tov!” Chimney exclaimed. Buck and Tommy looked over to see him and Maddie standing by the door with huge smiles on their faces.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Buck asked, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“Enough to see the most beautiful proposal ever.” Maddie gleamed.

“Hey!” Chimney complained.

“Sorry, second most beautiful proposal ever.” Maddie corrected.

[petertingle-yipyip]

WISH YOU WERE SOBER - MIGUEL O’HARA

Pairing: Platonic Miguel x Young Reader (father/daughter dynamic)

Word Count: 2,651

Summary: (Request) hi!! i have a platonic req for miguel x chaotic teen reader who has a bad relationship with her dad, just a man who lost his daughter and a girl who never had a proper father.. what could go wrong..(im a slut for found family)

Getting bit by a spider is less than ideal to begin with. But when you were bitten by a highly experimental spider that came from the labs your dad worked at, it was arguably worse. And then, when said spider bite results in you sticking to walls and being able to shoot webs from your wrists, it all becomes terrifying.

——————————

“Dad… Something’s not right.” You try to tell him while your notebook is stuck to your open hand. You shake it, only to hear the crumple and flap of papers hitting together. “Please.”

“Mhmm, mhmm.” He nods with his back to you, refusing to turn in his desk chair. “Yes, go ahead, kiddo.”

“Dad?”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Go wherever.”

“I’m not… I’m scared! Please!”

“Enough.” He says firmly, a hand hits the desk and you hear the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle. “Go.”

“You’re drinking?” 

“It’s not your business. Go.”

——————————

A few years later and nothing changed. He hadn’t even noticed that you were never home at night. Your bruises and bloody lips never got acknowledged. Winces and groans as you walked around were unheard. He had constantly drank himself into stupors, rivaling the depth of a coma at one point.

Your heart constantly ached for the relationship you two had when you were younger, before your mother left. Her treatment stopped helping and she died in the hospital, a place you and your father could never go back to. After that, he told you he’d rather drive to Jersey for a hospital than ever walk back into Metro General.

As your relationship crumbled, so did your faith in people. If your father, the man who you owed half your genetics to and the man who raised you, couldn’t put his own child’s needs ahead of his own despair, how could anyone truly love one unconditionally?

“Hey!” A familiar voice called behind you as you were sitting on your rooftop. “It’s my favorite spider kid!”

It was your father’s birthday and - of course, he was passed out in a puddle of whiskey in the kitchen. You had turned him on his side and propped him against the cabinet to ensure he didn’t choke on his own vomit before you suited up and just… sat. Chin resting on knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around and fingers locked together. Mask pushed up to your hairline as the cold night breeze blew through. You were too absorbed in your thoughts to realize your spider sense had been going off.

“Peter B.” You smiled quickly as you turned and saw the bright orange of the portal. “Shit. Did I miss an assignment?” You turned your wrist and saw nothing on your watch screen.

“No… Just knew what day it was.”

“Oh..”

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You hummed slightly and let him pull you to your feet. Mayday offered you a grabby hand gesture that made you smile and she took that as approval so she shot a web to your chest and pulled herself into your arms. You laughed as you followed Peter, his daughter in your arms and babbling nonsense.

You two walked into the familiar HQ building, greeting various spider people on the way before Hobie and Pav replaced him. You huffed a sigh when you realized that it wasn’t just a coincidence that the entirety of your gang was taking turns walking with you.

They were keeping an eye on you.

You slipped away during Pav’s dramatic retelling of his latest date with Gayatri. He was gesturing wildly with his arms when you sidestepped and dropped down a few levels, catching yourself on the ledge and pulling yourself to sit underneath. After a few moments of sitting alone, you headed to the training center.

It didn’t take long for Hobie to find you there.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” You snapped.

“Right..” He nodded carefully, moving behind the heavy bag you were lightly punching. He held it in place and leaned around it to offer you a questioning expression. “That’s why you bailed on Pav, eh? Y’know he was crushed.”

“I’ll apologize later. Just leave it alone, Hob.”

“Squashed.” He shrugged and leaned away. He gave the bag a small shake and tapped it, telling you to keep hitting it. “But I gotta say, Y/N/N, it’s not hard to see you’re angry.”

“Oh I wonder why.” You said sarcastically as your fists began to make contact again.”

“If it’s about your pops, maybe you should-“

“I should what? Talk to him? You can’t talk to a man two thirds in on a bottle of whiskey. Help him? Like he helped me when my mom died, right? Because that’s what we do, right?”

Every sentence led to your fists hitting harder and harder, more direct contact that stung the skin.

“He doesn’t care about me. He abandoned me when I needed him… He’s probably a canon event for me anyway so the sooner he’s gone the better.”

“You don’t wanna be alone, Y/N.” Hobie offered gently.

Though the gentle tone only scraped your nerves and your fist went through the leather of the punching bag with enough force to push Hobie back.

“Says a lot about the person I’m becoming.” You shrugged and pulled your hand out.

The sand inside began spilling out and you sighed when the faint glow of the familiar AI appeared in front of you.

“Hello, Lyla.” You grumbled and kicked at the growing sand pile.

“Heart rate elevated. Adrenaline and cortisol are spiking and you busted a punching bag… I’m getting Miguel.” She said simply.

“Don’t get Miguel.” You groaned.

“I’m getting Miguel.”

“Lyla!”

“He’s expecting you.”

“Why would you-“

“Because you need to-“

“Why is everyone telling me what I need?” You shouted, throwing an arm to the side which swatted through the projection. 

She appeared again at your shoulder with glasses disheveled.

“Case and point.” She nodded. “Go and talk to him. Now.”

“I hate it here sometimes.” You muttered and dropped to the floor, back to the door while you drew with a finger in the still growing sand pile.

As annoying as it could be at HQ, anything was better than home.

You were in the process of drawing your spider logo when you saw his looming shadow. You ignored him up until he sat next to you and you pulled your knees to your chest.

“She’s gonna come back.” Peter said gently and you felt Mayday’s hand patting your arm to a beat only she understood. “C’mon, kid. Say something.”

“Nothing to say.” You grumbled and shot webs at the ceiling so you could get away from the conversation attempt.

You slowly made your way to Miguel’s workspace. Your watch beeped as you went, probably messages from Lyla telling you to move your ass or one of your friends trying to check on you. You ignored the sounds and kept walking along the ceiling, hardly registering the directional change when you started walking on his wall.

“Siéntete.” He said simply as he pointed to the chair beside him without facing you.

“How’d you know it was me?” You asked simply.

“I’ve been tracking your watch. Sit.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to-“

Your complaint was cut short by the bright red webbing that looped around your torso. You cursed quietly as he yanked you to the platform and pushed you into the seat.

“Wasn’t so hard.” He smirked before he crossed his arms and leaned against the table behind him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You huffed.

“You put a hole in the heaviest bag today and you swatted through Lyla.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mhmm, right.” He nodded absently before sliding a video clip to present between you two. “So what’s this?”

…so the sooner he’s gone, the better.

“I’m just angry.” You shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Hmm. And this?” He slid a secondary video underneath.

It was you, rolling your dad over and placing two bottles of water by his head. You picked up the tipped cup and cleaned up the spilled liquor. You tucked a small folded note under the bottles, stating a quick and simple happy birthday with a quick heart.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Someone was worried about you. I had a quick survey done of you in your universe.”

“Who was worried? Peter B? Is that why he showed up for me earlier?”

“Pavitr.” He corrected. “And you walked away from his date night story.”

“I didn’t-“ You groaned and threw your head back. “It had nothing to do with him!”

“It felt very personal to him.”

“Look, whatever kind of intervention this is, I don’t need it or want it. Forgive me for having my mother’s kind heart.”

“Okay.”

The webbing around your torso disappeared and he cleared the video clips away. You frowned slightly when he gestured for you to go.

“That’s it?” Your brows furrowed and you kept the disappointment out of your voice.

“That’s it.” He shrugged. “You won’t listen to anyone trying to help and I can see exactly what’s going on and what you need. But what do I know, hmm?”

“Right… I’m just gonna..” You stood slowly and moved to the edge of the platform, freezing at his next sentence.

“When I was with Gabriella…” He said softly, so kindly you almost didn’t hear it.

But the mention of her name froze you in your tracks. He hardly ever talked about his daughter. Why would he tell you anything about such a sensitive subject? You figured you should listen.

“I made sure to know everything I could about her.. That’s what dads do, right? I knew what she liked and what she didn’t. I learned her friends’ names and faces. I even learned how to make these silly little paper origami animals…”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked weakly. You almost felt awkward hearing such a sweet sentiment coming from your usually angry boss.

“Because it’s part of what you’re missing..”

That sentence made you turn to face him.

“You want a male authority figure that can tell you he knows that you like cheerios for breakfast, but if you don’t have any, you’ll toast half a bagel and put peanut butter.. Sometimes you’ll get a green apple with it.. You want to hear someone acknowledge that you get caffeine headaches but can’t drink more than a Cola in a day. The one time you tried an energy drink, your senses kicked up to a forty and you could hear colors for four hours.

“You used to play sports before you got bit but after, the contact from the ball irritated your skin so bad you had to quit. You told your team that you had developed a health condition and overworking your kidneys could kill you.

“The logo of your suit is the vague shape of the spider that bit you, which was a common California house spider. Usually they’re not a problem but thanks to Oscorp, it was a lot more aggressive than it should’ve been…. You use clips in your hair because a hair tie makes it too tight. And you sharpie’d those words on the inside of your sleeve because you couldn’t stop thinking of them when you made your suit.”

“I don’t like cheerios.” You said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Honey nut cheerios.”

“And I didn’t just quit because of that..”

“Cause you got a job.” Miguel continued. “Under the table, cash only, for a graveyard shift at an all night diner.”

“Did you know my brother and sister moved out? My younger brother moved in with either his girlfriend or his friends because he couldn’t be around my dad. And my older sister, I don’t even know where she is… They might not even be in New York anymore. But I still make sure they don’t have to get the call to ID my father’s body.”

“But you want him dead to pass your canon?”

“Well yeah, I…” You sighed and threw your hands to the side. “No.. I don’t know. It’s not easy to live in that apartment anymore.”

“I know… But you’re still here. You still have your suit and your abilities and you help people.”

“Couldn’t help my mom.” You shrugged. “Couldn’t help my siblings. Can’t help my dad… What kind of a spider person am I if I can’t even help the people I care about most?”

“Makes you human.”

“Why do you know all that anyway?” You asked instead, allowing his gentle tone soften some of the sharpness in your chest. “What does my story matter in the whole arachno-whatever?”

“Every spider’s story matters here.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and swallowed the taste of disappointment on your tongue.

“Aren’t people like.. predisposed to addiction based on genetics?” You changed the subject.

“Sometimes, why?”

“So I'll end up like him, most likely.”

“Y/N..”

“Can you fix it?”

“What?” His eyes went wide.

“You’re a geneticist, right? You can run my genes and figure out where the problem is. You can fix it.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Or.. him. You can fix my dad!”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” You groaned. 

“Because he’ll be dead by the end of the night!” He snapped and you felt your body run cold while regret crossed his features.

“What?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “What do you- How- How do you know?”

He sighed to himself and rubbed his temple before he spoke slowly, putting extra caution into his word selection.

“When you told Hobie about it tonight, I had Lyla run the algorithm for your canon… His liver has been on the brink for a couple days and it looks like tonight’s the night it finally gives out.”

“Can I save him?” You asked tightly, eyes locked to the floor as the tears burned behind your eyes. “If I go home now and call the ambulance, can I?”

“You tell me how great the ambulance response in your neighborhood is.” He deadpanned and you sighed heavily, knowing he was right.

“I still wanna go home.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“He shouldn’t die alone.”

“You can’t change it… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so invested?” You looked up at him with a newfound anger burning behind your eyes, ignoring the tears falling down your cheeks. “What the hell does my life matter to you?”

“Because..” He sighed before he knelt in front of you. “I see so much of Gabriella in you, arañita.. And I can see you’re hurting.”

Your bottom lip quivered and the tears welled in your eyes. You hadn’t even realized that you wanted someone to notice things like your pain. You just wanted someone to pay attention to you and not feel like you were a background character in your own home, to feel like you were alone in the one place you were supposed to be safest.

“I’m just-“ You began, though your voice broke. “I’m so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”

“I know, mija.” He nodded. “But remember this.”

He turned your forearm so you’d see the words in your own sloppy, tiny handwriting.

“Keep your head up and don’t lose twice.” He read the words before he put hands on your shoulders. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I’ll end up like him.” You said bitterly but your immediate sniffle iced any venom in your tone. “I’ll end up a pathetic loser that passes out in the kitchen… I’ll abandon the people that need me when they need me the most. I-“

He shook his head and pulled you in for a tight hug, cutting off what would’ve been the most self-degrading sentence you could’ve mustered.

“I won’t let that happen, mija.”

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 1

Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Y/N is getting sober and trying to rebuild her life after a hard breakup when she meets Marshall Mathers.

Tags : mention of SA ; Miscarriage ; Addiction

Author’s note : this is my first shot a my writing a fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it x

Chapter 1

- Thank you for having me, you said to Talia.

- No problem, baby. You stay as long as you need to, she answered while giving me a hug.

You looked around, taking everything in. In a matter of days, you had lost nearly everything. It all started when you woke up in the hospital, several tubes attached to your body.

FLASHBACK

Apparently, you had been in a coma for three days. Simon, your boyfriend of two years was sitting in a chair next to your bed.

- I can’t believe you did it again, Y/N.

- It’s not what you think, Simon.

- It is exactly what I think. You need help. You need to get yourself together. Next time you might not be so lucky. You might actually die, he said.

Dying. To be fair you hadn’t really tried to kill yourself. It was more complicated than that and Simon knew it.

- I’m sorry, you said, trying to hold his hand.

- No, he simply answered, taking his hand off yours.

He looked at you with a piercing gaze, not saying a word for what felt like forever. He didn’t need to, anyway. You already knew it was over.

- I love you, Y/N. I really do. But I can’t go on like this. You need to seek treatment, he said with tears in his eyes.

- I just wanted to sleep, you know, you tried to explain.

- By taking over 100 pills of Xanax ?! Are you fucking kidding me ? He asked, fire coming from his eyes.

- I…

Tears started rolling on your cheeks. As much as you knew you had done something terribly stupid, you wished he wouldn’t break up with you. You wished he would understand.

- Simon, don’t do this, you pleaded.

- I’m sorry, he simply said, getting up and grabbing his jacket. You have a problem and I cannot deal with it.

He walked towards the door and faced you for the last time.

- Your stuff will be packed when you get out of here.

And there it was. Shortly after moving in with your boyfriend, you were homeless.

END OF FLASHBACK

- Are you ok, Y/N ? Talia asked.

- Yeah. Sorry. I just… I can’t believe it’s over, you said. I really screwed up.

She gave you a big hug again.

- What’s done is done. Now you need to focus on getting better, she said.

- Thank you for being here for me. And allowing me to move in with you. And not judging me.

- What you need now is not judgement. It’s support. I am a bit mad though, she explained. I wish you had come clean to me about all those prescription pills.

- I thought I could manage, you tried to explain.

- Well you thought wrong.

Your best friend was being hard on you, and she had every right to be. For months, you had been lying through your teeth to everyone in your life. You had pretended that you were this happy-go-lucky girl who had it together. On the outside, you had everything : you were successful in your PhD research at university of Michigan, a loving boyfriend you had just moved in with and a tight-knit circle of friends who loved you unconditionally. But deep down, you had been unable to handle the pressure of your studies and, the hardest thing of all, you had lost your baby, going through a miscarriage at 13 weeks of pregnancy.

- You should rest before I take you to your meeting, Talia said. And then, we’ll go to the studio. Jamal invited us.

- Do we have to ? I think I’d rather come back here right after the meeting, you pleaded.

- Meeting new people will be good for you, she said. And I won’t lie : I don’t think you should be alone in here.

She was making it clear that she didn’t trust you. After all, how could you possibly prove that you weren’t going to be popping pills as soon as you were alone ?

- Right, you said.

She left you to your new room. Thank God she and Jamal, her boyfriend, were living in a big house with plenty of room to spare.

Jamal was a beat maker and producer and had made quite a name for himself. He was now starting to work with famous people. One of them was Eminem. You weren’t a big fan, although you did enjoy some of his most well-known music. In fact, this man was to be credited for you learning how to swear in English, as you’d learned the language by watching movies and listening to music. You hadn’t listened to him in a long time though and you were kind of wondering what he was up to, now.

Talia sometimes went to the studio with Jamal and she was getting along with everyone. According to her, “Em” (as she called him) was a great guy and she was pretty sure the two of you would get along.

FAST FORWARD

You had officially made it through your first NA meeting. It had been emotional but you were glad you went. Now was the time you dreaded : meeting everyone at the studio. As much as you appreciated Talia’s efforts to help you clear your head, you weren’t exactly the social type.

As the two of you entered the studio, you were greeted by half a dozen people. As soon as he saw you, Jamal got up and have you the biggest hug.

- How did it go ? He asked.

- Uh… it went well, I guess, you answered.

You weren’t particularly intent on talking about it, especially in front of people. Fortunately, Jamal was wise enough not to elaborate. The two of you were close and he knew better than to embarrass you. Still, you were thankful for his concern. From the moment he learned you’d be moving in with them, he had been nothing but supportive. « I know you’ll get through it », he had said.

Talia introduced you to everyone.

- So, this is Y/N, our new roommate and my very best friend, she said.

- How come we never met you before ? Somebody asked.

- Well, Y/N is a scholar so she doesn’t have a lot of time for people with lesser minds, she said jokingly.

You blushed immediately. Your best friend was the most supportive person of your work and she never stopped telling you how proud she was.

- Nice to meet you all, you said a bit awkwardly.

You shook everyone’s hand and you kind of had a shock as you introduced yourself to Eminem. You remembered him from at least fifteen years ago, blonde hair and clean shaven. He was now sporting brown hair as well as a well-trimmed beard. You would never have recognised him, had the two of you crossed path in the street. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was rather good looking. And in pretty good shape for an older dude who was in his early fifties. In fact, he did look at least ten years younger.

- Call me Marshall, he said as soon as he shook your hand.

- Ok, Marshall, you said while looking in his deep blue eyes.

He wasn’t as cheerful and smiling as the others, but he wasn’t distant either. You had always pictured him as a loud person, but the man you had in front of you was far from it. In fact, he seemed like the quiet, rather serious type. He looked like he was staring at you as if he was trying to read into your soul.

You joined Talia and sat on one of the big leather couches while everyone got back to working. You looked around and noticed that the studio seemed like a very comfortable, soothing space. For the first time today, you eased a little.

After some time, the group decided to take a break. Most of them went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air, but you stayed inside. You did indulge in the occasional cigarette but you had been told it would be easier for you to refrain from taking any substance. You tried to be reasonable and not get tempted by the smell.

At some point, you were left with only Marshall, who was listening to the tune they just recorded in his headphones, pushing buttons on the mixing desk.

- So, how long have you been sober ? He asked as he looked at you.

- How do… how do you know ? You asked in shock.

- I was with Talia and Jamal when they got the call about one of their friends behind in the hospital after an OD. And you playing with your NA chip kind of tipped me off, he shrugged.

- Oh. Right. Actually, today was my first meeting, you said and blushed a little.

- Recovery is hard, he pointed out. Congrats on taking the first step.

You didn’t say more and he got back to mixing, as you stayed silent and watched him being extremely focused. As you studied him, you couldn’t help but notice an AA necklace dangling from his neck.

- So you’re in recovery too ? You asked.

- Yeah. Been sober for fifteen years now, he said with a smile.

- Wow. That’s impressive.

- Doesn’t mean it’s always easy, though, he confessed. But it’s 100% worth it.

There were a hundreds of questions going through your mind, but you clearly did not know him enough to ask them. Instead, you just smiled.

- Want to give me your opinion on the track ? He offered with a smile while handing you the headphones.

- I know nothing about music but sure, why not, you said, taking place in the chair next to his.

You placed the headphones on your ears and he played the song. You closed your eyes, in order to concentrate on what you were hearing. You were amazed at how fast this man was able to rap. Yet, you could hear and understand every single word. You particularly enjoyed the rhyming schemes. And, as ever with Jamal, the music was on point.

- it’s good, you said. It’s really good.

- Good to hear, he said with a smile.

The others came back to the room and Talia seemed extatic at the sight of you and Marshall talking. She knew how shy you were and every time you talked to someone new, she saw it as some sort of victory.

- So, people, Jamal said. How about y’all come to our place after ?

Everyone cheered and agreed. From what you gathered, it was usual for the group to meet at Jamal and Talia’s after a long day at the studio, so that they could kick back and get their mind off work. Talia held your hand in hers.

- I forgot Jamal wanted to have people over, I’m so sorry she said.

- It’s fine, you reassured her. But I’d rather stay in my room, if you don’t mind.

As everyone was arriving at Talia and Jamal’s, you said your goodbyes decided to hide in your room. Not that everyone hadn’t been super nice, but you highly suspected that there would be alcohol involved, if not weed. While you were climbing up the stairs, Talia grabbed your arm.

- Are you going to be ok ? There won’t be any hard liquor or anything like that, Y/N. Just a few beers, she said.

- I know, but… it’s been a long day. Meetings, people… I’d rather rest, you reassured her.

- Sure, she said as she gave you a peck on the cheek. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.

As soon as you entered your room, you changed into some comfier clothes : a cream-colored, cashmere set. You removed your makeup and put your hair up in a bun. You weren’t going to see people anyway so why bother ? You decided to watch Friends (your favorite show on Earth) and snuggle under a throw that reminded you of the place you shared with Simon.

After a couple of episodes, you heard a unfamiliar knock.

- come in ? You said.

The door opened and you saw Marshall standing there.

- So, are you hiding ? He asked with a smile.

- Kind of, you admitted.

- You have nothing to be scared of, he said. It’s very chill, downstairs.

- There’s still booze, right ?

- Just beer.

- I don’t really trust myself, you admitted.

- You had a drinking problem too ? He asked.

- Nope. Just pills. But now that they’re gone, I swear I’d take anything just to feel remotely… whatever.

- I feel you, Marshall said.

- Do you ?

- Yes, he simply said, showing his AA necklace.

- How do you feel so comfortable in a setting like this then ? You asked, wondering if you would ever get to the same point.

- It’s been 15 years, he explained. It gets easier with time. Plus, I’ve come to value the person I’ve become much more than the person I used to be when I was using. No money in the world could convince me to come back to that.

- It’s hard, you know. Hiding here when I know what’s going on down there, I said.

- Talia already gave Jamal so much shit about it, he said with a laugh.

This made you smile. Deep down, you knew Jamal didn’t mean harm, so you were kind of hoping Talia wasn’t giving him too much of a hard time.

- Thank you, you whispered. I don’t want to deprive you of your own fun, though.

- It’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna stick around for long. I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drive. You know, change your mind …?

- Uh… sure, I replied. Give me 5 minutes so that I can get dressed ?

He left the room and you quickly put together an outfit with a pair of dark wash jeans, a black turtleneck, a pair of knee-high boots and a blazer. You put your hair in a sleek ponytail and added some mascara for good measure. You weren’y trying too hard, but I definitely wanted to make an effort. After all, you had just met him - and he was extremely attractive.

- Ready to go, you said as you emerged of my room.

- Some sweats would have been enough, you know, he said joking.

- Oh. I started blushing.

- You look great though.

He didn’t say a word more and you got downstairs.

- Y/N and I are going on a drive, Marshall announced.

- Wait a minute, Talia said before you got the chance to get through the door.

She looked at both of you.

- No messing around. No drinking. No smoking. Nothing illicit or illegal. And you’d better be back home before midnight.

- Yes, Marshall noted with a chuckle.

- Yes Mom, you said jokingly while giving her a peck on the cheek.

As you got ouf of the house, you got to an impressive car. You were never good at recognising the brands or models, but this one was huge and it seemed like it was really expensive. It was also a bit contrast with Marshall, who did not look like the over-the-top stereotypical rapper. In fact, he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a hoodie, no luxury logo to be seen.

- Where are you taking me ? I asked.

- You’ll see, he said with a voice full of mystery.

Normally, you wouldn’t have agreed to a car ride with someone you barely knew, but you were so eager to leave the house that you did not really care.

You took place in the car and Marshall started driving.