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caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 1 year ago

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Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available.

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community.

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company?

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists.

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits.

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people.

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it.

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

#ao3 #lore.fm #fanfiction #fandom history #gift economy #caelum rambles

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theonewiththefanfics · 3 months ago

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Sisyphus No Longer (one-shot)

Synopsis: Robby knows chaos intimately. He knows how to navigate it, and guide others through. But sometimes life throws a curveball so big, not even he can get out of the range of impact.

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader

Genre: mainly fluffy, lil bit of angst (Robby just lives in an anxious state of mind worrying about his girlfriend)

Warnings: swearing, bit of medical talk (hopefully mostly accurate lol, nothing explicit, though if you pick up on anything please do let me know, and I'll add it here 😊), innuendos, but no smut this time around.

Word count: 10,879 (here we go again 🙃)

This is a follow-up to An Itch You Can't Scratch, but I think you can read this on its own as well :) Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Robby’s life was chaos. But it was chaos he was used to.

He knew how to navigate it, like a ship under the blanket of fog. Knew how to bend the mist to his will, and twist it to reveal the correct course of action.

For example, chaos causer No. 1 – Myrna.

She was a regular at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. She dished out verbal assaults, like it was a Friday at a bar, trying to flash anyone who even threw her a glance, all the while being handcuffed to a wheelchair. The one time she’d managed to Houdini her way out, had sent the whole unit into a tailspin.

But Myrna was a constant in his life. She brought a sense of levity during his incredibly stressful days and allowed him to crack a grin or two. He was her Fruitcake and she was his Fruitfly. They just worked like that.

Then there was chaos causer No. 2 – Good old Gloria.

If there was one thing in the world Robby hated, other than people who took their primary medical advice from Reddit forums, it was suits, and people in them. Especially those that tried to run hospitals, while prioritizing cost-cutting, instead of the safety of their staff and patients.

“Would people recommend this emergency department to their friends or loved ones?” Gloria had asked him a couple of days prior, singing her usual song, albeit in a slightly different key.

The only thing that’d saved her had been the fact a mother had walked in with her five-year-old son, a piece of crayon stuck in his nose.

“Gloria, quite honestly, nobody is walking around recommending emergency departments, because nobody wants to be here. The last thing on the mind of someone with a split open head or a dying parent is leaving a five-star review. But sure. Be my guest. How about you go around the people sitting here, having waited eight hours to be seen, and ask them what they thought of the service today.”

She bristled at his light, but clearly aggravated tone. “I imagine eight hours is a long time to wait.”

“It is. You know how we could cut it down?” He crossed his arms. “More nurses. More staff. More equipment. It’s that easy. But unless you wish to get a rainbow sneezed on you, I suggest you walk away.”

She wasn’t amused by his words, but when Dana sidled up, helping him steady the kid against the unpleasant feel of forceps digging around his nose for a sky-blue piece of crayon, she muttered in a low tone, “This is all alleged, and if anyone asks, nobody has seen or heard anything. But there’s a rumor going around, that someone might’ve put sardines behind the radiator of a certain someone’s car.”

It had taken everything in Robby not to bust out laughing, even as the kid sprayed him with cerulean snot, which brought him to chaos causer(s) No. 3 – the whole of the Pitt.

Ever since his one-night-stand and fleeing escapade had been revealed a month prior, by none other than the woman who was his girlfriend now, nobody was allowing him to live down the words she’d dished out upon her admission to the ED.

Four hours.

Shaking mess.

God fucking help him.

He was Mr. Stamina now.

A ladies’ man (though he considered himself the man of only one specific lady).

His closest friend Jack Abbot had even heard about this. As he’d come in to overtake the Pitt the evening after Y/N’s discharge, he’d clapped Robby on the back and requested his tips and tricks for lasting that long in bed.

“What?” Robby scoffed, pulling off his stethoscope and zipping up his bag. “I can handle a whole ED on top of the hospital board for twelve hours straight, yet you don’t think I can handle one woman for four?”

“I never said that.” Jack lifted his hands in mock surrender. “The real question is – when you two first met – was that during one of your seven days off-shift?”

“Fuck you, man.” Robby pushed past him, ears reddening like ripe raspberries.

“Nah, brother. That job seems to be taken already.”

Robby had just given him the middle finger as he walked away and clocked out.

That had been his life every single day since Y/N had taken a chance on him, and had become the one chaos-causer he was still trying to adjust to.

It had been a little over a month since she’d broken her leg, and it had been a little over a month since they’d officially started dating.

(He’d scoffed at the term at first. “Dating?” he’d asked. “In my big old age?”

“Okay,” Y/N had mocked him. “Would you like to call it ‘wooing’? ‘Courting’? Do we need a chaperone to watch over as we graze our fingers alo-,”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Point taken.”)

He couldn’t be any happier though. The way they’d gotten reintroduced wasn’t one he wished to repeat because seeing Y/N in any kind of mild discomfort made him wince, but he would always be thankful for the universe granting him another opportunity.

He wouldn’t say that by the time she’d come to his place of work with a bone sticking out of her leg, he’d given up on love for himself, but Robby had resigned to the fact that maybe, a relationship, a romantic kind of love, wasn’t in the cards for him anymore.

And yet now, as he dragged his tired legs over to the place she shared with her best friend Sara, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what had he done in this life or maybe a past one, that’d granted him such happiness.

A paper bag of croissants crinkled as he patted down his trousers, searching for the spare key Y/N had given him. Mainly it was because Sara was sometimes out late bartending at her second job, and his girlfriend, her leg still in a cast, was slow to move around the apartment. But still, Robby always knocked first.

It felt intimate, coming into her space like that.

Like returning home, rather than simply staying over at someone else’s place.

He heard shuffling and voices echo before Sara opened the door, welcoming him inside. His brown eyes ventured to the couch on instinct where he’d usually find Y/N, her leg on the coffee table while the two friends watched a movie or a show or a serial killer documentary, only to find it empty.

Robby didn’t have to wonder long where she was, as he turned his neck and found Y/N in a heated conversation, her back towards the living area of the studio-type apartment, phone on speaker as a male voice argued back.

His brain was immediately overtaken by the doctor side of it – he wondered how long had she been standing for. Had she elevated her leg at all during the day? What was her pain level? But the words that came out of her mouth completely overrode the code, as it wasn’t something he expected to hear at all.

“No, you know what you’ve done, Harry? You’ve effectively killed our mother.”

“What’s going on?” Robby asked Sara, as the woman plopped down onto the couch, his gaze frantically scanning Y/N’s form. “Is Mrs. Y/L/N alright?”

Sara waved him off. “She’s fine. In fact, she’s never been better. No thanks to the hurricane over there though. Just listen. Y/N’s been ripping her brother a new one for like twenty minutes already.”

Placing his backpack onto a chair, and sliding to sit on the armrest, he watched as Y/N opened and closed random cabinets, her back taut as a string.

Even angry she was beautiful, Robby thought.

Maybe old and worn men like him did deserve kind and gentle things.

However, the way she spoke to her brother, well... She was as gentle as a cactus spike. “Harry, why the fuck would you do that? Why the fuck would you let her go alone?”

“She’s not gonna be alone, holy shit, Y/N/N! Take a fucking chill pill!” her brother exasperated on the other end of the line. “Dad’s going with!”

“Oh, great!” She threw her hands up and slammed an overhead cupboard closed. “That’s just fucking fantastic! You’ve turned us into Annie! Do you not have enough braincells to realize just how many people go missing while on cruises?”

Robby looked towards Sara who was watching the drama unfold with a wineglass in her hand. “Cruises?”

“One of her mom’s dreams has been to go on a cruise,” she explained. “She’s been joking that when one of her kids makes a million, they’ll get her a cruise pass.”

“And Y/N’s brother made a million?” From what he’d been told, Harry was five years younger than his sister. “Smart kid.”

“Dumb kid.” Sara snorted. “And not a millionaire. He just lives to torture her, I guess. He got their parents cruise passes for Y/M/N's birthday three days ago. Y/N even chipped in thinking it was for a new car or something. Quite frankly, I’m with Harry on this one. Their parents deserve a nice vacation in the Caribbean, but when Y/M/N phoned her to thank them for the present the two got for her…” Sara whistled. “I thought an eye might pop out of her skull. Or at least a vein, so now she’s been having the most epic crash-out. Want some popcorn?”

He could do nothing but shake his head and cross his arms, a smile blooming on his lips as he watched Y/N war with her brother.

“And if they get killed?” Y/N glared down at the phone on the kitchen counter. “It’s international waters! No jurisdiction wants to deal with that shit! They’ll become a fucking unsolved case!”

“Oh my god, they’re not gonna get killed!” Robby could just imagine her brother pulling his hands through his hair as Y/N didn’t relent. “They’re two pensioners who just want to relax on a big boat and see some sights with a Margarita in their hand!”

“And what if they are? Do you know where they keep the dead bodies on cruises? Next to those fucking Margarita mixes!”

Harry’s sigh was royal. “And who exactly has such a vendetta against them?”

“There’s a lot of bad people out there.” Y/N scoffed incredulously. “Do you need me to send you links to all the documentaries there are about people who’ve died under mysterious circumstances while on a cruise?”

“No, what I think is, you need to lay off true-crime for a while. You’re starting to sound like some red-pill conspiracy theorist! Mom and dad just want to have a vacation. Besides, you’re never like this when they fly somewhere.”

Y/N huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Okay. Fine. How about this – mom is completely time-blind and dad’s a topographical idiot. What if they forget their passports while on some excursion or get lost? I don’t want to see them on a single TikTok about pier runners and whatnot.”

“They drove all through Spain, Italy and France last summer, and fun fact – didn’t manage to get lost,” Harry griped. “I think they will be just fine, especially because they will be with a group and a whole ass guide.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“Why can’t you just be happy for mom and dad? You know she’s wanted to go on a cruise for ages! She was so happy when she saw it was from both of us.”

“Harry…” Y/N rubbed at her forehead, but before she managed to say anything, her brother said something that made Sara choke on her wine.

“Why are you so fucking strung up? Is that new doctor boyfriend of yours not giving you any?”

Quite honestly, if he’d been drinking anything himself, he would have also choked. He hadn’t known Y/N had talked to her family about him, nor had he realized she’d told them it was a serious relationship. It made warmth bloom in his chest. Or maybe that was just the blush turning him tomato red.

“Actually, he’s -,” she twisted around and finally noticed he was sitting in her living room. “Right here,” Y/N finished in a clipped tone. “I’m gonna go. Next time I see you, Harry, you’re dead. Start writing a fucking will.”

With that, she ended the call and gave Robby a sheepish smile. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I gathered as much,” he chuckled, back popping as he stood up and went to Y/N. It was almost instinctive how his hands found their way to her waist, resting on the dips above her hips. “Seemed like you were in a pretty intense argument. Wanna talk about it?”

“That depends.” Her hand trailed up his chest and settled on the nape of his neck, nails scratching against the skin there, a pleasant hum reverberating through his body. “Will you tell me that my brother is correct, and I’m obviously overreacting about this and that my parents will be totally fine? Or do you have common sense and wish to remain in a relationship with me?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Can’t it be both?”

Y/N threw her head back and groaned, which gave Robby the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss against her pulse point, his own heart jumping in delight as he felt it speed up. He still couldn’t stop reveling in the fact, he had such an effect on this young, amazing woman.

“I know,” she huffed. “I know they will be fine, but I can’t help but worry. I have this irrational fear of cruises. I can’t explain it.” Suddenly she snapped her head up so fast, her forehead almost collided with his teeth. “Oh God. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be like that someday. Because if one of your dreams is to go on a cruise, I think we need to end this right here and now.”

“Sweetheart.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I don’t plan on going on a cruise anytime soon, nor once I’m geriatric. Unless you’re coming with me, I have no intentions of going on such trips.”

Y/N sighed and nodded, seemingly accepting his response. “Okay good. Because I do not have the mental capacity it takes to solve crimes.”

“They will be fine. It’s admirable you care for your parents so much, but they will be alright. And I do agree with your brother – you’ve got to stop watching true-crime for a bit.”

“Well, there’s not much for me to do at home. I still have two weeks until Langdon gets me out of cast number two,” she grumbled and took hold of the crutches she’d placed against the kitchenette. “Work from home is great, until you’re done for the day, and you’re already home. I gotta kill the time somehow until Sara gets home or you come over.” Y/N snorted, raising a brow. “Kill time. Get it?”

Robby just huffed a laugh as they made their way over to the couch, Sara having moved to a loveseat, so they could cuddle while he unwound from the day he’d had.

“Leg’s doing alright?” He checked in, as Y/N put a pillow onto the coffee table and placed her foot there.

“Just fine. Like it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before, and ever since Langdon and Santos put it on.” She leaned over and pecked his lips. The kiss was short, but it was something he’d been dreaming of ever since he woke up in his own bed, in his silent and lonely apartment. “Give them some credit.”

It had been about three weeks prior, that Y/N had come back to the ED for her scheduled appointment with Frank to remove the post-op plaster cast, get the stitches out, and get her leg into the one she’d be wearing for the rest of the recovery time.

When she’d hobbled through the doors, Robby instantly rushed over to help her, smirks and wolf-whistles thrown their way. If he hadn’t been the attending, he was sure they would’ve gone on for the rest of the day. (The nurses did. He didn’t have the power to stop them).

“Back to work, people!” He called out. “Or I’m putting everyone on sanitary duty!”

That got the residents and med students scrambling to find a patient. Dana though, was not under his control like that.

“He treating you good?” The blonde nudged her chin in Robby’s direction. “Because I can give you the combination of chemicals needed to remove bloodstains so that not even Luminol will find a trace.”

Beside him, Y/N snorted at her words, taking the wristband Dana handed her. Without even thinking, Robby slipped it out of her fingers and wrapped it around her hand. An unmistakable heat rose on his face at the action. So simple, yet so telling of where his head was at, what his heart was thinking.

“He’s fine.” Y/N glanced up at him. “Maybe a bit overbearing with the leg thing, but I just chuck it up to those wires they implant in all of your brains when you finish med school.”

“If you say so.” Dana raised her brows and nodded. “Just know – the offer stands.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” Y/N chuckled and nodded at Robby that she was ready to move to the exam room where Langdon had already prepped the bed while Robby helped her get situated. Once she was as comfortable as she could be, he crossed his arms and asked, “You okay with a resident coming in and watching, sweetheart?”

He could feel Frank’s eyes snap towards him, the younger man’s mouth curling up in a grin at the nickname that’d slipped past uninhibited, but he didn’t dare look at him. It was like dealing with a wasp – ignore it and hope it goes away. (It didn’t).

“Sure,” Y/N shrugged. “As long as this isn’t some ploy from Saw where my leg will get spontaneously amputated or something.” She threw Langdon a gaze. “It’s not, is it? Because I’ve been having these really weird dreams where my leg just falls off while I’m doing something, and I don’t know if it’s my brain adjusting to the situation, or giving me a premonition I might be ignoring.”

“I doubt Dr. Robby would let anyone touch you with an IV line without supervising.” Rubber gloves snapped against his wrists, but the smirk on his face grew twice as large, as he, no doubt to fuck with Robby, added a little, “Sweetheart,” at the end of it.

“No, I would not.” He deadpanned, and if Frank was gonna be that way, so could he. “Santos!” Robby called out into the hallway, eyes locking on the intern who was milling around the HUB, who he knew Langdon didn’t particularly get along with. Seeing the smile drop from his cocky face was enough of a win. “Come and assist.”

“But that’s just a -,”

“A great learning experience?” Robby stopped whatever rebuttal was about to come out of Trinity’s mouth. “I concur. Now come and help Dr. Langdon.”

She was smart enough not to roll her eyes at him, but her ire was palpable for being called in on such a minuscule job. She had a lot of potential, there was no denying that, but she was too overconfident for Robby’s liking, too alike the many cowboy-types he’d met and had to deal with, so he hoped by making her do the small jobs, she’d start to realize every single thing they did, was important.

A proper IV line was important, listening to the patient as they explained their problems was important, being a steady and soothing presence was important. Even if you were only there to hold someone’s hand – it was sometimes the most important thing they could do.

Langdon huffed as she entered the room, but remained professional as he introduced Trinity as their intern, the woman offering Y/N a small smile to which she responded in kind.

Together they helped her move up her sweatpants to rest against her thigh while Langdon prepped the cast saw. “You alright with Dr. Santos performing the procedure?” he checked in with her.

Robby noted how Y/N squirmed in the bed at the sight of the blade. She was a squeamish person, he knew that, but she was more squeamish because of her overactive imagination. “Can’t say I’m too thrilled about anyone coming near me with a saw, but you people gotta learn at some point, right?”

“I mean, from my experience, everyone could take a page out of a mime’s book,” Trinity smirked as Y/N cocked her head. “They don’t scream.”

Robby brushed a hand down his face as his (unofficial) girlfriend widened her eyes. “Santos, really? That’s -,”

“Dr. Robby?” Dana interrupted him before he could tell that kind of bedside manner didn’t work on patients who already had dreams about spontaneous amputations. “Can you come here for a sec? We need a second opinion.”

He didn’t want to. Despite the fact that he was the attending, and the attending on the shift no less, the thought of leaving Y/N’s side was abysmal. But he couldn’t neglect his duties and show such favoritism, just because his heart worried the whole time she wasn’t in his line of sight.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Santos, listen to Langdon,” he told them and with that went over to Dana, Mel waiting by her side, a nervous bounce to her feet.

It was an easy consult, more to reassure the mother of a sick teenager, the medication they would put him on, wouldn’t interfere with others he was taking and cause an allergic reaction. As he explained it to her, confirming Mel’s diagnosis and Dana’s recommendations, he could hear the saw turn on even a couple of rooms down.

“Go,” Dana nudged him on the hip. “Or you’ll pop a vessel thinking they might be cutting something off that doesn’t need to be cut.”

He brushed a hand over his face, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks as he excused himself and went back to the examination room. As he moved closer, voices could be heard in low tones.

Robby shouldn’t be hovering like that. Y/N was in great hands. He knew nobody would deliberately hurt her, and Langdon, despite everything, was a good teacher. As he reentered the room, giving her an encouraging smile, he took in how Frank instructed Santos to move down the line, answering Y/N’s question as to why an oscillating saw was so much different than a rotating one and why they had to be used in a different manner – a lifting motion, rather than gliding one.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief as the plaster cracked in two and was removed from her leg, no doubt the feeling of it euphoric. He knew how though it had been on her, but as Santos came to remove the lining, something shifted in her.

The gaze she threw Langdon was alarmed. Almost panicked.

It made Robby straighten up.

“So.” Frank started, sitting down on a wheely chair and moving closer to the appendage while Santos got to work on unbinding the gauze that separated Y/N’s skin from the cast itself. “Wanna tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded in an obviously fake-oblivious tone, not daring to make eye contact with either him or Robby.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“Nope,” she popped the p. “Absolutely do not.”

Robby raised his brows at her, but she just kept looking at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Frank let out a deep sigh. “Look, I can see that you have been doing something, and I need to know what. The talk about infection wasn’t just to scare you. You have stitches that are still healing. If something got inside the wounds there, it could end really bad. Spontaneous. Amputation. Bad.” He used the words she’d said before.

After what felt like hours, but was probably no more than ten seconds, Y/N muttered, “Hypotheticals?”

“If you must,” Frank’s words were weary, especially as he threw Robby a confused look over his shoulder.

“And you?” she nudged her chin towards the attending. “Do you promise not to have some sort of a meltdown? Or worse – give me a lecture?”

Robby’s mind was a frantic mess, trying to think what horrible thing could have happened, what emergency had he not seen, when finally, she relented.

“Alright. Fine.” The words were basically bitten out. “I may or may not have, hypothetically of course, used a spatula to scratch. And maybe some… metal bookmarks I have. And uh, a wooden skewer, a clean one though. And umm… there might be some bobby pins and hairclips inside as well.” After a beat she added, “They kinda got stuck, and I couldn’t fish them out.”

And, sure enough, when Santos finished removing the lining, three bobby pins were embedded against her skin – one on the top of her foot, one against her knee, and one behind in what Y/N called it, her knee-pit.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing a breath, as Frank did the same. “Is that all you used to scratch?”

“Yes.” Y/N didn’t dare look at either of them.

“Honest?”

“Yes!” she asserted, before quietly adding, “Nothing else would fit.”

Santos snorted from where she was cleaning down Y/N’s leg and applying an anti-scar ointment on the hurt skin, removing the bobby pins as she went along, thrashing them before the woman could ask for them back.

Robby couldn’t really fault her for her actions. The itchiness and discomfort a plaster cast could create was a lot to deal with, especially with how she’d been cooped up inside for a whole week without much to do.

“You could’ve caused a serious infection,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You know better than to do that.”

She threw her head back in a groan. “Please, Michael. I asked you not to lecture me. I tried, okay? I really did. But then I just kept thinking about how itchy it was, and you weren’t there to stop me, and it just all boiled over. By the time I had the bobby pins stuck, it was too late. So, actually, it’s all your fault.”

He could only let out a slow, steady exhale and shake his head as he moved to stand by her side while Langdon and Santos gathered the materials for the new cast.

“So,” he broke the settled silence, hoping to stop the pout that’d bloomed on Y/N’s face. “The spatula. Was that the one you said melted on the stove?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced as his resident and intern had to position her leg properly. “I wasn’t gonna like, wash and put it back with the utensils, you know? That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what’s disgusting?” Robby looked down at her.

“Uh huh, keep talking like that, and see where it gets you.” She pointed up at him. “As of right now, we’re still in the situationship phase.”

“Situation-what?”

“Oh, please don’t break his mind like that,” Langdon butted in, as he lifted her leg slightly and told Santos how to properly attached the 3D-printed cast. Y/N let out a hiss of pain and he watched how her grip tightened on her sweats.

Robby didn’t even think twice before his hand slipped inside her palm, allowing her to squeeze it.

“Alright, good girl.” Langdon nodded at the woman on the bed before looking up at Robby, the way his jaw clenched, and snickered. “Oh, sorry. Is that a thing between you two? I hope I’m not stepping on some toes here.”

“You know what, Frank?” Robby squinted at his fourth-year resident. “I think I might have just found Gloria some spare funding.”

“Point taken,” he said with a laugh before removing his gloves and addressing Y/N. “How’s the pain? This cast is much lighter, as you can probably already feel, and will be easier to navigate in terms of movement and hygiene gene.”

“Manageable,” she nodded running a hand down the new material covering her leg. “Tylenol – two tablets every six hours, but no more than six a day.”

“Perfect,” Frank nodded and took hold of her chart, writing down her words. “And the pain level now?”

“Like a four? Maybe five?” Y/N hissed. “Can’t say this was too comfortable of a procedure.”

Robby smoothed a finger down her cheek. “Do you feel like you need any medication right now?”

“Maybe?” she huffed. “It’s just that with the moving,” she shuddered and swallowed hard. “I like, I could feel like plates and screws grating against the bones. Like I know they actually weren't, but it felt like they did, and just yeah… I think it’s apparent I don’t do well with these kinds of things. I honestly don’t understand what kind of steel stomachs you have. I would have thrown up all over the place if I had to see shit like this every day.”

“Well, if Gloria thinks our patient satisfaction scores are low now, she should be glad you don’t work here.”

Y/N huffed at Robby’s words. “This Gloria woman should come down and try being a doctor or a nurse herself. I know I’m not the easiest of patients as is,” she winced and threw him an apologetic glance. “And I think I might have traumatized that kid – Whitaker – the first time I was here, but from what you’ve told me about how people treat you… Sound like she’s about as close to real medicine, as Katy Perry is to being a real astronaut.”

“I like you.” Santos pointed at her. “Let’s keep you around.”

She just shrugged, giving Robby’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll stick around for however long this guy wants me to.”

His heart thumped in his chest. He wanted to say, “And if I want to keep you around forever? Will you stay?” but all he did was squeeze her hand back.

It wasn’t the time or the place for it. They were still, as Y/N had said, though he barely had any inclination as to what it meant, the situationship phase, but hopefully there would be more phases. And he wondered where it would lead him.

He was no longer a single ship passing through the night. He had a new constellation in the sky he could follow, as he managed the residents and students, evaded Gloria and her bureaucratic bullshit; whenever his mind needed a respite, he turned to the new stars gleaming in the cosmos.

As Dana had discharged Y/N, and Robby walked her to wait outside for the Uber, he allowed himself to skim his knuckles along hers. She responded by intertwining their pinkies.

And now it had been a month of that.

She was a month of evenings and nights spent together. A month of mornings waking up grumpy that turned to laughter and kisses. A month of good coffee, and bad movies, but he never took it for granted. He finally had a truly safe space to come to after days when he thought nothing good could exist in the world.

The worst time of day though was the very early mornings, like right then, when he had to leave the space he’d come to cherish so much.

When he was cocooned by her arms and blanket, his body soaking up the warmth Y/N offered, like leaves do the sunlight. Cracking a bleary eye open, he noted the slit where he’d forgotten to pull it tight.

A heavy sigh left him as she groaned, pulling at his back so their chests could be pressed closer.

“Don’t." He could feel her mouth move along the skin of his pecks. “It’s way too early to wake up and I’m way too comfy to let you.”

“I need to get ready for work,” Robby brushed a hand along Y/N’s hair. “You can still catch some sleep.”

She just huffed, shaking her head, grumbling softly, “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep, and you know it.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, but before he could say anything, she’d already sat up, glaring down at him, as if he’d insulted her. “I’ll get the coffee ready for you.”

“You don’t have to –,”

“I’m already up.” Y/N let out a yawn almost unhinging her jaw like a snake. “Might as well save you some time.”

She was just about to slide out of the bed when he rose too, taking hold of her wrist. “I meant what I said last night. Every word.”

Ever so slowly, mind still addled by sleep, Y/N smiled, leaning back over and kissing him, not caring about either of their morning breaths. “So did I.”

Maybe Robby didn’t actually hate mornings. Not when she poured him his coffee to-go, not when she stood before him, mussing his hair a little and pressing her lips against his.

“I’ll be back by nine.” He wrapped his hands around her waist if only to prolong the time they had together. “And I’ll bring back some of those croissants from the patisserie down the block.”

“The Crème Brûlée ones?”

He hummed against her mouth in confirmation, before pulling away.

“You know, every day you make it harder and harder for me to let you go.” Y/N scratched the nape of his neck.

The smile he entered the ED with was idiotically big, so much so when he met up with Jack on the roof, the night shift attending couldn’t help but break his stoic demeanor.

“Jesus, brother.” Abbot dragged a hand down his face, a corner of his mouth pulling up in one of those rare smiles. “The girl’s got you whipped like a prepubescent teen.”

“I feel like a prepubescent teen with her around,” Robby laughed. “Keeps me on my toes, I’ll tell you that.”

Abbot just nodded, looking over the Pittsburg skyline. “Happiness suits you. You deserve happy.”

He could only smile, because the truth was, ever since the conversation they’d had before falling asleep wrapped up in one another, he was almost euphoric.

They’d been curled on her bed, her legs over Robby’s lap as both of them were engrossed in some form of literature – her in a fantasy book, the kind when he’d asked what it was about, she’d twisted the pages away from him, hiding her face that was no doubt heating up, while he was reading the newest of the medical journals.

It was almost on instinct how his hand rested against Y/N’s thigh, squeezing the flesh there, prodding against the skin where the cast met it when she huffed and squirmed away.

“Don’t," she muttered. “Because unless that hand of yours might slip higher up, you are not allowed to touch like that.”

His lips pulled, ego rising at her words. “I’m just checking if everything’s good here.”

“Everything’s good there,” her eyes drifted to her leg. “Besides, that’s just mean, what with you imposing celibacy on me.”

He threw his head back in a laugh, eyes closed tight at the motion, and he could feel her hand move to the back of his neck. He tilted his head to look at Y/N.

“I like seeing you laugh,” she scratched at the short hairs there, her Y/E/C eyes, a color that had quickly become his most favorite in the whole world, so incredibly soft as she looked at him. “I like seeing you relaxed. I sometimes think you forget how to be human. How to be just Michael.”

“Well, being with you reminds me of it.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s easy with you around… it’s easy to be just Michael.”

“Yeah?” She tilted her head back to get a better look at him. “Is there a magic button I can push to turn off that doctor brain of yours, so you don’t worry about me that much?”

He gave her a small grin. “It’s not the doctor part of the brain that worries about you. It’s the one that’s slowly falling in love.”

Instantly, her whole body stiffened, mouth falling open.

And so did his, because fuck, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. At least not yet.

Their eyes didn’t leave one another, but for a second there, Robby thought Y/N might not be breathing until air stuttered in her chest.

“Umm,” he cleared his throat and took out the novel from her hands, tucking her bookmark in it before closing the pages. “Look… you don’t have to say it back. I know it might be too soon, but it’s something I’ve been feeling for a while. And… it’s not something I’m gonna take back.”

“So…” Y/N swallowed hard. “So, these aren’t like empty words?”

“No.” Robby gave what he hoped was a warm smile, her eyes lowering to watch how he fidgeted with the corner of a page of his journal. Gently, her fingers slipped between his, easing the rising anxiety. “I mean every single one of it.”

Her little ‘okay’ was nothing more than a trembling exhale as he watched her mull over her thoughts. Just as he was about to say something to let her off the hook, to tell her anything that would interrupt the gathered silence, she spoke up.

“I mean, if you were fucking with me right now, it’d be like the meanest thing in the world.” She sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eye. “I uh… I can’t say I’m there yet, you know, but when I think about us… when I think about maybe a few years down the line it isn’t scary. Does that make sense?” She huffed, her fingers squeezing his tighter, as if afraid he’d disappear, and he squeezed right back, promising he wouldn’t. “Anytime I’ve been in a relationship, I’ve never really been able to see past the next few days. A few weeks maybe, but with you… I can see years. I can even see us with a cat.” Y/N let out a teary laugh, and Robby’s own bubbled up in his chest. “I mean if you don’t get tired of me before that.”

“I’ll never get tired of you.”

“You get what I mean.” She pulled up their interlinked hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I just… it’s a tangible future. A solid one.”

“And solid’s good?”

“Yeah,” Y/N wrapped her other arm around Robby’s back, holding onto his waist like he always did hers. Like she was the one terrified he might slip away. He’d never dream of leaving, not after knowing how it felt the first time. The two weeks of regret and guilt made him wonder if he had norovirus with the way his stomach constantly roiled. “Solid’s very good.”

Afterwards, they simply basked in the silence, and not before long, they were both side by side, covered by Y/N’s down duvet. He could tell she was just on the cusp of sleep when his words brought her back. “Cat? Singular?”

“Maybe two,” she shrugged in his hold, yawning. “Or more. It depends on how many tears it takes for you to adopt a whole shelter, and trust me – I took theatre in high school. I can cry on command.”

Robby snorted shaking his head.

“But honestly,” Y/N continued, “I’m down for almost like any kind of pet, as long as it’s not a gerbil or a Guinea pig.” He felt her frown against where her face was tucked in the crook of his neck. “Those things die traumatic and dramatic deaths, and, not to toot my own horn here, I think I’m traumatic and dramatic enough for the both of us.”

They fell asleep debating whether or not a landlord would allow them to keep a python as a pet, and Robby debated all the ways he could covertly block any search results on her devices about snake breeders.

It was the question he’d presented to Dana and Heather, by the time it was four in the evening and the ED had slowed down a bit, hoping to get some advice from the two women.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re afraid of some little snake!” Heather pointed at him over the counter where he sat at the HUB station. “Dr. Robby! I didn’t take you for such a wuss!”

He removed his glasses rubbing at his eyes. “First of all, she said she wanted a cat at first. And now suddenly I have to contend with the fact I might have to live with a twelve-foot Amazonian predator?”

“Actually, royal pythons grow between three to six feet, not twelve,” Dana said. The two threw her a gaze, and she shrugged. “Kid’s going through a weird reptile phase, so I’ve been getting all kinds of interesting facts about them.”

“Do not let them interact.” Robby pointed at her. “They will only encourage one another, and then both of us will -,”

But his words were cut short as the pagers came to life, pulling all of the Pitt into action as a fire was happening in a local area, three ambulances inbound, five minutes out. However, any sort of thoughts about preparation for the incoming got washed away when the words Green Garden Glen came up.

Instantly, Robby’s blood ran cold, his head snapping towards Heather and Dana. “That’s Y/N’s apartment complex. That’s her address.”

“Robby, don’t go there,” Dana said, taking him by the biceps. “We don’t know anything yet, okay? Call her first while we still have some time. We’ll handle the prep.”

“Fuck!” he buried his hands in his air, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

It was a miracle his hands were steady as he fished the phone out of his pocket, years of conditioning taking over, even as his mind was like a ship being tossed around by a hurricane. But as the line kept beeping until an automated voice told him “The number you are trying to reach is unavailable,” he could feel the boat begin to sink.

“Did you get through?” Heather asked, a frown on her face as Robby shook his head. “You know it doesn’t mean anything. The cell towers probably just can’t handle the influx right now.”

But any words he might have, were stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat, as his brain mulled over what might’ve happened. Had it been her and Sara’s apartment? What was the damage? What was the cause? A candle? An oven? A stove? A forgotten hair-straightener?

Robby would have kept spiraling like that, had it not been for Collins who brought back his attention to the present as the first gurney got wheeled in, an elderly man on it.

He’d been around Y/N’s and Sara’s enough to recognize him as their first-floor neighbor, the one with a penchant for yelling at people who he believed were there to steal the roses he grew below his window.

Mohan and Whitaker were examining him as they got instructed to wheel him to room eight by Princess.

“Conscious and somewhat coherent,” Robby heard Whitaker describe while the neighbor kept rambling on and on about how the fire must’ve been set to kill his plants. “Surface level burns to the upper arm area and stridor in the lungs from smoke inhalation. Lidocaine was administered on the scene and continuous oxygen is being given.”

“Recommendations?” Mohan asked.

“Keep him on oxygen,” Mel piped up from where she’d joined the two. “Monitor the levels and if needed, prescribe antibiotics afterwards.”

“And the burns?”

“Given how it’s surface level, we’ll hook him up to an IV to replenish the fluids in his body, and wrap it up with some bacitracin on the affected area. A tetanus shot for precautionary measures,” Whitaker rattled off, eyes shooting between Mohan and Mel. “Is – was that right?”

“You’re doing good, kid,” Mohan nodded and with that, they all disappeared into the assigned room.

Robby’s eyes scanned the ED – Langdon was intubating a woman with the help of Mateo and Javadi, Dana had taken on a mother with a child, a bleeding burn wound to the kid’s leg, and Collins was coordinating with Princess and Perlah, all the while he stood there like a fucking idiot.

“Get it fucking together,” he muttered to himself. It would do nobody any good if he didn’t do his job. He was the attending, for fuck’s sake. People relied on him. And yet he couldn’t move. It was only when a voice he dreamt about sounded in the room.

Robby might’ve gotten whiplash from how fast he snapped his neck towards the entrance and saw Y/N get wheeled in on a gurney.

“I’m fine,” her words were muffled by an oxygen mask as Dana rushed for her. “Seriously. Just got my leg bumped against the doorway, but I’m alright.”

But the words had no meaning when Robby’s eyes zeroed in on her stomach.

Red. Deep, dark red seeped through her (his) shirt, the one she walked around the apartment with, the one he’d remove from his body on her request and lay on a chair for her to wear the next day. It was now covered with too much of her blood.

Why wasn’t Dana putting any pressure on it!?

He was just about to rush to her when Heather stepped in the way. “Robby, no. You shouldn’t do this.”

“The fuck I shouldn’t, I need to!” he exasperated, watching as McKay ran for her and together with Dana, wheeled Y/N out of his sight.

“You, know this better than I do, we’re not supposed to treat people we know and care about.” She once again got in his way. “Don’t give Gloria a reason to get on your ass about preferential treatment.”

“I don’t give a shit about Gloria or the administration!” He snapped. “Not when the woman I love is actively hurting!”

“Yes, you do,” Heather asserted. “And it’s because you do, you will let McKay and Dana take charge. You know she’s in good hands with them. And you’re no good to Y/N without a head on your shoulders.”

“Heather, please.” He dropped his head. “I can’t…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to understand what he meant, because he’d already said the quiet part out loud.

He loved her. Plain and simple. He wasn’t falling in love, not like he’d told Y/N the previous night. He already was in love. He just didn’t want to scare her away, by telling the true intensity of his feelings. And how could Heather or anyone ask him to step aside when his worst fears were coming true?

After he’d heard about her nightmares about how she thought her leg might spontaneously fall off, certain images had appeared in Robby’s mind during the darker times of the day – Y/N in his ED, hooked up to a million wires and tubes, a ventilator keeping her breathing, while a neuro told him there was no brain activity.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat that night, one of the few times they’d stayed separate. A full moon had blazed through his window as he’d made himself a cup of coffee and plopped down onto the couch.

Robby had debated about calling or texting Y/N, just to make sure it had been only his mind working against him when she’d called him first.

He picked up on the first ring. “Sweetheart?”

He was breathless to hear her voice.

“Sorry,” Y/N muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” his reply came quick, soothing her worries. “I was already up.”

“Why?” He could hear her shuffling and huffing as she no doubt pulled herself into a sitting position. “Was it a bad shift? Need to talk?”

“No, no…” he shook his head, even though she couldn’t see. And it hadn’t been a bad shift. It’d been a usual one, though his mind did wander to Jack and how it was going now. The night brought out every type of insane. “ ‘S probably just the moon. I forgot to pull the curtains closed.”

“Ahhh.” Robby could practically see the grin stretching on her face. “So now you agree with me? That the full moon does make people crazy.”

He chuckled recalling the debate they’d had the previous day. “I never disagreed with you. Anyone that works in any type of social sphere, knows full moon equals trouble. I just said people are not like the ocean – we don’t get the water in our bodies pushed and pulled at like that.”

“Whatever you say, gramps. I don’t need you to confirm I’m right and you’re wrong.”

They’d spoken for well over an hour that night, falling asleep on the phone to one another’s breathing as their lullabies.

What if he didn’t get that anymore? What if he no longer had the chance to fall asleep next to her? To watch her put her makeup on? To help her wash her hair or curb her shopping addiction?

What if he no longer could have that solid future with a cat in it?

Fucking hell, he’d take a billion pythons if he had to, just as long as Y/N was there to help him with them.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to rage and shove Heather away, but he knew she was right, and as that settled in his mind, all the energy left him like a tidal wave.

Robby barely felt her pull his face to the crook of her neck, his hands weaving around her shoulders searching for any kind of grounding.

“I can’t lose her,” he muttered, tears he’d tried to suppress falling unabated onto her uniform, while Heather rubbed a hand up and down his back. “I don’t think I can get through that.”

“Look.” She pulled his face out from where he’d hidden it and made him look her in the eyes. “Go and help Santos. I’ll go talk with McKay and Dana, and see what the status is.”

And there was nothing more he could do than just nod.

It took her over three agonizing minutes, three minutes of him attempting to do his job as an attending, three minutes of challenging the decisions of his students, and making them explain their conclusions before Collins returned.

The rock sitting atop Robby’s chest finally rolled away when she said, “Y/N’s fine. McKay and Dana gave her a thorough examination, and apart from mild smoke inhalation, there are no cuts, no burns, no bruises, no nothing.”

“Thank you.” He pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for being a sound voice when I couldn’t think straight.”

“She’s really important to you, huh?” Collins pulled back, teasingly emphasizing the word ‘important’.

“I yeah…” He dragged a hand down his face, the tips of his ears blushing, which meant he was probably as red as a fire truck already. “Yeah… She’s… something.”

Heather patted him on the arm. “I’ll help them finish up here. You go and check on your… something.”

He was never living down his words, but he didn’t care. By the time Heather had taken over, Robby was already halfway across the unit and entering the room where McKay and Y/N were conversing.

They’d switched out the oxygen mask for a nose cannula, which meant she had to be getting better, but the second their eyes locked, Robby was by her side, her cheeks in his hands as his gaze roamed over her face and body.

“Michael, look at me.” Y/N placed her palms over the top of his hands.

“I am.”

“No, you’re assessing me,” she countered him. “I said, I want you to look at me.”

“I’m…”

“Michael…” her tone was soothing. Warm. Comforting. And finally, he glanced at her. “I’m fine. And before you say or ask anything – it’s not blood.”

Her hand went to the back of his neck, scratching at the skin there, trying to calm him. He should be doing it to her. Y/N had been the one who’d just gotten rescued from a burning building. But he couldn’t tell her no, as her fingers wove through his messy hair, calming his racing heart.

“I was making dinner. Found that pasta recipe, the one I told you about when mom and I went to Valencia and got drunk off a pitcher of Aperol.”

“So, this is…” His eyes went to the large red stain on the front of the shirt.

“Tomato sauce. Poured the whole fucking jar onto myself when the fire brigade arrived. Sirens scared the shit out of me. Didn’t have time to change before I smelled the smoke and started on my way down.” Y/N smiled at him. Not a teasing quirk of the lips, but a reassuring one. She probably saw he wouldn’t be able to handle it in that moment. “It’s just tomato sauce.”

And as what she was saying, registered in his brain, Robby could note the tangy and slightly sweet scent of the fruit. There was also some basil and garlic in there as well. And the color? Yeah, as he looked it over again, it wasn’t the dark and rich tone blood had, but a lighter, more orangey one.

He looked up at her, her hand on his cheek. “I’m fine.”

It was enough for him to pull Y/N into an embrace, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her.

She was alright.

She was living and breathing.

Her heart was beating in a steady rhythm against his chest.

She was safe and in his arms.

As he catalogued these things, noting them down into the chart he had of Y/N in his head, Robby finally allowed himself to relax, as her hands moved up and down his back, dragging away the horrible images that’d invaded it.

It was McKay clearing her throat, that suddenly reminded Robby where he was. “I uh, I’ve scheduled an x-ray for that leg of hers.”

“Which I don’t need.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Well, as your doctor, I say you do,” McKay countered.

Robby intertwined their fingers. “Do it for me, please. All the jostling as you got down the stairs couldn’t have been good for the break.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “But honestly, I wasn’t doing much of the climbing. Halfway down a fireman got hold of me and I got carried the rest of the way.”

“Oh.”

That was all he said, but it was definitely the wrong thing to say, because of the way Y/N’s gaze snapped to his, scanning his face for something. And when she found whatever, it was, she was looking for (a slight twitch to his left eye), her lips pulled back into a ferocious grin. “Jealous?”

Robby sputtered before scoffing. “Of what? They were doing their job. If anything, I’m grateful for them.”

And he was, of course. The thought of the firemen not getting to Y/N in time as she clambered down her fourth-floor apartment with a broken leg, was terrifying. But he couldn’t do anything to stop the blush from rising, nor could he hide the way his eyes shifted to McKay who was grinning just as much as his girlfriend.

God, the Pitt would have a field day discussing him.

“Don’t worry.” Y/N leaned up and pecked his cheek. “I kinda like it when you’re jealous, but as much as men in uniforms are hot, I prefer mine in hoodies.”

A violent heat exploded through his body, especially as she looked him up and down like he was a walking-talking meal, and McKay didn’t do him any favors by letting out a low whistle and even pawing at him.

That made Y/N throw her head back in a laugh, only to elicit a big coughing fit. Immediately, his palm was pressed against her back, helping her ride it out. Her teary eyes lifted up to meet his, mirth still glimmering as he wiped a tear from the corner of it.

“Serves you right,” he mumbled, and chuckled, kissing the top of her head before helping her lay back.

As McKay went on to check with radiology and get her a gown so she could get out of the dirty clothes, Robby handed Y/N a cup of water, before asking, “Where’s Sara? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” she sighed, giving him back an empty cup. “She went out of town to visit her girlfriend’s parents at around two-ish? I don’t have my phone with me, though. Could you give me yours so I can give her a call?”

“Of course.”

“The apartment’s fine, by the way,” she said as she punched in Sara’s number. “The fire inspector said we’re okay to live there, as the only damage is the smell, but I’ll just air it out.”

He despised the words coming out of her mouth. The thought of Y/N in an apartment that smelled of fire and smoke, surrounded by danger – Robby’s brain simply couldn’t comprehend it, so his mouth moved before he could tell it not to.

“Move in with me.”

The phone in her hand clattered to the ground, but neither cared. “What?”

“Move in with me,” he said again, only a bit slower, to allow his head to catch up with what was happening. Not that it helped.

“Michael…” Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “We’ve been dating for barely a month.”

“I know, I just… I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your place is ruined.”

“My apartment’s fine.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that – as if I’d let you move back somewhere fire detectors are more decorative than action figures.”

She raised her brows at that. “How’d you know the fire detectors didn’t work?”

“You said it yourself – the sirens scared you. Means the detectors didn’t do their job. The building’s definitely not up to code.”

“Look…” Y/N took one of his hands in hers, squeezing them whether to comfort herself or him, Robby didn’t know, but he held onto her touch nonetheless. “The only reason you’re asking me right now is because you’re scared. So please don’t get me wrong, when I say ‘no’, it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because I want you to ask me when the time is right. Not after some emergency, but when you feel like you’re truly ready for it. I told you before – there’s no rush.”

His heart warmed at her consideration. They’d had a similar conversation before where Robby’d laid out his insecurities of him being older, of feeling like he had to play catch-up with the younger generation and the world that was constantly changing.

She’d thrown him the most epic side-eye she could muster while half awake and looking at him over the bowl of her oatmeal. After a long moment of silence, she sighed, chewed what was in her mouth and put her spoon down. “Do you really think I don’t feel the same way? I mean, you’ve done so much already in life. You have so much experience, and you’ve contributed so much good to the world. I constantly feel like I have to play catch-up with you. With proving my worth, with proving how even though I’m twenty-six, I’m worthy of you.”

“You are! Why would you ever think any different?” He was flabbergasted even at the insinuation she wasn’t.

She raised her brow at him. “Then why would you think that way about yourself?”

Y/N had him there. Michael chuckled and shook his head, raising his coffee in a toast. “Touché, sweetheart.”

Now, she was looking at him from the hospital bed, eyes just as kind as they’d been that morning. “When the time comes, I will say yes. But I want this to be something not done under duress. If it makes you feel any better, I can stay at yours for the night, but I’d like to go home and grab a few things before that.”

“I can lend you clothes if you need them,” he eagerly offered. Call him a simp, as the youngsters said, but he lived for seeing Y/N in his clothing. Once the cast was off her leg and she’d gone to at least a couple of rounds of physio, he’d get her to wear just one of his shirts with nothing underneath. And hopefully she’d allow him to peel that piece of clothing off too…

“Oh, no, that’s not… that’s not it.”

Robby’s brows rose at the sudden stuttering and shyness, her heart picking up its rhythm and announcing it to everyone through the monitor she was hooked on. Now it was his turn to grin. “So, what’s going on?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“Sweetheart,” he hung his head like it was a horrific prognosis he was pronouncing. “You already are.”

“Micheal,” she dragged his name through a laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“And so am I.”

“Alright, fine… Just please don’t laugh at me.”

“I promise.” Though it was tough as it was to keep the smile from his face.

She took in a deep breath as if steeling herself before nodding. “I uh, I got a weighted blanket.”

Robby’s brows rose. “Okay… I’m not sure why I would find it weird. I mean if you think I’m such a blanket hog, you could’ve just said so.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head, chuckling. “It’s not because of that. Though I have read that statistically, relationships where partners sleep with separate blankets, are healthier, happier and last longer, but it’s not because of that.”

“Then why?” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. “You having trouble sleeping?”

He couldn’t remember Y/N tossing or turning much, though quite often if he got to her place after a prolonged shift, she’d already be in bed by then. Quietly, he’d shower and pull on a clean pair of boxers, before sliding into bed next to her. Like a magnet, she’d turn towards his chest, her good leg slipping over his hip and head moving to lie next to him on the pillow.

“You’re one creepy crawly,” Michael had once told her as they were settling in for the night, his arms in a tight hold around her waist. By the morning, it would be numb, but he’d take it if it meant she stayed close. “It’s like you’re trying to get inside my skin.”

So, he thought of that moment, when Y/N asked, “Do you remember that week when Jack asked to switch around for the day shift? It was literally the worst sleep I’ve ever had. And not because of anxiety or anything else… because I just can’t fall asleep normally without you.” She lifted her eyes to his and gave a shy shrug. “I can’t do it without your weight pressed against mine, or without feeling the dip in the bed when you sleep next to me. You… you’ve burrowed inside me like that.”

The night when she’d called out of the blue came back to him.

How quickly she’d sense him slipping into the sheets beside her.

That same morning when she said she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep after he’d woken to start the day.

So many little things fell into place.

“So yeah.” Her eyes were filled with hope as she looked at him. “When you do ask me to move in, properly ask me, I will say yes. Please don’t doubt that.”

Robby was sure his heart was about to burst from his chest.

On the one hand, he hated knowing Y/N couldn’t fall asleep without him being there. She shouldn’t be losing valuable time her body could be using to heal and rest, just because of him and the job he had.

On the other, knowing the impact he had on her life, knowing just how important he was to her…

Because she was that important to him too. Whenever he was too tired after a shift and went back to his place so as to not disturb her, his mind always remained there. He fell asleep to the image of Y/N playing behind his eyelids and woke up with her voice whispering ‘good morning’ in his head.

He craved her presence, craved her smile and looks. He wanted for her mornings and evenings, and happiness and pain she might have. And for once, he felt like someone craved him that way too.

“So…” Robby knew he must be red all over from the way his body felt on fire. “Can I ask you next week then?”

Y/N chuckled, pulling him by the sleeve of his hoodie, so he could lean over her. “You’re impossible. But you’re my impossible.”

Their sighs of relief mixed together, as their lips met.

He wouldn’t tell her he was in love with her. Not yet. There was nowhere to rush.

Robby was no longer Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up a hill, only to watch it crash back down.

He was Odysseus finally returning home to his Penelope.

Tags: @kathrinemelissa A/N: I don't feel like this is my best work. I've rewritten this like three different times, and I had a couple of ideas that at the time I felt I could combine into one, but I don't think this flows as good as I would like it to, but I just really wanted to write from Robby's perspective for this one :( Part 3 is already in the works, and I'm definitely feeling better about that one :)

If you wanna be tagged, let me know :)

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 months ago

Note

can i request

shy tasm peter was meant to eat out the reader so he reads a bunch of articles and watches a bunch of videos and he even makes her squirt for the first time and he’s cocky about it

you absolutely can! frothing at the mouth rn. thanks for requesting 💌

ATTENTION. 18+

tasm peter parker x fem!reader

wc. 1395 warnings. 18+ only. cunnilingus, squirting. mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Peter is naturally very gifted with an abundance of smarts, his brain always seeming to master skills and abilities completely foreign to him. And while he was a jack of all trades, his confidence in those said abilities tend to lack from time to time. His mind making him question if he was even any good at the things he claimed himself to be.

Extensive amounts of time and effort gets put into research and reading, doing whatever deems necessary to fine tune skills.

And while things with you were fairly new, he wanted to make a good impression in the bedroom department. Essentially, he wanted to impress you, show you things that may very well be new to you both.

Plans were made for you to stay with him this weekend, to spend a night or two at his apartment. There was no definitive talk on what was to happen, but you each knew what it would mean: two adults having their first sleepover as a couple. It was only common sense that it would lead to something more intimate.

Peter’s skills were fairly rusty, his knowledge and confidence on anything intimate seeming to pass with the love of his previous partner some time ago. And so for the days leading up to your planned arrival, he immersed himself in research and forums: relearning the female form.

He watched countless videos, all for educational purposes — spending hours on pornsites just to acquire as much information as possible. He really wanted to make this an enjoyable experience for you both, so to him, research was the way to go.

Peter took a considerably lengthy list of notes, jotting down tips and tricks and techniques to ensure he was confident in getting you off. Though it’s easier said and done. The tricky part was always putting it into practice, applying the knowledge when the time comes.

And so, now you lay on his bed, underwear discarded somewhere on the mattress, bare legs bent in the air as if to keep yourself exposed and available to him. It’s always frightening to present yourself to a new partner: worries of what they may think and say.

But with Peter, not once did you have those doubts. The way he simply is, is enough to distract those thoughts.

He’d admit, it was rather intimidating. Seeing in person once again just how complicated the female form is. It was almost enough to completely discredit the confidence in all that he’s learnt. But he prevails.

He itches himself closer, steady breath hot as it hits at your cunt. He’s slow, movements feeling calculated but really he’s just trying to remember the steps in the hazy panic.

He presses a kiss to the crease of your upper inner thigh, the soft, fluttery touch an effort to build you up slowly. His hands cup the backs of your thighs, wandering, needy fingers pawing and squeezing at the doughy flesh.

And so he presses another kiss, seering the act of affection into the other side, giving both sides similar attention. But between either thigh, there was something else that awaited his attention. Your pussy growing antsy with anticipation, a slight ache forming as he attends to the other parts of you — giving your thighs and ass cheeks the attention your cunt so clearly wanted.

Though you wait. You keep your hands clasped to your chest rather than the locks of his hair, not wanting to hasten or progress things too much, too soon.

His kisses eventually circle inwards and he places one to the centre of your folds, the light, brief moment of contact having more of an effect on you than you’d have expected. It was the attention to detail that caught up to you, the slow, timely movements allowing things to build up naturally for you.

He halts with the kisses for now and lines the expanse of your cunt with his tongue, trailing your folds up and down with the flat of the muscle. Unpointed pressure showing his lack of haste in the matter. He reaches your clit and his lips wrap around it, pucking yet another faint kiss.

But he doesn’t part from it. Instead it’s like he’s latched onto it, mouth covering the sensitive nub with gentle pressure. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he swipes at your clit, flat tongue flickering over it unrushed.

You release your firm hold around your breasts and instead place your hands atop his head, unable to keep yourself from touching him. Your fingers slot into the messy strands of hair at the front, antsy fingers simply using him as something to hold onto.

The silent act of tugging his hair is quite enough to egg him on further, to encourage him even. The way you seek him out was something he found rather endearing, erotic too. The way you sound is also quite the confidence booster, your airy deep full breaths wordlessly telling him that what he’s doing is working. That he’s doing something right.

He parts from your clit for a brief moment to kiss back down the length of your slick cunt, lips halting at the very bottom of you. His tongue sharpens as he begins to lick up you, the slight point curling up against your entrance with the movement. Though that's all it is. Nothing more comes from that little teasing dip into you.

He laps at your arousal only to spit it back onto your pussy, combining your juices with spit of his own. And it becomes apparent that he’s starting to grow lost in the act, freestyling and abandoning his intricate, mental step by step. Like a sense of pressure and worry leaves his shoulders as he listens to your pants, your bodily reactions continuing to tell him that he’s doing a good job.

Peter retracts a hand from the cheek of your ass, instead moving it towards your cunt. He lines over the mess of your folds with his index, trailing over the spit and juice and arousal as he itches it closer to your entrance. His lips and tongue resume their attention on your clit while his finger begins to guide into you. Easing in with no resistance at all.

He locates what he guesses to be your g-spot, the ridges and bumps of it later telling him that he’s correct. And so he starts to rub the pad of his finger against it, mimicking a ‘come hither’ motion.

And once again, your reactions guide him: fingers gripping tighter in his hair, breaths growing ragged and strained, hips winding, chest rising and falling. Every single one of your bodily responses coming from a place of deep, unwavering pleasure. His research didn't need to tell him that you were beginning to near your end, he could just feel it.

Many minutes pass with Peter repeating those few movements, the combination seriously altering the ability to control your volume. You whine and pant against him, the hands that once laid atop his head now sit on his shoulders, your force trying to push him away from between your thighs. The feelings of it all growing too intense.

But that’s not what you really wanted. You didn’t want him to stop and he knew that also.

You feel that pressure build in the pit of your stomach and without much time to prepare, you're writhing against him, an unfamiliar sense of tension accompanying. His finger acts as a plug inside you as he awaits the moment, only retracting when the time feels right. He pulls his index and lowers his mouth, relocating to the bottom half of your cunt — lining himself with you to swallow as much of your squirt as possible.

And once your convulsing and spasming subsides, he’s pressing soft, reassuring kisses to the inners of your thighs, making conscious effort to help you down easily. He adjusts and repositions himself, moving up the length of your body to hover atop you, face now close with yours once again. His cheeks blushing with pride.

His lips ghost yours and you taste yourself.

“That was so embarrassing,” you mutter against him, head turning away bashfully.

He maintains eye contact, his head tilting with yours as if to signify the importance of what he’s about to say.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

#tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker smut #tasm peter x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter 3 #tasm x reader #tasm smut #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction

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aquanutart · 4 months ago

Text

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

#pokemon #pokemon blue #kanto #gen 1 #long post #text post #i know long format blog posts aren't standard here but i don't know where else to put this #i'm so happy i've had tears in my eyes. i had the BEST pokemon day i could have imagined #some people may be surprised i didn't just have a team of water or grass types but it was my first pokemon game and i wanted to be balanced #(also.. i'm not actually even sure i knew how to swim yet at that age?! i think i learned when i was 4-5)#BLASTOISE!!! my original blastoise my favorite i'm so happy to see him again!!! ;;---;;#i started training a drowzee because i needed to put pokemon to sleep for catching and hypno ended up just being so strong i got so attache #kitty helped me earn money to buy pokeballs with pay day #i always thought vulpix was incredibly cute and ninetales was awesomely beautiful #it was a tradition for me to have a haunter in every game because gengar is just so cool and cute (though i never had anyone to trade with)#but it's okay because haunter is also very cool and cute and i love my haunter #and i had a pikachu like red and yellow (but mine evolved!)#sorry about the overexposed 'screenshots' it actually takes a frustratingly long time to edit them into anything presentable even like this #but there's something nostalgic to me about seeing it on an actual game boy (color) instead of only the screen itself

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medievalharlot · 2 months ago

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A gift for the princess 彡 Geta x princess f!reader x Caracalla

Pairing: Geta x princess f!reader x Caracalla

Synopsis: The empire comes to your aid and you are reunited with your childhood friends, they end up having a gift you cannot turn down

Wordcount: 3,1k

Request: ‘I’ve been thinking of this plot for a while, but I’m not a writer and could never write it myself. But what if both of the twins x reader, who was their childhood best friend, she came from a very wealthy family (for some reason I like to think she was royalty in a neighboring country or smth, anyway, she was forced to move away, and the twins and here were devestated (cause they like LIKED each other) years go by, and they are now emperors, they have to go to a place for business, with other royals (like where the reader lives) and they meet again, and like, fall in loveeee’ by anon

Tags: Childhood friends to lovers, reader is a princess, some light groping but no full on smut, period accurate misogyny, implied violence, implied abuse.

A/N: Phew this one is a little longer than I intended it to be. Maybe a little less historically accurate than my last one but I tried sticking to historical facts. I always thought of Caracalla as a shy child that turned mad and Geta being the brave one. This will be the last full on fic I post before I go to Paris, enjoy!

It would be a short seige, your castle walls were never strong enough to withstand the Parthian army. Yet your father, having spiraled into madness, insisted to keep fighting. For years your small kingdom had been an ally to the empire. Even if it was small, it had a strategic and important port. Under Marcus Aurelius it had it added to the list of allies and it had been loyal up. Your father suddenly decided to start a war against Parthia. Voices plagued his mind, advisors gone corrupt filled his mind with delusions. You had been supportive of your father, trying to see the good in his actions as a way to cope. Giving up on the man that had raised you felt like betrayel. Your mother was a noble lady and after giving birth to you ander your brother she moved back to her own home. Their marriage was arranged and quite an unpleasant one. You were his only daughter, his sweet delight. Your brother was aiding the empire in the conquest of Numidia by order of the emperor, leaving you to watch over your father. Every day he slipped further into madness, and everyday it became more painful to watch.

At a certain point his advisors convinced him to go to war. Once you got wind of the idea you had the advisors sent away, unleashing your fury upon him. But your father had already sent out the command. You had prayed to Pax, Fortuna and Minerva for the war to end well and for the Romans to send aid. Emperor Severus had been a good friend to your father. You weren’t aware that he had passed and his sons, Geta and Caracalla, were terrorizing the empire. News travelled slow in the empire and before you knew it there was an entire army knocking on your door with no aid in sight. You had witnissed the Pathian generals slaughter the people on the outskirts of the city being killed. Their screams haunting your mind as you hid.

Once, you knew the twins. It was a long time ago, before your father had become king. He took you and your brother to Rome quite often, in hindsight you understood it was probably to find a suitable match amongst the sons of the senators. Due to the friendship your father and the emperor shared you were often on the Forum. You remember meeting the twins for the first time.

Caracalla was a shy boy, hiding behind his brother. Geta was a bit cocky but curious about you. They were a few years older than you were. You were clinging to your fathers toga, you never played with boys. At home you were either being taught by master or you were playing with the daughters of your fathers advisors. Boys sucked. And yet here you were, alone with these boys in a room.

“Do you wanna play soldiers?” Geta had asked eventually. “You can be the helpless girl and we-” He had shoved his brother from behind him. “We will save you.” There was a proud smirk on his face.

Soldiers? Why would you want to play that, why would you be the helpless girl. “I don’t want to play that.” You reached for the wooden sword. Geta tried to grasp for it.

“You can’t play with that, that isn’t for girls.” He sneered as you pulled away. Caracalla still hadn’t spoken a word.

“Stop it!” You frowned, you weren’t one to let somebody to tell you what to do.

Soon, chaos ensued. Somehow you ended up in a brawl with him, and to your surprise you were winning. All that commotion had alarmed the servants, who had fetched your fathers. Emperor Severus was pissed. He had dragged Geta off you, shouting stuff like ‘this is not how you treat guests’ and ‘you let that little girl beat you up’. Caracalla chased after them while sobbing as the emperor dragged Geta by his collar out of the room.

The banging on the door only got louder, together with the other women of this court you were hiding in the cellar. Soft prayers were whispered, hopes that the devine above might save them. You didn’t pray, you knew there was no stopping an army, your kingdom was way too small to beat Parthia. Your father didn’t have the men, nor did he have much expierence. It would be over soon and all you could hope for is that they wouldn’t slaughter and take every single woman in this room.

Over the years you luckily grew to appreciate each other’s company. Visits to Rome became more frequent. Your father enjoyed the wine, food, feasts and whores in the capital better. Geta was still as boisterous as before as he often liked to remind you of how he would become emperor someday. Caracalla had grown out of his shyness, but he got reckless and often faced his father’s wrath.

You were sitting on Caracalla’s bed, soflty dapping your handkerchief against his busted lip. Geta was leaning agaisnt a pillar as he watched you tend to his brother. “What happened.” You had asked Geta, Caracalla was still visibly upset. He was rambling some words you couldn’t understand, making himself small and leaning out of his touch. Sometimes it felt like you were talking to a child.

“Drank too much wine last night and was found in the horse stables.” Geta replied, keeping it short. You could tell his fathers violence got to him.

“You’re a fool sometimes Caracalla.” You spoke to him, lifting his chin to get a better look.

“He just needs to die then I will be emperor.” He had spouted a bit angrily in return.

You sighed softly and stood up. “We will fetch a doctor.” You spoke, nodding your head to Geta to signal him to come along. Something was up with Caracalla, he was reckless but he had become more unpredictable and forgetful over the last few months. It was eating away at you, you saw them as your closest friends.

“Something is wrong with him, Geta.” You spoke as soon as the two of you turned a corner. “Did the doctors say anything last time?”

“They say his peverse nature has infected his mind.” Geta spoke as he walked with you. “They’re trying to treat him but father says he is fine.”

“He’s not.”

“I know.”

Then the screams came. The walls had been breached. Younger girls started sobbing, with a stern look you tried to make them shut up. You couldn’t blame them, the worse thing that could happen to you is that they would make you a concubine. Soldiers knew better than harming a princess that could be used for blackmail. But those girls, they would have to endure the worst. You held your breath as you could hear them getting closer, your heart beating in your chest. The doors opened, but to your surprise it weren't Parthian soldiers. Their shields carried the Roman chrest. It were Roman Soldiers. Had they come to your aid? You got up, your dress was dirty and your messy. The seige lasted a few hours and you had been stuck in this stuffy room.

“Princess Y/N, you have summoned by imperial decree.” One of the generals entered, you did not recognize him. He looked older, his black hair slowly graying. They took you, dragging you out of the room despite your protests. The didn’t take commands from a woman, they took direct orders from the emperors and the emperors alone.

It was a particularly hot summer that year. This time you had went ahead of your father to Rome, he had some business to take care of back home. It was uncommon for girls your age to travel alone, you had long passed the age to be wed, but you were of age. It was the only reason your father let you go alone. Something had changed this year tho, you weren’t sure about what. The three of you always went swimming in their private pool, it had been a tradition for you of some sort. You never thought of it as strange. Yet, this year you could feel your cheeks heating up as you watched them swim around.

“Are you just going to lay there?” Geta spoke up. You were still laying in the shade and still dressed.

“Don't feel like swimming.” You spoke as you grinned softly.

“Is the princess afraid of getting wet?” He laughed loudly as he swam to the side of the pool.

“I am not!” You got up defensively. In the midst of your conversation you had not noticed Caracalla lurked behind you. With a giggle he flung you into the water.

“There we go.” Geta laughed, watching you struggle to swim in the flowly stola you were wearing. You would have bothered to undress first if you knew they were gonna force you in.

The echoes of Caracalla's laughter rung around the pool. It had gotten worse, you knew that. Both of them got worse in their own way. From what you heard they were drunks with concubines from all over the empire and a lust for blood. It made you sad.

“You should come to the Colosseum soon.” Geta swam closer to you, looking slightly down on you. The water was up to your shoulders but you could still stand. The way he looked at you made your head do summersaults. He lifted your chin. “I think you would enjoy what we have prepared for you.” He got closer, eye contact still remaining as your lips almost touched.

“I am not sure if-” He cut you off with a kiss. Caracalla was behind you now, his hands roamed your hips and his lips were on your neck. He softly bit down on the skin as he whimpered while rutting against you. You were sandwhiched between them. One of Geta's hands was on your breast, the other holding your chin in place.

It was so perfect, until it wasn't. Your father had barged in and saw the scene. He, too, had heard of the twins endeavours. And upon seeing you sandwiched between them he got furious. He ordered you out of the pool and he scolded the both of them. Surely, they would never hear the end of it from their own father. It made you anxious for what would happen when the emperor got word of what had happened here. That didn't matter tho, you would be there to patch up their bruises.

Atleast, that is what you thought. Your father had send you home right away and you never saw the two of them again. The first year was hard but you learned to live with the heartache. With your father illness you had more pressing matters than Rome.

They had dragged you back all the way to Rome. It was early in the morning when you finally arrived, your head ached and your feet were sore. On the way you were informed your father was killed, only worsening your pain. The soldiers had given you a minimum of food and water and kept you dressed in simple rags. You felt like a prisoner and you still weren’t none the wiser about why you were summoned. Atleast you didn’t have to walk all the way.

You arrived in Rome filthy, dehydrated, hungry and confused. At once, you were taken to the throne room. It was nearly the same as you remembered, only there were two thrones. Maybe he put it there as a way to honor his deceased wife. Taking in the surroundings you heard the emperor and the guards come in.

“I hope there is a good reason for my treatment on this journey, your imperial highness.” You turned around, but instead of seeing emperor Severus, you stood eye to eye with them. Geta and Caracalla. Your heart dropped. It been years since you had seen them. They were the emperors now?

“We apologise for your treatment, my lady.” Geta spoke first as he offered his hand. You stood frozen, taking in the both of them. You couldn’t lie, it was good to see them. It was like a weight falling of your shoulders. But something felt off. Geta had a cold look in his eyes and Caralla looked almost insane. His eyes reminded you of your father. Both of them were dressed in gold armour with a gold laurel crown on their heads. They radiated divinity. It didn’t feel the same as it once did.

With a trembling lip you stumbled over to them, falling on your knees infront of them. You had grasped ahold of Geta’s robe. Caracalla grinned as he crouched down to look at you. “We saved your kingdom. You must thank us, your brother will be king now.”

You looked up at him with fat tears rolling down your face as you were reminded of your father’s death. Geta grabbed your face in his hand. “What my brother means to say is that we are very sorry about your father. He may have acted like a fool but no ally of Rome should suffer like you have.” He gave you a hand, you took it and stood. “There will be games in his honour tonight. You will be attending.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

Softly, you nodded. You tried to process what was going on. “Yes, games.”

“Real games, with bloodshed. No mercy.” Caracalla spoke to you as if he tried to comfort you. “We got you a dress.”

“Yes, Cassia will help you get dressed. You must get some rest now.” Geta turned to a young girl, she looked foreign but she had a Roman. She was probably a concubine that they liked so much she got promoded to a handmaid. “Cassia, get her cleaned up.” He snided at the girl.

Cassia led you out of the throne room to the baths. The hot water felt nice against your sore skin, you felt clean atlast. An essence of mint and citrus hanging in the air.

After the bath, Cassia had dressed you in your gown. It was purple with gold trimmings, it must’ve cost a fortune. The fabric felt expensive. Your hair was done in an elaborate hairstyle. Even if you were a princess, the luxeries in Rome was something your father could not afford. You looked like an empress, the empress. “The emperors wish to see you before you leave for the Colosseum.” She eventually spoke after she finished doing your hair.

With heavy feet you made your way to the throne room. It did feel better to be dolled up again, but under these circumstances you doubt you could feel anything at all. You were alone in a city full of people that would probably want you dead, you had no moment of peace as two guards followed you at all costs. They pushed the door open to the throne room, Geta and Caracalla were already waiting for you.

They had changed into new clothes too. Caracalla wore a black gown, Geta opted for a rich red. The twins turned to look at you.

“You look splendid, my lady.” Geta spoke first before Caracalla interrupted him.

“My brother and I have a proposal to make.” He sat in his throne like a giddy child. You carefully watched them.

“Your father has passed, leaving you unmarried and under nobody’s protection.” Geta started, you weren’t sure what he was getting at. “Your brother is too busy being king, so..”

“What is it you want from me.” You cautiously narrowed your eyes.

Caracalla rose to his feet and walked towards you, grabbing your hands. “Marry us. You loved us when we were children, you love us now right?” There was a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Right?” He repeated, now sounding a little more angry.

You were left speechless. If they had asked you this question a few years ago you would’ve agreed without a second thought, but after all these years and all that happened you just couldn’t process what they asked of you.

“Nothing would happen to your kingdom once you are empress.” Geta was suddenly behind you, whispering in your ears. “We will make the man that murdered your father die a painfull death, my lady.” He stroked a ringed finger against your arm, the metal felt cold against your skin.

Geta took a step back. “We will give you some time to think, we have a surprise for you during the games first.” You heard Caracalla giggling, what had they planned?

In the Colosseum you were seated in between them. The two of them clearly enjoyed the bloodshed. Geta watched with a calm gaze and a smile on his face, Caracalla on the other hand was clapping and laughing as soon as blood was spilled. They had plenty of servants filling their cups, while they drank and enjoyed the finest food. You watched silently with your hands folded in your lap. The screams of agony from whoever was being slaughtered only reminded you of home. When you closed your eyes you could see the families being slain, the face of the Parthian general clear as day. You couldn’t have protected them even if you wanted, it made you feel helpless.

“And now! For the main event, our undefeated champion!” The master of ceremonies announced. Geta gave you a shove, making you look up at what was actually going on in the arena. “The Tigris of Gaul!” The crowd roared when he entered. He rode in on a rhino, the heavy beast trotting in.

Caracalla was basically jumping of his chair now, he took your hand and led you to the edge of the balcony. His grin was like a cheshire cat. “This will be our gift to you.” He spoke.

Geta got up as well, gracefully walking to place a hand on your back.

“Our champion will be taking it up against the Parthian Mithridates!” A beat up and confused man entered the ring, you recognized his face immediatly. It was the general that had killed your citizens. You remained silently as you coldheartedly watched the man taking it up against the Tigris of Gaul.

It didn’t take long for the gladiator to have the general on his back, he had only been given a dull sword. He had no chance of winning. The Tigris held his blade against the general’s neck, looking up to the emperor’s balcony for approval to kill him.

Geta had been smiling this entire time, gauging your reaction. “Well? What do you say? What judgement will the gods render.”

“Kill him.” Caracalla almost spat in your ear, his behaviour getting more erratic. “Kill him!”

Your thoughts ran a hundred miles an hour. That was the man that killed your people, he might even have killed your father. He caused so much suffering, so much death. You had him in your clutches now, you were the one deciding his faith. You looked down at him, the tears had fallen down your cheek a while ago. Were you able to say word, have this man killed? You had always been a sweet girl, your father sang praises of your gentle nature whenever he could. But something had changed, something had stirred.

They had given you this chance. This could mean war with Parthia and yet they still did it. They did it because they could, and they wanted you to have revenge. If being of empress of Rome ment you could reign terror down on the ones that hurt your people you had made your decision.

You looked at Geta, giving him a small nod. His grin grew even wider as he grabbed your hand. He lifted it slightly, he held his other fist up. “The gods have rendered their judgement!” The crowd went silent. They all watched the downturned thumb and they cheered once more. It was true what they said about the games, show them blood or else they will want yours.

You watched coolly as general Mithridates got his throat slid, only flinching slightly as the blade his neck and the blood spurted out. Before you could see the rest you had turned around to leave the emperors box.

“Where are you going. You are missing the best part.” Caracalla frowned as he watched you leave.

“There is a wedding to be planned.” You replied calmly. The twins looked at each other, their gift had worked. Rome would have a new empress soon, and she would show no mercy to her enemies.

#fred hechinger x reader #joseph quinn x reader #fred hechinger #joseph quinn #geta x reader x caracalla #caracalla x reader #geta x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #geta x you #caracalla x you #Caracalla #geta #gladiator ii

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minswriting · 2 months ago

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POKER FACE - SPENCER REID X READER

About: You’ve been practicing your poker skills and want to try them out in a game of strip poker with your boyfriend. And when you lose, you decide to make it more of a punishment for him than for you.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, inaccurate portrayal of poker probably, masturbation (f), cumming untouched, voyeurism, sore loser!reader, pathetic!spencer, etc.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Border made by @cafekitsune and fic proofread by @beenreidingaboutyou !! A separate post will be created with the AO3 link!! Please comment and reblog to support your creators.

You knew it was likely a bad idea to challenge your boyfriend to a game of poker. Spencer had grown up in Vegas and was a mathematical genius, so really it was inevitable that you’d lose. However, you have been practicing your poker skills for a few months, doing whatever you can to get better. You read online forums, you played with strangers on the internet, and you had weekly game nights with your friends. And at one point, you kept winning.

So you had challenged your boyfriend and now you were reaping the repercussions of your own decisions. At first, the two of you were using poker chips to play the game. But Spencer had suggested making things a bit more interesting and now you were sitting in nothing but your bra and underwear while Spencer was wearing all of his clothes except his socks.

You had a frown on your face as you placed down your cards, revealing four of a kind. Spencer looked smug as a smirk formed on his face. “Sorry, darling,” He exclaimed before placing down a royal flush, ultimately ending the game.

You groaned in frustration, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. “That’s so unfair,” you exclaimed, a small annoyance in your tone but nothing genuine. After all, it’s okay a game.

Spencer pouted at you in sympathy but his eyes were fixated on your chest, you took off your bra. “I’d say I feel bad but truthfully, angel, I do not,” He murmured.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, tossing your bra to the side, revealing your tits to your boyfriend. “I think you should feel bad,” You said, adjusting your position on the couch so that both of your legs were on the piece of furniture. You had an idea and you were going to make Spencer pay for beating you once again in poker.

Spencer curled an eyebrow at you, watching the way you got yourself comfortable on the couch. “Is that so?” He asked, tilting his head slightly, turning his body to face you as well rather than facing the cards on the coffee table. “And why do you think that, sweetheart?” Spencer licked his lips as he looked at you with a small smirk.

You giggled, tilting your head slightly as you looked at Spencer. You bit your bottom lip, bringing your hands to cup your tits. “Because,” You began, massaging your chest. “You can watch me but now, you’re not allowed to touch me.” You said seductively.

Spencer’s lips parted as he watched the way you moved your hands over your boobs, his brain short circuiting. “But-” He stopped himself from speaking when he saw the way you spread your legs. There was an obvious wet spot in your lace panties, showing your arousal. Spencer hated being able to see you but not able to touch you. But he also adored it. It added to the thrill, to the attraction he felt for you.

“You’re so mean to me,” You sighed, moving your hands down your body. “Going full force in the game while I’m just merely a girl who’s learning,” You knew you were being a sore loser. Did you care? Not at all. Not when Spencer was looking at you like you were the only person he’d ever laid eyes on. Perhaps you were.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Spencer said before biting his lip as he watched your hand move down to your barely clothed cunt. He thought about how you tasted. With all the times he’s gone down on you, Spencer knew you were very sweet. You were a constant craving he had, much better than any drug he’s taken. “I could make you feel so good.” He swallowed, eyes fixated on your pussy.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m sure you could,” You replied, moving your panties to the side. “But karma is a bitch, Spencer, and you, my dear, are not allowed to touch until I say so.”

Spencer’s gaze fixated on your cunt, his mouth watering at the sight. He was like a dog in one of Pavolov’s experiments. As soon as he sees your cunt, he’s practically drooling. A small whine left his lips, desperate to taste you. His cock was already achingly hard but he didn’t dare to touch himself. You hadn’t given him permission.

You dragged a finger along your slit, spreading around your wetness. “I’m so wet,” You murmured seductively, looking at Spencer. You took your pointer and middle fingers to your clit and began rubbing slow circles, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

Mutual masturbation was something you and Spencer did quite a bit. Getting off while watching each other, it was thrilling. But you hadn’t experienced getting off while Spencer simply just watches. It was new, electrifying, and incredibly arousing.

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer said hoarsely, watching as you flicked the bean. It was true, of course. You were the most beautiful woman Spencer had ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on.

Your response was a simple moan as you continued rubbing your clit. After a few minutes, you dipped a finger to your hole, teasing the entrance. “If only you weren’t so harsh on me,” You breathed out, licking your lips. “I’d let you get a taste,” You said as you showed Spencer the slick on your fingers from your cunt.

The whine that left Spencer’s lips as his hips bucked into nothing, a small pout forming on his lips. “Please,” he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips.

You giggled, shaking your head no. “No, baby,” you replied, bringing your finger back to your entrance. You eased your finger inside of yourself, moaning softly. You were very wet, to say the least. You moved your finger slowly in and out of yourself, almost teasingly so.

Spencer let out a frustrated noise as his cock was aching against the confines of his pants. He brought his hand to his crotch, about to palm himself when you shook your head. “You don’t get to touch yourself either,” you said breathily. “You can look but you cannot touch.”

“This is so mean,” Spencer replied, moving his hands to grip the cushion beneath himself so that he wasn’t tempted to touch himself. He knew to listen to you. If he didn’t listen, your punishments would be worse. Spencer wasn’t in the mood to defy you today.

“Well you win some and you lose some, sweetheart,” You chuckled, adding another finger inside of yourself. You whined as you curled your fingers inside of you, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. You thrusted your digits, hitting your sweet spot with each movement. “Spencer,” you moaned out as you used your other hand to cup your boob. “If you hadn’t been so harsh on me, you could be the one making me feel so good,” your tone was between a moan and a whine as you pleasured yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer groaned out. He bucked his hips into the air once more, trying to gain any sort of friction but was met with nothing. “Let me take care of you to show you how sorry I am,” he tried to bargain, a pleading look in his eyes.

You shook your head, looking at Spencer with a pleasurable expression on your face. “No. You need to learn your lesson,” you exclaimed. After a few moments, you began thrusting your fingers faster, mewls of pleasure leaving your lips. You threw your head back, feeling that familiar pit in your stomach that drew closer and closer.

Spencer watched intensely, wishing he were the one fucking you into oblivion right now. His cock could do so much better than your own fingers. His fingers could do so much better. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the situation. He could feel his cock stiffening in his trousers, begging for attention.

“I’m so close,” You whined, biting your lip as you looked at Spencer. His intense gaze fixated on you was what drove you to the edge as your walls clenched around your cunt and your back arched, thighs shaking with pleasure as you came with a loud moan of Spencer’s name.

Spencer let out a groan, watching the way you fell apart from your own fingers. You were such a sight to behold. And without any warning, he felt himself cumming, a whine escaping his lips as a wet spot formed on his crotch. “Oh fuck,” Spencer groaned, unable to help it.

When you both came down from your highs, you looked at Spencer as you removed your fingers from your cunt. “D-did you-“ you stuttered, breathing heavily. “Did you just cum?”

Spencer swallowed, nodding his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raspy. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

You bit your lip, thinking for just a moment before responding. “I think you’ve been punished enough,” you exclaimed before moving to crawl onto Spencer’s lap. “I think it’s now time for a reward, hmm?”

Spencer hummed in response, nodding his head. “Oh yes, please.” He replied, grabbing your hips.

And so, you gave Spencer the ride of his life.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminals minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid headcanon #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader

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dannyriccsystem · 2 months ago

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hi angel i loved your carlos soulmate fic !!! could you do a soulmate au with oscar please??

YOU’RE MINE, ALRIGHT?

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Oscar’s your soulmate, but he’s certain that you’re not his.

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

WARNINGS: Light angst w happy ending, soulmate au, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Model Soulmate!Reader

I’m sooo tired it’s bed time for me 🥱

Since as far back as mankind can recall, soulmates have been embedded into the universe’s coding. Ancient drawing on cave walls and old decoded passages tell fabled stories of two hearts that become one is a dazzling spectacle of shimmering lights. Your classic love story followed the mindless laws of life to a T, always beautifully describing the event that transpires upon the kiss of your beloved.

It was a simple set of details and instructions to guide you in meeting your other half. Everyone came into the world with a unique mark upon their skin— It could be anywhere from head to toe, and it didn’t even have to be in a spot that was typically visible. It was in a spot with a design specific to you, the only other person bearing such a unique feature would be the one you’re meant to be with forever.

Your mark was always appraised. Perhaps it wasn’t in the most convenient spot for the sake of the hunt, but it was downright gorgeous. Detailed angel wings were folded up on your back, covering the entire surface in the dark tattoo-like ink. Everyone who had the opportunity to perceive it found themselves in awe, jealous of such a beautiful design.

You, however, were not pleased. It was unfortunate to have your mark be located in a place most people kept hidden. You had to wonder if you had ever passed by your destined lover, unaware it was them because their shirt was concealing the truth from you. You truly tried everything from dating apps to display your tattoo to online forums dedicated to finding your soulmate, but if they were out there, they stayed silent.

It was tiring to constantly be putting in all the work. If the universe wanted you to be with this person so badly, why did they make it so difficult for you to find them in the first place? Were you doing something wrong? Maybe you were unintentionally avoiding all the sign, but then again… Maybe they simply weren’t obvious enough.

You want to be bold and make a statement. If they’re out there, you’re going to make one final move that calls out to them. With your career as a model, you had a face that was easily recognizable. However, you carried yourself with humility and a humble attitude. Just because you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing your own mug plastered on every screen and billboard doesn’t mean you have the right to act like it.

You requested a shoot for a fashion designer, particularly intrigued by the open-back dress she had just released for public view. She was delighted to have a high class model like yourself reach out and you two set up a date for the arrangement. It was the day of, and you were currently waiting in the spot you both agreed on.

When she got there, you explained your unique situation to her. She took the news quite well, and offered to feature one photo of your back in the shoot, and hopefully aid you in your final step of the search. After this, if things didn’t work out, you’d finally give in and let love come to you instead. Besides, you were a successful woman living off your own job. You didn’t need love— You were simply itching to find out.

The photos blew up, as they always do, but this time the vibes were different. You had every single fan admiring your mark, leaving sweet comments on how lucky you were to be born with such an elegant tattoo on your back. You’d reply and tell them you were certain theirs was just as lovely, and then either find yourself aww-ing or laughing depending on what it was.

It didn’t take long for expert sleuths on the internet to get to work, and it didn’t take long for the results, either. Being famous had its perks. Your fanbase had a wide range of interests, which meant when one internet user in particular laid eyes on your tattoo, they were instantly able to put two and two together.

To avoid making a scene in your comments, they decided to shoot you a private message at the risk of you never receiving it. It read simply, “Hey girl, about your soulmate mark… I think you might be looking for famous F1 driver, Oscar Piastri.” Attached to their message was an image of him post-race, his uniform pushed down to rest on his hips, while the top of his fireproof was just slightly lifted as he used it to wipe sweat from his face.

He had a strong back and a thin waist, but that’s all you could see about his physical appearance— Aside from the obvious. Just barely peeking out was the tips of a pair of wings, folded in a similar position as your own. You didn’t need a comparison, because you were certain; that was the mark you had been staring at all your life.

You thanked the person who brought it to your attention, playing it off as if they weren’t a match, despite the fact they very clearly were. With this newfound information and a slight skip in your heartbeat, you decided to look the guy up. He was indeed quite famous, and his life seemed very busy. He was always traveling for racing, posting pictures in different areas of the world, and lots of pictures featuring a pretty trophy. Impressive. Your soulmate was a winner.

This was it. You had found the person you spent twenty-three years looking for, and all you could muster up the courage for was a message, and a very straightforward one at that. “Hey” you’d begin, unsure if you would even manage to catch his attention. You just hoped that the blue check mark beside your name would push him into a response. “I’m your soulmate.” You attached an image of your back as proof.

Of course, he didn’t respond for about a day. You were sure it was because he wasn’t someone who was very active, but the more intelligent side of your brain told you that he simply was ignoring you, trying to think of a response to that. What about one even say? Not even you knew.

“Sorry mate, you’ve got the wrong guy. I already found mine.” That response was enough to shatter your heart. Right when you thought the search was over, you were met with the biggest rejection of all. You weren’t sure what hurt worse: Thinking someone was your soulmate and being wrong, or never knowing to begin with. You scrolled through his page once more, finding that he did indeed have a girlfriend— Probably his soulmate.

You had been so sure, too. It was hard to believe that your instincts led you in the wrong direction.

This certainly wasn’t the end, though. The comments finally started to flood in as more and more people connected the dots. You got thousands of messages informing you that this Oscar Piastri guy was the one for you, and you could almost guarantee he was getting the same thing. One person being wrong seemed like a viable explanation, but when more people started to tell you the same thing, you began to grow suspicious.

Maybe it wasn’t your business to ask about someone else’s relationship, but it was your business to ask your potential soulmate if they were lying to you. It was hard to face the man you had just recently embarrassed yourself in front of, but you managed. “I know you said I was wrong, but our marks are identical. I just want to know the truth.” You deserved the truth, right? Soulmates were meant to be honest with one another.

He responded immediately this time. It was like he had been there in the chat too, drafting up his own message. It was somewhat intimidating. “Fine.” You could hear his frustration, and it somewhat angered you. Was it so wrong for wanting to know if you had truly found your soulmate or not? “You’re not my soulmate. But I want to make it very clear I’m already in a happy relationship.”

“I understand.” That concluded your conversation. You hated that he dismissed you so easily, but you also understood. Lots of people dated others who weren’t their true love, because it wasn’t exactly an easy task to complete. But dating someone else when you had the right person standing right in front of you felt like a cruel joke.

If he wanted to be that way, you could too.

Being a model meant you ran on a strict schedule that other people planned out for you. Your agency was very busy, always looking for new opportunities to promote your brand and lifestyle to the public. The public opinion on you seemed to be high, considering you as one of the more relatable and influential celebrities out there.

Today was a big step in your career for multiple reasons. You were going to be featuring as a guest at a Formula One race. Not only was that a huge event, but for the first time in probably ever, you’d end up within a mile of Oscar Piastri, who was undeniably meant to be yours.

You wanted to flaunt yourself. You wore that same open-back dress you modeled ages ago now, feeling confident as you strode through the chaos of the paddock. Even without your soulmate mark on full display, the dress itself was very flattering. You received lots of compliments in under a minute, fueling your ego.

You recognized a lot of faces, mostly ones that went down a similar path as you. Lots of the other wives and girlfriends were models themselves— Models whom you looked up to, considering their years of experience and expert knowledge in the field. You greeted one of them, Rebecca Donaldson.

You recognized her boyfriend, Carlos. Beside him was a guy in a bright orange shirt with tan skin and curly hair. He seemed quite friendly, waiting to introduce himself as you chatted away with Rebecca. Finally realizing your impolite behavior, you stopped and held a hand out for both of the other men, who shook it individually.

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. Y/N.” You nodded, and followed your example. The younger one was Lando Norris, a racer for Mclaren. Your soulmate’s teammate.

You dismissed yourself, continuing to walk through the ground of the paddock, running into various fans of your own, or even vice versa: people you were fans of. It had been a delight so far, but all good things must come to a mortal demise. Oscar had spotted you at the same time you spotted him, and he didn’t seem terribly happy.

“What are you doing here?” He questioned. It sounded hostile, but his face was more monotone than anything. “I already told you, I’m not interested.”

This somewhat angered you. Maybe it was a fair assumption to make, but that didn’t help to soften the blow in the slightest. You clenched your jaw, and then took a deep breath before responding, “I’m not here for you.” With that being said, you turned around and walked away; allowing him a good view of your own tattoo.

You didn’t continue to pursue him. He told you he wasn’t interested, and that was just fine with you. Of course, his incessant teammate reached out to you again and again, furthering questioning the undeniable connection between you and Oscar. He claimed to have noticed the tattoo the day you met him, and put two and two together, since he had seen it on his teammate’s back before.

He’d bother you about your plan, trying to create schemes to put you two together. Lando’s timing was impeccable, because you just naturally assumed that Oscar’s new liking sprees were a setup caused by the slightly older man. You’d get a string of notifications letting you know that Oscar had liked your most recent posts all together, implying the stalking of your account.

You figured it could have been anything. Maybe it was for PR, or maybe it was unintentional. What you didn’t expect was his sudden message. “We got off on the wrong foot. Do you want to meet for coffee some time?”

You wanted to have a ‘take that’ moment and brutally reject him, but you found yourself softening at the idea of finally getting the opportunity to meet the person who was quite literally destined to be your boyfriend. So, even though it took some thinking, you said yes.

Come the date of said day, you chose to dress casually this time. The dress at the race was a statement, but your goal here was to have a nice time, and not to intimidate him. So, you opted to wear a nice shirt with some jeans. Still nice, but not overly dressed. You met over coffee, sharing a small table in the corner of the cafe.

You took note of how his knees would accidentally brush against yours when he leaned back in his seat, and of how his feet would idly kick at yours under the table. It all felt so familiar as you slowly warmed up to each other, sharing funny stories and catching up just like old friends would do— Except you weren’t. This was the first time meeting, and it was going so well it almost hurt to part ways.

Being the gentleman he is, Oscar offered to take you home so you wouldn’t have to walk. It was late now, both of you spending hours until evening transformed into a pitch black night sky. You admired him as he drove, smiling softly to yourself. He looked so focused as his strong arms held the wheel, only looking away from the road to sneak glances at you, and then quickly look away thinking you didn’t notice.

You did.

He dropped you off, and you slowly dragged your feet to your front door. You didn’t want it to be over— He had been a delight, but he also had a girlfriend, and you couldn’t handle the pressure of being a home-wrecker. So, even though your mind screamed to run back and kiss him, you didn’t. You kept going until you reached the front door and were forced to stop.

“My girlfriend broke up with me.” He stated blatantly from behind you. That was all he said before you peered over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Goodnight, Oscar.” You slyly slipped inside, locking it behind you.

“Goodnight,” He muttered after you were long gone.

You felt stupid the next day. It should have been clear to you that he was trying to tell you something; he was trying to tell you that he was available. That he really was your soulmate, and he was willing to accept that fact now, instead of continuously pushing you away. Now it was your turn to be the one pulling back.

You were bedridden the next day. Not from a physically sickness, but from the weird feeling in your gut that made you want to throw up anyway. You should have said something. Something other than ‘Goodnight, Oscar!’ You made a complete fool out of yourself.

He texted you around the afternoon, asking if you slept well. You told him yes, but unintentionally threw your excuse out there. “I’m feeling a little sick,” you’d throw it out unprompted. He didn’t respond, until you heard the knock upon your door. Of course, standing there with a back of items in his hand was Mr. Piastri himself.

He’d ask if he could come in, because he brought some things to help you feel better. You’d say yes, even though he’d now be sure to catch you in your lie. And he did. Oscar cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy as he read your temperature, which seemed perfectly fine.

“I’m not sick,” You finally explained, shame tinging your tone. He set everything down and folded his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for you to continue. “I was trying to avoid you, but I guess I did the opposite.” You laughed weakly, and then shook your head. Bad timing, I suppose.

“Why?” He asked, his voice soft. “You were the one who wanted to find me so bad.” Yeah, you expected that sort of response.

“I just… I feel so nervous now.” You huffed a gentle sigh, leaning your head back with shut eyes. “My feelings are always straightforward, but not when it comes to you. I feel… Complex.”

“Maybe you’re not ready yet,” He stated, and for some reason that hurt even more. It was like the twist of a knife that had already been repeatedly stabbed in you, again and again. “But…” Oscar slowly stood up, turning his back towards you. Without any warning, he lifted his sweatshirt up, unveiling his bare back. There was his tattoo, just as beautiful as yours. “We’re destined to work out just fine.”

It was a positive and refreshing outlook on the situation. You slowly stood, your fingertips reaching out to brush against his inked skin. You traced the lines softly. This was the first time you got to see your mark like this, because it was hard to look at your back. He completed your puzzle perfectly, making it all clear now.

You watched his back muscles twitch and flex as you dragged your nail across the outline of the wings, your face unreadable. You stared at his skin, littered with scars and moles, like it was the hardest math equation in the world. This was a problem for you to solve, but Oscar was the solution.

“You’re right.” You pulled your hand away and stepped back, letting him shimmy back into his cozy hoodie. Oscar pivoted to face you, matching your expression. “I want to love you. I want to give us a chance.”

“Then do it.” You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile, and considering the way he matched your grin, Oscar couldn’t either.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses against your knuckles. You watched as your joined hands erupted in a warm light, sending a tingling sensation through your skin. You locked eyes with him, searching for some sort of guidance. Oscar squeezed your hand tighter.

Upon the first kiss, both bodies would erupt with a beautiful light, slowly beginning the fading process of their matching marks. It left you both giddy, filled with hope for this newfound love.

“We’re gonna work out,” You finally declared, actually able to believe it this time.

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sipthegossip-if · 11 months ago

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SIP THE GOSSIP! is a slice of life IF rated 18+ for explicit language, skippable sexual content, substance abuse, extra marital affairs and more. Best to be avoided if romance, drama and angst are not your cup of tea.

✭ DEMO (TBA) ✭ FORUM (TBA)

You have had everything in the palm of your hand since birth.

Fame, fortune and a last name that opened every door. Success kissed your feet, the billboards sang of your symphony and the public chanted your name.

Until they didn't. Until it all went up in flames.

After years of riding high on a streak of blockbusters— all conveniently produced by your beloved uncle— your perfect little world came crashing down when you found yourself tangled in a mess of scandal and allegations that left your reputation in shambles.

One fucking scandal. That is all it took to turn your carefully curated kingdom into a graveyard. You lost thousands of followers across all your social media accounts, all your endorsement deals and the industry turned its back on you.

But you persisted.

Once the dust settled, you clawed your way back. Starred in films that had no connection to your dearest uncle. You are more than your family name.

But here's the thing: they all flopped. Badly, at that.

And you found yourself, once again, at rock bottom.

But you see, you were born with this insatiable hunger in the pit of your stomach. It refuses to leave you alone. It's sunk its teeth deep into your intestines. You have tasted the top, and you're not afraid to bleed for it. So, you did what you thought was best for you at that time. Disappear from the public eye for a while.

Now, after a long silence, you've decided to make a comeback by doing what you have always been good at. Using your connections to gain a spot in the upcoming romantic drama TO THE MOON AND BACK with just enough buzz to restart your career. You know the right people. You know the wrong ones, too. And you're not above using either, pulling strings or calling in favors.

You will do anything to get your stardom back, even if it means getting your pretty hands a little dirty. Fame is a game. One you have played countless times— you're not about to lose now.

Play as male, female or non binary. Straight or queer. Customise your brand and appearance.

Choose the article that destroyed the reputation you spent years building.

Engage in a scandalous & fiery romance off and on set!

Use whatever means you can to avoid being teared to shreds on the internet.

It's been long since you have acted. You haven't forgotten how to bring those tear ducts to use, have you?

Give interviews. Because isn't that what the blizz and bling all about baby?

Engage with your fans. If they still haven't forgotten about you, that is.

Escape or annoy the unrelenting paparazzi.

Customise your public persona. Do things that transpire behind cameras differ from on camera?

Choose the plot of TTMAB.

⛓ THE BODYGUARD :

Kai D'melio. [he/him or she/her]

Single and in early 30s. Stoic and all business. It's hard to get a read of them. They are a constant in your life.

Tropes : Bodyguard romance, extremely slow burn, quiet yearning from distance, "crush" route, steel armour— soft core.

❂ THE VETERAN ACTOR :

Shiron "Shay" Hill. [he/him or she/her]

Married and in mid 40s, they continue to be a social media sensation to till this day. A friend of you and your uncle. They are the one who introduced you to the director and producer of To The Moon And Back and helped you score the lead role.

Tropes : Extra marital affair, steamy, age gap, forbidden romance, "married in name only," wedding band that feels like a chain and accidental touches that burn.

✵ THE DIRECTOR/PRODUCER :

Victor/ia "Vic" Alvarez. [he/him or she/her]

Single, former actor and in mid 40s. An incredibly close friend of Shiron. They have been attached at the hip since the two first began working together in the industry. All their works have proved to be the public's favourites and you hope that is also the case with T2MAB.

Tropes : Work romance, steamy, commitment issues, power imbalance, age gap, says "We can't do this," and does it anyway.

☼THE M/F LEAD :

Alexis "Alex" Sinclair. [he/him or she/her]

Co-actor and in late 20s. Charming and titled 'Industry's Budding Star' by People's Magazine. They seem to have a tendency to flirt with whatever that breathes. It would serve you best to not get involved with them, judging from their messy dating history.

Tropes : idiots in love, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, himbo/bimbo, friends/co-workers with benefits, "I will break your heart or, will you break mine?"

𝄞 THE SECOND M/F LEAD :

River Fox. [he/him or she/her]

Co-actor, singer and in late 20s. After having caught their now ex partner cheating on them, they seem to have a hard time trusting people. The fact that they dislike you for the means you used to get the role and the consequences it led to, doesn't help either.

Tropes : Slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, melting the ice king/queen, forced proximity, kind guy/gal who's mean to only you. "Your hurt recognises mine," in some instances.

☌ THE CAMERA(WO)MAN :

Arlo Kent. [he/him or she/her]

Single loyal to you and in their early 20s. They get all starry eyed and overly enthusiastic at the sight of you. More often than not, you have caught them not so discreetly keeping an eye you. You can only hope they are merely star struck and nothing more.

Tropes : Stalker/yandere fluffy romance. "I have always been watching," that somehow turns romantic. "You'll love me eventually," kinda horror romance.

#interactive fiction #if wip #hosted games #choice of games #interact-if #choice script #interactive game #interactive novel #if game #dashingdon #choose your own adventure #cog #cog game #choicescript #cyoa #cog demos #cogdemos

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oneoftheextras · 6 months ago

Text

lockjaw | j.t three

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

request: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 7.3k

chapter warnings: size difference, a smidge of hunter/prey, and anxious reader

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

The following weeks were filled with interviews and background tests in between work shifts; you were mentally and physically exhausted.

The vet had pre-warned you with how many hoops you’d have to jump through, but this was more than you had previously anticipated.

They really weren't joking when they said they don't let just anyone adopt a hybrid.

Today was your home inspection. The whole morning had been spent deep cleaning every inch of your home and making it look like something you'd see walking through IKEA.

Once you were done, your apartment was spotless - a bit too spotless.

You sat down on your couch and shuffled around a bit to make it seem at least like someone lived here.

Admittedly, when they told you they would be visiting your home, you'd spent hours searching the internet for how to make your place more comfortable and appropriate.

Looking at different adoption forums to give you an idea of what the inspectors would look for as hazards and immediately removing them from your home.

Candles were bought, lit and then blown out because you didn't like the scent.

Eventually you baked some cookies and left them in the oven after reading that it was an old realtor trick to make a place seem more homely.

Never before had you made such an effort to make your home so appealing.

There was just enough time to shower and get dressed before they arrived, even then, your hair was still slightly damp at the ends when the first knock hit your door.

You gave it one last ruffle with the towel before you opened the door, not wanting to keep them waiting too long and having your first impression be one of tardiness.

"Hello!" you smiled brightly as you swung the door open, seeing the vet who introduced you to Jayce the first time - you'd come to learn that her name was Dr Nala - with a man you'd never met before. His expression was pretty stern.

She greeted you with the same enthusiasm. As she stepped over the threshold of your apartment, your heart thumped in your chest, this was the last sprint to the finish line.

"Have you been baking?" she asked almost immediately and you tried to hide the grin that crept up on your face, not wanting to seem too keen, "I have!" you confimed.

She nodded and continued to follow you through to the living room area, "I'll admit, I don't think I'm very good at it, but when you follow a recipe it's pretty simple," you rambled nervously.

You gestured to the couch for them to take a seat, "Oh, would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?" the speed at which you were talking wasn't normal for you, and you had to mentally tell yourself to slow down.

"Water would be lovely," Dr Nala spoke gently, but the man just shook his head no.

Hurrying to the kitchen you grabbed your nicest glass and filled it with water, your had was visibly shaking. Inhaling slowly through your nose and out through your mouth again, you took a second to compose yourself.

They had only just got here, you needed to show them that you were capable of looking after someone else, and you weren't going to do that if you were falling apart already.

"I've got this," you muttered to yourself, "I've got this!" you repeated with more confidence.

Handing her the glass of water and sliding a coaster onto the table in front of her to put the glass on, you took a seat in the armchair adjacent to them.

She eyed the coaster carefully and sipped her water, the silence was killing you.

"Your apartment is lovely," she complimented after she'd swallowed her sip, but you could tell she wasn't done, "Is it always this tidy?" she asked kindly, but bluntly.

You let out a small laugh, but when you realised it was a serious question your mind went into overdrive - what was the correct answer?

"For the most part," you settled on, "I try to keep it clean as much as I can, but I'm not obsessed with it being like this all the time," you said with honesty.

The man, who was yet to speak or introduce himself, started taking notes and your heart dropped. That must've been a wrong answer.

"But I'm not a slob or anything!" you quickly redacted what you said, trying to make up for any blunder you'd already made.

"May we have a look around?" Dr Nala asked politely, and you didn't know if you were thankful or not that she didn't address what you'd said.

The speed at which you stood up was too-eager, "Of course!".

'Chill, you need to chill!' Your inner monologue screamed at you.

The two stood almost in unison and followed you out of the room, "As I said to you when we first met, it's nothing big or fancy, just a one-bed apartment," you showed them your bedroom first.

They glanced around the room; one starting with the left-hand-side and the other starting with the right, meeting in the middle at some point to cross over - whilst you stood awkwardly with your arm out like you were presenting a gameshow prize.

"So, this is my bed, obviously," you tried to make it humorous but were really worried it didn't come across that way.

Dr Nala hummed, "Have you thought about where Jayce would sleep?" she turned to you, giving you her full attention and awaited your answer.

"Uh-" you started. No, you hadn't. You'd been panicking so much about passing all these exams that you hadn't given it a moments notice, "-Wherever he wants, I guess?" you couldn't have sounded more unsure.

A dog bed just felt wrong and dehumanising. Yes, technically he was going to be your 'pet', but imagining him trying to curl up on one of those small circular beds on the floor didn't sit right with you.

The idea of finding one big enough to fit him was even worse.

She raised an eyebrow at you, and you knew for sure that wasn't the right answer to give.

"I mean, honestly, I thought he'd like the couch. It's pretty comfortable, and a lot of my research said that's what hybrids prefer!" you began to ramble again.

She watched you as you spoke, "I guess, my plan was to ask him the next time I saw him." you confessed, "And if he didn't like what I have here already then we'd go together to get something he did like," you were thinking aloud and for once you weren't trying to think of the perfect answer.

"Your research?" she repeated your words back to you and you felt a pang of embarrassment. "Yeah! I've been looking up things when I've had the time, to make sure I know what I'm doing before he-" you stopped yourself, "If, he gets here," you corrected.

She stared at you for a moment before admiring your bedroom again, "You care a lot," she commented and left the room, showing herself the rest of your home.

She walked into the bathroom, there was a shower-bath and the essentials with a small roof window for ventilation.

"Is this the only bathroom?" she pointed at nowhere in particular inside the room, "Uh-huh," you nodded, but when she didn't say anything else and simply left, you wondered if one bathroom was enough.

Finally, they moved into the kitchen, observing the area the same way they had every other room.

There was an island in the centre that doubled up as a table with the high stools you'd put there.

"Have you thought about meals?" she asked as her small heels made a clicking sound against the tiles.

It was strange to think that this woman was the same person who had been so excited to show you the hybrids in the first place.

"Yeah, protein is a priority but he'd be able to eat the same things as me as long as it's balanced correctly," you practically regurgitated a sentence that you'd seen online.

She nodded slowly, "He does have his likes and dislikes-" she started to say but you interrupted her, "-I know," you opened a draw and pulled out a notebook where you'd copied the things he didn't like from the file she gave you and slid it across the counter to her.

The pair shared a glance as she read your notes.

"Okay, well we wont take up any more of your time," she smiled again, and the suddenness of their departure made your heart sink, it couldn't be a good sign.

You hurriedly put the notebook back into your draw, "Is it okay? My home I mean?" you were speaking quickly again, "Is it suitable? I know it's small, and he's, well, big, but there's a park close by and I need to get out mor-", she interrupted you by saying your name before you started to spiral too much.

"The main purpose of these visits is to make sure the home is safe and welcoming, the main factor being the person living in it," she chuckled, her pleasant demeanour returning.

She tapped her fingers on the counter delicately and glanced around the room, "It's evident that you care a lot, and want the best for him, and that is the most important thing. I have no doubt he will be very happy here with you,".

"Does that mean I'm approved?" you held your breath, "Well, there's paperwork to fill in, but I see no reason why he wouldn't-", "-thank you, thank you, thank you," you shamelessly jumped off of the floor with excitement.

There were happy tears building up in your waterline that you hadn't expected to be there, just over a month ago you had no clue that Jayce existed, now you were the happiest you'd been in a long time.

"Don't thank us, thank you for giving him a second chance," her tone was kind and full of sincerity.

"Could I try one of those cookies?" the man who'd been taking notes finally spoke. You laughed and nodded, wiping at your eyes to make sure you wouldn't actually cry, and plated the cookies that were still sat in the oven.

He ate one happily and hummed to show his enjoyment. Goodbyes were said and they promptly left, taking the anxiety and weight of the encounter off of your shoulders with them.

The following days were torture. A monotonous cycle of getting up, going to work, spending the evening alone, going to bed and repeating.

Wednesday was the day you were bringing him home.

They'd suggested you visit him one more time so you could let him know the good news yourself, but your workload had increased tenfold due to someone being on maternity leave.

Oftentimes you were working through your lunch break, and the sanctuary didn't allow visits after 6pm.

However, you'd booked Wednesday off as holiday and you were collecting him at 4pm, giving you most of the day to buy some last minute things.

By the time you'd done all of your shopping and put it in the right place inside your home, it was almost time to leave.

All too eager to see him again, you left early - driving perhaps a little too fast along the roads, you made one stop along the way, but you made it there safely.

"Hello, I'm here for-" you started as you walked into reception but they were already expecting you, "-Big day today!" the male vet from your last visit brimmed with excitement.

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and nodded, swallowing back how nervous you were.

He lead you through the corridors that were all too familiar to you at this point, but you took a new turn away from the sanctuary you were used to.

The delay in your footsteps as you slowed at the corner you normally took didn't go unnoticed by him, "He's not in there," he called from the other hallway.

Twisting your head back in the other direction, you continued to follow him, "We have a different pick up point for the ones leaving us, it would be too distressing for them and the other residents to do it in the communal area," he explained.

"Yeah, that makes sense," you shook your head, annoyed at yourself that there was yet another thing you didn't think of, but you didn't have time to self-scold.

He stopped at a singular white door and you felt like your lungs had rolled themselves up like when you're trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out of the tube, all ability to breathe was gone.

The vet grinned at you as he pushed open the door, allowing you to step in first.

For a second you thought your knees were going to give out on you. You couldn't remember the last time you were this nervous.

What if he didn't want to go with you? What if he didn't like you as much as you liked him? What if they were forcing him to leave so they could say they were able to get the feral hybrid adopted?

You shook your head to try and get rid of the bad thoughts but they swam around in your brain like algae in a pond, clinging to every surface.

When you finally entered the room he was in the corner next to the window overlooking the parking lot with his arms folded across his chest, he'd watched you arrive.

"Hey," you spoke softly and made sure your tone was as friendly as it could possibly be to not startle him.

He turned his head towards you and the side of his mouth twitched upwards into a smile for just a second, and you felt a tiny piece of worry fall from the mountain you'd created.

"I assume you know why I'm here?" you queried and slowly approached him, he nodded and his tail swished slowly behind him, but the vet vocally responded for him, "Oh yes, we told him yesterday!", causing his tail to stop just as quickly as it had started.

His interruption irritated you. There was a small part of you that wanted to remind him that you hadn't asked him.

Instead, you tried to not let him sour this moment and kept your focus on Jayce. Watching his body language and facial expressions intently for any signs of discomfort or distress.

"Are you okay with it?" you asked him quietly, your voice unintentionally more hushed than usual so though you were trying to make sure that your words only fell on his ears.

He gazed at you, not really giving too much of an indication of a reply to your question; he seemed somewhat indifferent to the idea.

The pang in your chest returned, it felt like your muscles were closing in around your heart - squeezing just enough to allow it to keep beating but hard enough to make it hurt.

Was this your sign that he didn't like you? That he didn't want to leave?

You shuffled forward but made sure to keep your distance, "If home isn't with me, that's okay," you focused on keeping your voice strong and confident, but couldn't tell if you were failing.

One of his ears perked up when you said 'home', leaving the tips to bounce at the sudden muscle movement.

You noticed it but didn't want to give yourself any false hope, instead you let the sensation flutter across your chest.

"I'd really like it if you did," the sleeve of your hoodie was suddenly very interesting. "But it's your choice," if you were paying attention to him, you would've noticed how his eyebrows lost their tension at the sound of your sincerity.

Inhaling, you braved meeting his eye, "Do you want to come home with me?".

His ear twitched again but other than that his expression remained unchanged, until he nodded.

It was subtle and quick; down and up, down and up, but it was certain.

You exhaled and felt instantly lighter, "I'm glad," you tried to let yourself relax, the first hurdle was done, "Where are your things?". Other than him and the empty table and chairs, the room was barren.

"He doesn't have any belongings," the annoying observer said from the corner he was lurking in, "What do you mean? He has clothes and...", you stopped to think, "What about his chess set?".

"They're property of the sanctuary, they can't go with him," he smiled, but that was the last thing you wanted to do in this moment.

With gritted teeth, you glanced between Jayce and the vet. Apart from the basic necessities to survive, he truly didn't have anything to hold onto here.

How could you have been so ignorant to ask him if he was happy here before? How could he be? The entire structure was a constant reminder that nothing he touched was his to keep. That it could be taken away at the click of someone else's fingers.

Even his own freedom was not his.

That stopped today. You'd make sure of that.

"What about his boat?", "What boat?". The desire to lose your temper was strong, but you knew that would get you nowhere.

"The boat that he made with Viktor?" there was a new tension to your voice that he should've taken for a warning, but unfortunately, he was as oblivious as he was ignorant.

His eyes found the corner of the room as he feigned thought, "I don't recal-", "It's on the top shelf of the cabinet closest to the door," you didn't allow him space to speak.

The look you gave him dared him to try and dispute it with you, "Once we have that, we'll be out of your hair," you forced the polite and soft lint to your voice.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes drifted to the shadow behind you and it promptly closed. He managed to mutter a simple, "I'll take a look," before he left the visiting room.

The air felt calmer now that he was out of sight, but that creeping feeling of anxiety clawed it's way up your throat as you realised that Jayce had witnessed that whole scene.

"I'm sorry," you turned your body to face him but still avoided his eye - instead finding an interest in the scuffed up black brogues he wore, "I'm not usually like...that," you tried to explain, "I just know it means a lot to you and I couldn't stand the idea of them keeping it,".

Jayce observed you as you spoke. He felt no malice in your words, not even when you were addressing the man who made his ears hurt.

He noticed how you rubbed your own arm for comfort, and how you avoided eye contact with him - he wasn't surprised, most people did. He wished you wouldn't; your eyes were kind.

When you found the ground more interesting than him, he resided to the window. All he could do now was wait.

"This one?" broke the silence, alongside the sound of the door swinging shut.

The vet was holding the mechanical boat between his fingers by a thin part of the mast, and a part of you knew he was doing it on purpose.

"Yes, that's it, thank you!" you quickly took it out of his grasp and nestled it into your own like a baby bird that you'd found injured on the ground - like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The sooner you removed Jayce from this building the better.

Something that hadn't exactly crossed your mind was how he would be on the journey home.

You took the lead with him trailing behind you at a larger distance than you'd hoped for, you suppose it was natural for him to be uneasy being outside. It wasn't clear as to whether the vets let them go outside of the sanctuary.

Someone like Jayce probably wasn't given that luxury, with his size and obvious athletic build, they would stand no chance of getting him back if he decided to run.

Influenced by your own train of thought, you peered over your shoulder half-expecting him to not be there anymore. Much to your joy, he was.

Opening the door to your car for him and waiting for him to catch up to you, the thought occurred to you; had he ridden in a car before?

Surprisingly, he sat down in the passenger seat with no issue. Apart from having to duck quite significantly to not hit his head.

Once you'd taken your own seat and closing the door softly, he mirrored your movements, clicking his own door shut.

His nose twitched as he scanned his surroundings. There was a sweet smell that tingled his nostrils and filled his senses, but he couldn't place it.

He checked the seats behind him but it wasn't coming from there. The space between his eyebrows wrinkled in frustration at not being able to locate the scent, it was surrounding him.

"I, uh-" your voice drew him out of his search, "I got you coffee on the way here," you were holding up a light brown cup and he noticed that there was an identical cup in the holder separating your legs from his.

He wrapped his fingers around it and accepted the gift, the cup seemingly significantly smaller in his hand compared to yours.

"I'm sorry if it's cold, we were a little longer than I thought we'd be," he lifted the lid of the cup and appreciated the remnants of an intricate flower design in the foam, parts of it had dissolved whilst it had sat in the car.

He inhaled above the liquid, the scent not dissimilar to the one that clouded his brain, but there were elements missing. As if this was one ingredient in the recipe.

He tentatively sipped the coffee, it was luke-warm, but he didn't mind - it was a gift from you.

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered up into your chest as you watched him; his eyes closed and enjoying his drink. You'd had the coffee the sanctuary offered, and it wasn't good. So, you wanted to treat him to something of quality to start your journey together off on the right foot.

When he stopped for breath you chuckled at the milky foam that had clung to the ends of his moustache, the pleasant sound of your laugh turning his attention to you.

"There's- you've got a little bit there," you tapped your top lip and he quickly wiped it with the back of his hand, missing some bubbles.

Subconsciously, you picked up a napkin and reached for him, intending to clean up the patches he'd missed but he moved back sharply, his ears pressed flat against his head and eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Your breath caught in your throat, a wave of guilt crashing over you. Instead, you left your hand in the air, presenting the napkin for him to take.

"Sorry," you muttered as he slowly took the napkin from in-between your fingers and wiped his mouth.

Be mindful. Let him come to you.

When he seemed to be back to the picture of indifference that you'd come to know, you started the car with a rumble and scrolled through your phone for music to put on for the drive home.

What would he even want to listen to? Did he like music?

Overthinking was going to be the death of you, and you hadn't even tackled getting home yet.

Hitting play, you let shuffle decide for you as you reversed out of the parking lot.

Approximately 10 seconds into the song Jayce leaned over to where your phone was in the holder and pressed the pause icon, the tip of his sharp nail making a pleasant sound against the glass of your phone.

With your concentration being on not hitting any of the other parked cars, or running someone over, you didn't have the opportunity to watch what he was doing.

When the song started from the beginning again, then abruptly stopped and a new song started playing, you knew he'd figured out what each button did.

He eventually settled on a slower song with quieter female vocals and leaned back again, placing his coffee cup into the holder next to yours, and you were on your way home.

The time was closer to 5:15pm and with the colder weather seeping in, it was getting darker earlier than usual, but it worked in your favour as somehow you'd timed this journey almost perfectly.

Whilst you couldn't enjoy the scenery as much as you would've liked to, the orangey-yellow hue of the setting sun traced over the road and cars in front of you.

When you eventually hit the rush-hour traffic and your car became stationary in the line of other vehicles just wanting to get home after a long days work, you allowed yourself to take in the world around you.

It wasn't anything too glamourous, and you'd driven along this road multiple times in the past, but somehow it felt different this time.

The city skyline was silhouetted by the backdrop of the golden hour sun, leaving nothing but tall blacked-out shapes for you to view. It was as if someone had stolen an oil painting and pinned it to the outside of your window.

But the vision that caught your eye was Jayce.

His eyes were closed so gently you may have thought he'd fallen asleep if not for his fingers tapping his thigh to the beat of the music playing. The sun rays were trailing through the glass of the window and laying delicately across his face, highlighting freckles that you hadn't noticed before.

He was at peace, basking in the last pieces of warmth this day had to offer him, and for once his face was relaxed - no scowl or caution on his features.

How long had it been since he'd been allowed a moment of tranquillity to truly appreciate something so minimal, something that you'd taken for granted?

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the line of cars starting to move forward again and you debated whether you should hold up the traffic so he could stay like that for just a little while longer, but the honking of horns wasn't worth it.

The car slowly started to move again and, as you'd expected, he opened his eyes at the sensation - for a second you caught how the sunlight refracted in his irises, illuminating the colour to create the illusion of liquid gold.

You wished you could admire them for longer, but with home so close, you didn't want to shatter the moment.

Unlocking the front door was proving to be the hardest task yet. Your hand would not stop shaking.

The constant tremble that plagued your wrist and fingers made it almost impossible to slide the key into the lock.

Did you tidy everything up before you left? What if he didn't like the space?

Well, he'd just climbed three flights of stairs with you and didn't seem the slightest bit out of breath, so he could always run away if he was that offended by your interior decorating.

The door creaked as you held it open for him, "This is us," you said in the softest voice you could muster - the word 'us' felt foreign on your tongue.

He jutted his chin forward, gesturing for you to enter first. Maybe he was just being cautious?

You walked into your apartment the same way you had every day for as long as you'd lived here, putting your bag down on the table and turning towards him.

He stood in the doorway unmoving, his shoulders and the top of his head almost touching the frame, surveying the room with hooded eyes.

Your best guess would've been that he was checking for any dangers, or simply mustering up the courage to breach the threshold of his new home.

His eyes met yours and you realised you were staring. That probably wouldn't help encourage him.

"Take your time, I need to get something," you tried to hold your head high and straighten your back as if the weight of worry wasn't compressing your spine.

You stepped out of his line of sight and into the hallway that connected to your bedroom and bathroom. Turning right, you chose the former - you'd have to remember to close your door when you slept from now on.

A quick inhale to try and starve off the nerves that lingered, then you picked up a pile of things you'd purchased earlier in the day.

There was a doubt in your head that if you glanced towards the front door that it would still be open but the doorframe empty. If you didn't look then, if you were right, you could live in ignorance.

You exited your bedroom and turned left towards the living room again, but hit a solid wall and stumbled backwards - it was your fault for keeping your eyeline on the things in your arms.

A stupid thought created an unnecessary fear of your own front door and had caused you to slam into a building structure that had been there for a year.

But you hadn't. When your eyelids opened from the shock, you were exactly where you thought you'd be - your back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of your hallway.

Jayce stood as the blockade between yourself and the living room. He glanced down at you with a cocked eyebrow and a crinkled nose of confusion. He'd followed you once you were out of sight and just so happened to collide with you.

With him staring down at you from such a height, you understood why the other hybrids at the sanctuary didn't invade his space. He was intimidating, even if he wasn't trying to be.

His shadow cast over you and shrouded you with ease, and his bright eyes pierced through the darkness like the sight on a gun lining up it's target.

Your chest moved up and down rapidly, your mouth going dry, the familiar feeling of inferiority fell over you the same way it had when you were playing chess against him.

He stepped forward and your breath hitched in your throat, images of his sharp canines and pointed nails flashed in front of your eyes - was this the type of mistake you heard about in true crime podcasts?

He saw the glossy fear in your eyes. He saw it in a lot of people, he'd become accustom to the gaze of alarm staring back at him.

Something about that tension in your eyes, paired with how helpless and small you were on the ground made his heart beat harder and his mouth salivate. For what reason? He was unsure.

He shook his head - his fluffy ears waving with the motion - and he averted his gaze as he lowered himself to the ground, bending at the knees until he knelt on them.

As his shadow shrunk so did your worry. You were unable to move for longer than you would've liked, it reminded you of a rabbit in headlights.

When he started to pick up the pieces of clothing and paper bags you'd dropped you finally snapped out of it, getting up off your back and helping him collect the discarded objects.

"T-Thank you," it came out as a tremble so you cleared your throat.

He didn't hand you the things, instead he backed out of the hallway and stepped to the side so you could pass.

You shuffled past him and gently dropped everything onto the couch, "These are actually for you!".

The assortment laid in a mess on the couch so you tidied them into piles as you spoke, "I didn't know what you'd like, or what would fit you, so I had to guess," you placed the clothes onto one cushion, and the paper bags on the other.

He picked up one of the tops you'd bought for him and held it up, by visuals alone it seemed like it would fit him. He pinched the fabric of the white button-up shirt he was wearing and looked at you.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to!" you stepped back from the couch to give him some space, "But I thought you'd like to have a change of clothes, something more comfortable," you called behind you as you entered the kitchen.

It was getting late; you were slightly hungry, and you weren't sure when he last ate so you pre-heated the oven and got to work.

After around thirty minutes of quiet - apart from the sound of the oven humming and water boiling - you grew worried.

You were sure he would be okay, but were you doing the right thing by leaving him to his own devices so soon after he got here?

Most of the forums and blogs you'd read told you that it was best to let them find their own way around the home. In some cases they recommended isolating them to one room until they were used to the smells and sounds of their new home.

Jayce was intelligent, which was great but it causes other problems to arise.

He'd picked up on things just from simply observing you doing them once, whether you were aware of it or not. Which posed the question of, was he like other hybrids?

Would keeping him in your living room for a few days be helpful, or would that freak him out- no. You promised yourself and him that he would have his freedom, which meant he could go where ever he wanted when he wanted.

Once you'd plated the food and slid it over to the counter where the stools were, you thought you'd better go and find out what he was doing and why the apartment was so quiet.

"Jayce?" your voice carried through the hall and hit his ears like a song. It was the first time you'd called him by his name, and he wanted to hear it again.

It wasn't condescending or overly high pitched like how the vets would say his name, you said it with sincerity and kindness. One he didn't hear very often be associated with himself.

When you found him still in the living room, you were greeted by the sight of his bare back, toned and muscular with scars scattered over the tanned skin. "Oh, I'm sorry!" you apologised for the fourth time today.

Your hands shot up to your eyes to give him some privacy, and you turned around leaving almost as quickly as you'd entered, "Foods ready, it's in the kitchen whenever you're done!".

Eventually, he joined you in the kitchen, having now put on a plain black t-shirt and changed into jeans instead of the tattered white shirt and suit trousers he'd arrived in.

As he entered the kitchen you noticed he was holding one of the t-shirts you'd bought for him. It was a light grey long sleeved polo. His eyes flitted up to yours as he handed it to you sheepishly.

You cocked your head with confusion and looked at the fabric, "Did you not like this one?" you asked as he slinked onto the stool in front of one of the plates.

"I didn't know what you liked-" you held up the polo in front of you and stopped mid-sentence when you realised why he had handed it back to you, and more importantly, why he was being avoidant.

There was a tear across the chest, the soft fabric frayed as evidence of a battle lost against a muscular build.

"That's okay!" you tried to hide the chuckle that wanted to leave you, "At least I know what size not to get you from now,". He visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowered as they lost some of their tension.

You folded up the shirt and put it on the counter next to your phone. Sewing it up was always an option, or you could rip it into pieces and use it as dish cloths?

He seemed more comfortable now, chewing on the chicken you'd made slowly as if he was savouring the texture and flavour with every bite.

Despite his nature, he slowly and cleanly ate the food you'd prepared, there was no trepidation about using cutlery either. So you were beginning to wonder if he was actually as feral as the vet had described.

The atmosphere was pleasant. For once you weren't unhappy with someone else being in your space, normally you'd be relatively uncomfortable when another person invaded your home, but there was a familiarity with Jayce.

Other than his large frame being slightly out of place at your counter, it was as if he'd always been there, part of the furniture.

Your train of thought was disrupted by the sound of your phone vibrating across the hard counter top.

The screen lit up with a name you were sure you wouldn't see again, it stopped you in your tracks like flashbang. "I-" you started to say, as if talking to the inanimate object would make it stop.

With a slightly raised heartrate you reached a shaky hand out and tapped the red 'hang up' circle.

Why was he calling you? You'd made it pretty clear that you didn't want any further contact with you after what he'd done, but you couldn't bring yourself to block his contact at the time, and evidentially, you'd forgotten.

Without realising it, you'd been staring at your phone for a good minute before you came back to the present.

You finally tore your eyes away from the screen, "How's the food?" you managed to say, but any sort of response Jayce could've give you was cut short by the annoying buzzing noise echoing on the polished wood.

Jayce's ears flattened against the back of his head at the intrusive sound, and you blinked in semi-disbelief and semi-irritation.

You pressed the hang up button more aggressively, swiped the screen down to turn it onto do not disturb, and placed your phone face down.

"Go away," you whispered to yourself, and Jayce's left ear twitched forward at the hushed tone of your voice.

You stabbed your fork into your food harshly and put it into your mouth, chewing it as you leaned your cheek on your fist.

Thoughts of the past crept their way into your mind, and it was noticeable on your face. You were so occupied with internal questions that you didn't notice Jayce staring at you.

A low huff came from across the table and you looked up at the sound. He was regarding you expectantly; his amber eyes hard and waiting.

"What?" you mumbled with your mouth still full of food. His eyes darted to your phone and then back to your face, and you knew what he was asking, but you weren't sure if you wanted to go there tonight.

Inhaling deeply, you thought about how to respond, "It's nothing," you waved your hand and glanced back down at your almost-empty plate.

He tapped the space on the counter between your plates and twisted his hand to point two fingers upwards towards his face, silently saying, 'Look at me,".

It worked as you re-met his gaze, his stare was still intense but there was a note of curiosity? No, concern perhaps? It was hard to read him.

"Okay, it's not nothing," you sighed, "I'll explain it to you some day, but not tonight, please," you struggled to hold his eye contact, but your response seemed to sedate him as he nodded and returned to his food.

Once you'd finished your meal you put the dishes in the sink and realised it was much later than you thought. "I guess I should give you a quick tour," you laughed as he stayed sat at the counter.

"Obviously this is the kitchen-dining area-" you waved your arm across the room, "-the plates, mugs, and glasses are in here," you opened and closed one of the cupboard door to show him.

"Dry food in here, if you ever get hungry and want a snack," you did the same with the cupboard next to it. "Pots and pans in there," you pointed at one of the lower doors, then to the one next to it, "Cleaning supplies,".

"Fridge, and oven," you put your palm against each metal surfaces respectively, then started walking out of the room, waving for him to follow you, which he did.

He followed you through the living room and into the bathroom, "There's only one bathroom, and unfortunately there's no lock-" you half-closed the door to show him that you weren't lying, "-So, I guess we can have a rule where if the door is closed then don't go in?" you shrugged as you thought out loud, "Or, knock?".

He seemed to understand what you were saying, so you started to head back to the living room, but stopped at your bedroom.

"This is my room-" you reached around the door frame and switched on the light, and realised that you hadn't actually tidied it before his arrival, "-you can come in here if you want, but you probably wont need to," you turned the light off again before he could fully register how messy it was.

Moving back into the living room to grab the blankets and pillows you'd bought for him, "That's everything! I know it's pretty small but it's cosy," you ran your hand nervously over the fluffy brown fabric.

It was complete coincidence, but the blanket you'd bought him was the same shade as his ears and tail.

Extending it out for him to take, you looked up at his face, "I didn't know how or where you'd want to sleep, but the living room is yours," when he took the bedding, you rubbed the back of your neck.

"We can get a different couch if it isn't comfortable, or one of those pull out ones that turn into a bed," you rambled as you mimed what you were describing.

He just stood, holding the bedding, watching you word-vomit to him. He didn't wait for you to stop talking before he started to set up the couch as his bed for the night, and you took that as a sign to stop talking.

It had been a long day filled with new experiences, he was probably very tired.

"I'm going to leave you to it and get ready for bed, there's a toothbrush and stuff for you in the bathroom, use whatever you want," you pulled at the sleeves of your sweater for comfort.

This was the first time you had a guy stay over, granted the situation was vastly different from the usual circumstances someone would think of if you said there was a man staying the night.

But this one was here to stay. It was his home too now, and things were most certainly going to be different from this point on.

"Goodnight, Jayce," you smiled at him softly and gave him space to take everything in. You just hoped he'd be happy here with you.

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