#which he probably is at this point. or is close to having one.

[meanbossart]

You talked a bit on bsky recently about being happy with people including DuDrow in their own stories. Shipping-wise who would be unequivocally NOT drow’s type?

To preface - people are wildly complex and often times one's own steadfast preferences can be proven obsolete given the right circumstances - DU drow is no different. If someone wants to "ship" him with a character that does not immediately fit his fairly close-minded standard of beauty and desirability I say absolutely go for it, and I would love to hear about how he got swept off his heels despite them not fitting said standards, as that's bound to be an interesting tale!

That disclaimer out of the way, DU drow is not at all attracted to hyper-masculinity: He is incredibly put-off by body hair and "gruff" appearances and behavior. He likes athleticism to a point - lean builds like Astarion's and Shadowheart's are his favorite, but the moment a person starts to look a little too bulky, they stop being a potential object of desire and become competition. He doesn't mind if someone is shorter than himself (Korilla could absolutely get some), but being taller also tends to exclude you from the dating pool.

Speaking strictly about personality, quiet, sensitive types are pretty strongly at a disadvantage. He likes his partners to be outspoken, blunt, and to have a good sense of humor, It's kind of necessary for someone who wants to court him to be able to take a joke at their expense and vice-versa, and the biggest hurdle he probably faces when forming relationships with people is when they take his small bouts of snark or annoyance too seriously - which is also why he thrives so much with Shadowheart, Astarion, and Jaheira - all characters who can bicker pretty intensely one moment and be working together the next as if nothing happened.

If you need some visual aid (or just a laugh) here are characters from the game who are unequivacly NOT DU drow's type in any way whatsoever:

[butyoudidthis4what]

She's Here Part 3

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Reader

Find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

24k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: heavy and serious suicidal thoughts and ideation; reference to being involuntarily committed; reference to self-harm; sadness; depression; apathy; angst; grief; guilt; regret; self-hate; concern for partner's safety; anxiety; reader has a panic attack; heavy crying; bad coping mechanisms; Jack is doing his best to keep everyone alive; implied that Jack’s wife was the victim of a gun crime; mention of a shooting and PittFest; alcohol mentioned; implied PIV sex; Robby has a breeding kink; deciduous tree knowledge from the fifth grade; logical fallacies and latin appear because I was in that mood I guess; no use of yn or related

Series Summary: The day of PittFest becomes unbearably worse for Robby. A little over four months into the relationship you've both been waiting years for, you find Robby on the floor of pedes. When Langdon throws it in his face, Robby assumes you betrayed him and doesn't react well.

AN: I apologize for how long it has been since Part 2 was posted. That little slump I went through was rough and took me out of writing Part 3 for longer than I realized. When I started to work on this series I sent @loveyhoneydovey a voice message in which I said, word for word, She's Here "is not turning into a five part thing. It’s not turning into a three part thing. It’s gonna be two parts and we’re done. All she wrote. The end." Surprising nobody it's officially going to be five parts. 😂 So we've got two parts left after this! I hope you enjoy and it was worth the wait! And thank you so much for your patience and reading!! ♥️

Robby gives you a single nod and then he's gone, opening the door just enough to slip out of it and closing it behind him.

After the door closes and about a single second of silence, the reality of everything you just said really hits you.

Leah. Leah.

You threw her in his fucking face.

You threw her in his fucking face knowing exactly how hard Robby has been and is working to heal from PittFest and to find a way through his grief and guilt. And you just threw her at him. All because you were overwhelmed and overstimulated and angry and lashing out. And you didn't mean everything you said. You're going to want him to come back. You just don't know when. You need space.

It's all so fucked, this entire situation. You don't know what you and Robby are, what your status is. Are you together, are you not? You don't know how to get answers. And now you really fucking don't know how to fix this mess you find yourselves in with the supply closet and what you just said. You don't know how to ask him to come back and try to work through things. You don't know. Your head is fuzzy. You're spiraling a little, brain everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Part of you thinks what you said might be worse than anything Robby said to you in the supply closet that day.

And you won't make excuses for it. It doesn't matter that you were overwhelmed and overstimulated and angry and lashing out. It doesn't matter that Robby was the one who pushed you. It doesn't matter that you have a traumatic brain injury and that you're depressed. Explanations? Yeah, probably. Excuses? No. No excuse exists for what you just said and did.

It was cold and calculated. Deliberate. You knew exactly where to hit Robby to inflict the most possible pain. So you did.

You could have just stopped talking. Gone quiet and not responded to him at all until he got the point. Called your nurse and asked her to take Robby to the cafeteria or wherever. Texted or called Jack or Dana to come get Robby. But no.

You picked Leah.

Maybe it's now Robby who shouldn't want or be able to forgive you.

The more you think about Robby the more scared you get.

Because you know Robby thinks he doesn't have you anymore. You know how he gets with his black and white thinking at times, especially when he's emotional, like he is right now. There's no middle ground. Shades of gray no longer exist for Robby. You're either together or broken up. A couple or exes. Good or irreparably damaged. There's no in between for him. There's no space for hope.

You guys are just one or the other. Together or broken up.

And you kicked him out and said you were done. So you know that Robby thinks that it's over. That he's alone again. That you're broken up.

You don't want him to think those things or feel those things, but you know that he is. You know that, like you, he's tired and he's defeated and he's consumed by grief and guilt and he's hurting and that he just wants it all to stop. You know his thinking is warped and his brain is lying to him and you know that right now he believes the best answer to all his problems and the best thing for everybody in his life is right there in front of him. So simple. So obvious.

You need Jack.

And you need him right the fuck now. You grab your phone from your lap, unlock it and find Jack's name, dial him immediately. You're pretty sure he's working, so if he doesn't answer you'll call the Pitt directly and pull him out of whatever the fuck he's doing.

He answers on the second ring. He must've seen it was you and stepped out of whatever.

"Your phone die Robby?" he starts a little teasingly.

"Jack." Your voice cracks at the very end of his name. You can feel Jack's entire demeanor change through the phone.

"What's wrong? What happened?" All traces of teasing are gone, replaced by a focused worry. With the change in background noise and voices growing louder and quieter, you know he's already moving toward the elevator. "I have to go take care of something, call Shen if you need anything," you hear him tell someone.

"I…Michael and I, we had a really bad fight, Jack, and I kicked him out and said I was done and some awful things. I need you to find him because we both know how he's thinking right now and I'm afraid he'll fucking do it this time, Jack. I'm really fucking scared he'll do it." A couple of tears slide down your cheeks and you wipe them away and sniffle. "I can call Dana too-"

"No. I'll find him. If I need her I'll call her." It's clipped. You know it's probably because he's trying to think, but you can't help but feel like he's just justifiably mad at you.

You think everyone will be. If you and Robby don't fix this you're well aware of just how alone you're going to end up being. Rumors will fly. The truth, or at least part of it, will eventually have to come out. You'll let yourself be the villain that threw Leah in Robby's face after he'd been taking care of you all this time so that Robby doesn't have to tell anyone about what happened in pedes or the supply closet. It won't really matter, you tell yourself, because if you and Robby don't figure it out you doubt you'll return to work at the Pitt, supposing you even could.

It's easy for your thoughts to slip there. It always has been. It's a part of you that's been dormant recently and that you've hidden from Robby all these years when it wasn't, even once you learned he has a piece of him that matches. You just didn't want to put that on him, you guess.

Maybe Robby has the right idea, he's just not the one who needs to execute it. Maybe you're the one who needs to. Maybe that would be easier for him. You could leave a note or even record a video.

Tell him you love him. More than anything in the world, more than you know what to do with, more than he'll ever know, that you never stopped loving him and that wherever you go after death and in every lifetime you'll still love him, that he'll always be loved by you.

Tell him thank you for everything, for the years you were just friends and everything he did for you then and the time you were together and everything he did for you as your partner, for being patient with you, for loving you.

Tell him that you forgive him, that you forgive him for everything, especially the supply closet and not giving you space, that you understand why he did it and that it's truly okay and you forgive him, that there's nothing you haven't forgiven him for, you promise.

Ask him to forgive you, apologize, for throwing Leah in his face and for being mean when he was just trying to help, and for all of it, anything and everything you've done over the time you've known him.

Because if you die, it's a discrete event for him to heal and move on from. Robby could get through that. He might not think it, and it might require medication and careful supervision from his friends for a bit, but eventually he would grow around the grief and his life would go on. And he could find someone else. Someone better. Someone he didn't have to doubt. Someone who wouldn't treat him like you just did.

So maybe you dying is what's best for him. Maybe it's the nicest gift you could give him right now. Maybe it's the best apology you'll ever be able to give him.

And you, you don't have a Jack, a best friend. Your Jack is Robby. Even if you did, Robby is so emotional and worked up himself and is handling this so differently from you that he's not going to think about the possibility of you being suicidal and call anyone. You don't hold that against him, it's just reality. You're in two different ideating head spaces.

"I'm sorry, Jack," you whisper, come close to hanging up on him.

"Woah, hey! Hey, hey, hey!" Jack must hear your sadness and the sudden resignation in your tone because he's yelling like he's afraid you've moved the phone away. You hear the elevator ding in the background. You know he's checking the roof first. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Couples argue and are fine, sometimes they break up and sometimes they get back together and sometimes they don't know exactly where they are and sometimes people say awful things that they don't really mean. That's human and it's life. I will come check on you after I get him safe, okay?"

You let out a soft laugh through your nose that's hardly more than a puff of air. "You don't have to, and you won't want to if he tells you what I said, which he will. It was bad Jack. And it's okay. I'll be fine. I always am, right?"

"I will come check on you after I get him safe, okay?" Jack repeats. "I'm aware I don't have to and I sincerely doubt what you said was so bad that I'm not going to want to. I can't think of anything off the top of my head that you could say to him that would make me suddenly hate and not care about you enough to not come check on you."

You don't have it in you to argue. You know he's not going to come. "Okay."

You hear the elevator ding and the doors open, Jack stepping off. "I can see him on the roof, I've got him, okay? I'll see you after this."

"Hey Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Will um, will you tell him that I love him, that I love him so fucking much it hurts, and that I love him more and always will," you pause for a shuddery breath as the tears fall a little harder, "and, and that I'm sorry," you sniffle and swallow hard. "That I'm so sorry for everything."

"Yeah, I will." Jack sounds distracted and you know it has to be because he's watching Robby closely. You're kind of glad he is because if anyone was going to pick up on the tone of what you just said it would be Jack. "I'll see you soon. Bye."

"Thank you," you whisper. "Goodbye, Jack."

Dana walks up to you as you watch Robby talking to Mel from across the floor, eyes narrowed at him a little in suspicion. "He seem off to you today?" you ask her.

You've just finished handoff from night shift, Robby immediately walking away with Mel before you got a chance to really say hi to him. That's not totally unusual, and really it's your fault since you were the one running late today and getting here just on time so the two of you didn't have a chance to talk and have a moment together before you both started.

Tonight is your fourth date and you both know what that means. Sex. Finally.

Robby's taking you out to a nice restaurant and you have a pretty outfit and some nice lingerie picked out to wear underneath and surprise him with. Once you're off you'll both go to your own places, shower and get ready and Robby will pick you up. You have the next three days off together and the plan is for you to stay at Robby's the entire time, fucking and sleeping and just being together.

But there's just something off about him right now. You can't quite put your finger on what but you know him well enough by this point to know there's something.

"A bit, yeah," Dana nods. The two of you watch him in silence for a few seconds. "You want me to keep a close eye on him today with you?" There's a light tease to her voice at the end when she says with you.

"Yeah," you nod. You finally pull your eyes from Robby to look over at her and roll your eyes playfully at her smirk. "Please, if you don't mind. I'm just worried about him. Something seems off and you know how he loves to keep everything inside."

Roughly two hours later and you're convinced Robby is avoiding you. He turns if he sees you coming, does his best not to jump in on cases you're involved in except when he really has to because he's your attending. It's eating away at you a little. You can't help but think it's a you thing, that you did something or that the reality of tonight has made him start second-guessing everything.

Robby isn't doing it completely intentionally. He knows how well you know him and how easily you'll see that he's not feeling great. It has to be how tired and run down he is with this being his fifth straight day on mixing with his excitement, to put it lightly, about tonight. His body is just being pulled in different directions so he's tired and has a killer headache and feels warm. He's sure it'll pass soon and until then he'll just try to keep his interactions with you to a minimum so you don't worry about him or try to cancel tonight and tell him to get some sleep instead.

You watch him walk into the men's room and decide to wait for him, standing against the wall outside of it. "Hi," you greet him when he walks out.

"Hey, Kid." A genuine soft smile pulls onto his face at seeing you.

You return his small smile for a second but quickly go back to your serious face. "What's up?"

Robby furrows his brows at you and shakes his head. "What do you mean?"

You give him a look. "Please talk to me."

"Nothing's up," he tries to laugh.

"Then why are you avoiding me?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"I'm not!" Robby shrugs deeply.

You look at him for a second and then match his shrug. "Okay." With him giving you nothing your brain doubles down on your thoughts from earlier. Hurt and sadness flash across your face and color your eyes as you look at him. "I'm sorry for whatever it is that I apparently did. Or if the thought of tonight is making you second-guess things and us or me or whatever I wish you'd just tell me."

Robby's face falls. You're wrong, so so wrong and he's the one that made you think that way. "Kid!" he calls after you as you walk away from him quickly.

You can hear his footsteps growing closer as he catches up with you. "Hey," Robby starts as he pulls up to your side and you stop walking. "You didn't do anything. Nothing is wrong, I promise. And I'm not second guessing anything. I could never second guess you. I'm sorry for making you think that way."

The hurt in your eyes fading soothes Robby for a few seconds until it turns into worry. "You're off Michael, with me and in general."

"I probably seem off because I'm excited about tonight and trying to keep busy and distracted so I don't think about it too much and get hard," he explains a bit under his breath, widening his eyes at you a little at the end with a smile.

That makes you relax a bit even though you're not convinced that's the only thing up with him right now. You study him, swear he looks a little flushed and that his eyes are a bit dull. Maybe he's getting sick. You'd love to press him a bit further, but you know if you do too hard he might really shut down on you, especially since you're at work.

You finally return his smile with a small amused one of your own. "Can we step in somewhere so I can have a hug?" Robby hesitates just slightly. He's saved when Langdon walks out of a room and calls his name. "Go." You nod your chin in Langdon's direction. Robby shoots you an apologetic smile as he walks away.

His hesitation makes you wonder. It could be because he's afraid touching you will get him going and with the excitement about tonight it'll be difficult for him to get himself back under control. But with the flush and dull eyes it could be because he's getting sick and not feeling well. You need to get him alone and get your hands on him to feel how warm he is.

Another few hours pass and both you and Robby are so busy you barely see each other. When he finally gets a second to stop and really feel, Robby knows he's not just tired and excited. He's sick. His head is worse, he has a sore throat, is so hot he slips into the bathroom to take his long sleeved undershirt off, and his entire body aches, sand in every joint and fire in every muscle.

After he throws his shirt and jacket in his locker he resigns himself to sitting at the hub and trying to take it as easy as possible, telling himself it'll pass. He's in denial because there is no fucking way he's sick the day he's finally going to get to have you how he's been dreaming of nearly four years.

Robby realizes how exhausted he is when he almost has to fight to keep himself awake while at the hub. He'd really fucking love to just rest his head on the cool counter and shut his eyes for a minute or two. But Langdon calling his name again prevents him from doing so.

You spot him at the hub, watch the way he keeps widening his eyes like he's trying to clear sleep out of them. He looks like he feels awful, even from this far away. When Langdon calls his name and he stands up he has to steady himself with his hand on the counter for a second before walking off and you know. You know he's sick.

When you see Dana walking back to the hub you head over. "Hey, do we have a free room I can have?"

Dana narrows her eyes suspiciously but checks for you. "North 5 is open. Why?"

"Robby needs it. He's sick. He needs fluids at the very least. He took his undershirt and jacket off." You look over at him where he's leaning against the door frame of Langdon's patient's room. As much as he tries to make it seem normal and like he's doing it how he normally does, you're able to tell he's leaning into it far more than usual.

You can tell Dana sees it too when she sighs. "He sure does, but good luck getting him to stop and stay in a room."

"I don't need luck." You look at Dana again and smirk. "I have this one face he can't say no to."

Dana laughs and nods. "Room's yours. I'll throw a vitals cart in there for you. Let me know what he needs, yeah? Should I call in Jack?"

You consider for a second. "No, I should make sure he really is sick and it's not just me being overly worried or something before we ruin Jack's day off." You flash her a quick smile. "Thanks Dana."

Robby has to fight back a wince as he pushes himself off the door frame once he's no longer needed. Acceptance starts to settle in with how awful he feels and he cannot fucking believe this is happening and he's going to end up having to let you down.

"Dr. Robinavitch." He hears you call him and looks up to see you looking at him from across the floor with raised brows. Your voice is caring but there's a firmness to it that tells him he's not going to escape whatever it is you want to talk about. "A word?"

He nods and walks over to you, hoping to keep it brief as though he doesn't know that you know him well enough to see how bad he's feeling from far away. "Of course."

As he gets closer you swear you can see him getting worse every second. His eyes are a bit sunken, darker than usual bags under them. A few strands of hair are sticking to his sweaty forehead and he's flushed even more than he was earlier. Every step seems to hurt him and his breaths look heavier.

You start to walk when he gets to you, making the short walk to North 5. You open the door and gesture for him to walk in. After eyeing you suspiciously for a few seconds he does and you follow.

"What's up?" Robby asks as you close the door behind you and draw the curtain so nobody can see in the window.

You turn and look at him knowingly. "Sit on the bed Michael."

"What?" he cocks his head at you.

"Sit on the bed," you repeat. "Please."

He forces a laugh. "Why?"

You sigh. "So I can take your vitals. We could be nearly done with them by now."

"Why do you want to take them?" Despite himself he takes the few steps back to hit the edge of the bed and leans against it a bit for support.

"Really?" you deadpan. Robby shrugs at you. "Because I think you're sick and trying to hide it because you don't want to be sick and have tonight not happen."

"I'm fine," he protests. "I'm just excited for tonight!"

You step closer to him and raise your hand. "Let me feel your forehead then." Robby moves his head away and bats at your hand, a move he regrets immediately when his headache sears even worse and the world around him swims a little for a couple of seconds. "If you're fine why can't I simply feel your forehead?"

"It's not that you can't, you just don't need to," he mumbles.

"Michael," you say firmly, a hint of warning.

"Kid," Robby replies in the same tone.

You cross your arms over your chest. The man is stubborn, yes, but this is next level even for him. You know he knows he's sick. "What? Do I seriously have to threaten to cancel our date for you to let me feel your damn forehead? You're always handsome to me, Michael, but you look like you feel like shit right now. And you took off your jacket and undershirt."

The two of you engage in a short lived staring contest. "Fine," Robby grumbles.

"Thank you." You raise your hand again and place the back of it on his forehead. Unsurprisingly he's burning up, and your hand must feel cool enough to give him some relief because his shoulders sag and he leans his forehead into it. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Sit on the bed, please."

"Kid, please," he almost whines. He doesn't know why he's being like this, pushing you away and trying to keep pretending he's fine when he's so obviously not.

"You're at least 102. You can't be seeing patients like this and you shouldn't be pretending to be fine just so we can go on the fourth date and have sex. We're not having sex when you're clearly feeling terrible and trying to hide it!" you tell him exasperatedly.

Robby looks away sheepishly when you call him on it. He hates everything about this situation and his old fucking body for getting sick.

"Michael," you soften your voice, "please sit on the bed and let me take care of you." You wait until he looks back at you and then hit him with that face he can't say no to. "For me."

He sighs. "Only for you." But the way he sits on the bed and then lays fully on it instead of just sitting on the edge tells you he was ready to give in without the face. And he was. Sleep sounds so good right now and the standing was killing him.

"Thank you," you murmur to him, biting your tongue a little and not teasing him about how you asked him to sit on the bed, not fully get on it. The last thing you want him to do is try and get off it right now.

"Maybe I just need a couple hours of sleep and will wake up better," he mumbles as he lets his eyes close.

You give his thigh a quick squeeze as you grab the vitals cart and roll it over. "I truly hope that is the case because I hate seeing you feeling so awful but I think we both know that's pretty unlikely, Baby." You're quick to get a set of vitals from him, all of them about what you expected except his temperature. He's hotter than you thought. "102.9," you tell him a little sharply. "It's a good job you're already in an emergency room because we both know that's going to rise."

"I really did think I was just tired at first and then when it got worse I was trying to take it as easy as possible at the hub." You hum distractedly in acknowledgement as you log onto the computer in the room and start a chart for him. "I'm sorry, Kid."

He sounds so sick when he says it that it makes your heart ache, a feeling that only intensifies when you look over at him and see the apologetic smile he's trying to offer you through his obvious pain and discomfort.

"No," you sigh, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be mean or make you feel bad. I just care, you know? I hate that you're so sick and I wish that I could just make you better." Robby hates the frown that you wear but before he can say anything to try and comfort you you're back into doctor mode, asking him this and that and what his symptoms are and when they started and what meds he's already taken and when.

When he mentions he has a headache you immediately turn all the lights off without even looking away from the computer. It's the smallest thing but it hits Robby hard in the moment even through his increasingly fever foggy mind, how loving and caring that one simple move was. It feels so representative of you and the way you treat him.

You log off the computer once you have all the info you need and have put in orders for him, planning on doing everything yourself. "We'll get you an IV and some fluids and another dose of pain meds with a fever reducer. Take some swabs and see what you've got and go from there. And you'll lay in here and rest as much as you can until further notice. Okay?"

Robby lingers right outside your door for a few seconds trying to decide what to do with himself. He needs to get the fuck out of this hallway before he totally loses it and bursts into tears, but he's still afraid to leave the hospital. To really leave you. He's convinced something will happen and you'll die the second he's not in the hospital and able to get to you quickly.

So he heads where he always does. To the roof.

He walks to the side of the roof opposite where he and Jack sometimes stand. It's like he doesn't want to taint it for Jack, thinks that if he just does it on the opposite side it'll make it easier for Jack to still come to the roof for solace and to escape because he won't have jumped from their normal side.

Robby sets down the couple of things he grabbed from your room and his backpack, steps through the railing to the other side. The wrong side. He leans a bit and looks down, tries to decide if the fall would really kill him or if he should do it another way.

He's so in his head he's not even aware at first that he's crying, that his eyes are so wet with tears he can hardly see the ground beneath his feet, let alone the ground beyond the ledge. When he realizes he can't see he takes a step back and holds onto the rail. Robby's knees buckle with his first audible sob and he falls onto them, the pain not breaking through his grief and sadness and sorrow and regret. His panic.

It seems fitting that the last time he sobbed this hard was after your seizure when you were in surgery, Robby thinks. He thought he was losing you then, thought he was going to watch you die. Now he knows he's lost you.

He crosses one foot over the other and sinks back onto his calves bowing his head so deeply his chin touches his chest. One hand holds onto the bottom rail in a subconscious attempt to keep himself grounded, and the other finds its way into his hair, fingers weaving between strands and then closing to make a fist.

Robby wants to do it. He wants to do it in a way he's never wanted to do it before.

He doesn't know how to cope with this level of pain and grief and regret. It wants to swallow him whole and Robby wants to let it. He doesn't see there ever being a day when it doesn't feel like this, when he's not in this much pain. There's no hope for that. No hope for your relationship. No hope for him. He's alone again.

He lost you. He finally pushed you too far and made you say you're done, made you give up on him and your relationship. He knows your 'I don't know' was as good as a no. He can't delude himself into thinking this is something the two of you have any hope in hell of coming back from.

And it's all his fault. All of this is his fault.

Taking his life is such a simple solution. He won't hurt anymore, won't be able to hurt you anymore. He won't be able to fail you anymore. He won't be able to hurt or fail anyone else, because his grief over Adamson and Leah and Jake are part of this too.

It'll be good for you, if anything. You won't have to deal with him anymore. You can move on and find someone better, someone actually deserving of you and your love. It's the right thing to do, even if it scares him.

He won't do it here, though. There are better ways, more efficient and less messy ways. Ways that will virtually guarantee death. Plus Jack is working tonight and Robby doesn't want to risk putting Jack through trying to save him, and doesn't want to risk Jack actually saving him with how good of a doctor Jack is.

"Robby."

He barely hears Jack's voice over his sobs, just shakes his head in response, makes no effort to stop crying. He knows he couldn't even if he tried.

"Hey, Robby." Jack steps through the railing, stethoscope clinking against the metal. He sits on the roof next to Robby with his legs out, back against the lower railing. "Robby can you look at me?" He squeezes Robby's shoulder. Robby shakes his head again, continues sobbing, a catharsis he can't stop. "Okay," Jack says quietly.

The two sit there together until Robby stops, Jack a quiet presence next to him that makes him feel somewhat less alone. But he still wishes it was you. Wishes he was down in your room with you even if you were mad at him and weren't talking to him. Wishes he could see you and know you're okay. Wishes he could take so many things back. Wishes he hadn't lost you.

Robby wipes his eyes and face on the sleeve of his jacket and shifts so he's sitting like Jack, legs out in front of him and back against the lower rail. The ache in his knees has finally become noticeable and all he can think is that he deserves it, deserves to hurt in every way possible.

"I really did it this time, Jack." Robby clears his throat. "I lost her. I fucked up again and I lost her and I don't know how to do this, how to…" He doesn't say live without her, in part because he can't acknowledge the reality and in part because he doesn't want to give away the suicidal thoughts he's having even though he knows Jack already knows.

Robby sees Jack nod slowly from the corner of his eye, neither of them looking at each other in favor of looking out at the city. "Did she say it was over?"

"She might as well have," Robby sighs. He bites his lip for a second and then forces himself to say it. "She said she was done right now and that she can't do this anymore so…" To Robby that's you saying it's over. That there's no hope, that you're done with him and don't want to try. "She said a lot. And it's on me, this whole thing is on me. If I hadn't said what I did in the supply closet she wouldn't have gotten hurt and she wouldn't be in the hospital and this wouldn't have happened."

"What exactly happened, Robby?" Jack sounds confused and when Robby glances over at him his eyebrows are furrowed. "I know she's been struggling harder recently, but this seems incredibly out of character for her even taking that into consideration."

"I happened," Robby scoffs at himself, holds the back of his neck and rubs it a little. "I pushed her too hard to do some PT. Decided to take a tough love approach for some stupid fucking reason and it escalated. She asked for some space and I got scared. I became terrified that if I left something terrible would happen to her or that she'd never let me back in." He shakes his head slowly as he pauses. "So I kept pushing her and the conversation because I was scared to leave instead of giving her space when she fucking begged me for it. She told me that she'd end up saying things she regretted if we didn't end the conversation and I didn't listen, I couldn't stop. She understandably snapped. I was too scared and let it control me and caused exactly what I was so scared of happening to happen."

Robby swallows thickly, a few tears falling despite the way he feels like he has no tears left. Because what you said did hurt. Badly. And while Robby feels like he deserved it and deserves the pain, he's still grappling with you hurting him, with how deliberate he knows it was, with some deeply buried anger at you for using Leah against him, with you getting mad at him when all he was trying to do was help.

"She said she was done and that she can't do this anymore and she kicked me out, and at the end she told me not to come back until she wants and asks me to come back. I asked her if she'd ever want me to come back and she said, she said she didn't know." Robby purses his lips and tries to fight back the urge to cry harder as he relives the moment. He lets out a shuddery breath. "And she told me that I broke her heart in the supply closet and that my words were like a bullet I shot through her heart that tore through it, just like what happened to Leah."

Jack's wince is audible, his cringe just as hard as when Robby told him what he said to you in the supply closet. "Yeah, that's… wow."

"And the thing is she's right, Jack. She's totally fucking right." Robby laughs sadly. "I'm a killer. This is what I do, I kill things, destroy them. I kill relationships. I kill people. Adamson. Leah. A little piece of Jake. I almost killed her. I did kill our relationship. I killed the one thing I let myself want for the last almost four years that I'd finally just gotten to have."

"That's not true, Robby. You're not a killer. You didn't kill Adamson or Leah. You haven't killed a piece of Jake. You don't kill relationships. You haven't killed our friendship." Jack nudges Robby with his shoulder. "And I know it's really hard to believe right now, but I don't think you've killed your relationship with her."

"I have though, Jack. There's no hope for us. I ruined it." He shrugs because it really is that simple. Things really are that black and white right now.

"Robby," Jack sighs gently, "your feelings are valid and of course you know better than me because you were there and you obviously know your relationship better, but from an outsider's perspective, it sounds like you guys got in a fight, she lost control of her emotions and she said things, some horrible things I know she already regrets, and that once she's had the space she needs you guys will come together and talk and figure it out. I'm not saying all will just be forgiven and it'll be like nothing happened, but I think there's plenty of hope that you guys will figure out how to heal and go forward."

"It's done Jack," Robby says with a little bite to it, looking over at Jack who's already looking at him. His tears have dried up again. "It's over. We're over. I lost her. I was so fucking worried about losing her that I pushed too hard and I lost her."

"Why is it over? Why is there no hope?" Jack challenges him. "Because you can't forgive her for the Leah comment?"

"Of course I can forgive her and we could work through that. I already have forgiven her in a way." He's almost offended by the question and makes sure it's in his voice so Jack knows. "There's no hope and it's over because how can she possibly forgive me for this, pushing her and disrespecting her by refusing to give her space until I'd pushed her past her limit and for everything I said in the supply closet? There's a limit to how much and how deeply you can hurt a person and expect their forgiveness and I think I've pretty obviously blown that limit here, Jack."

"I know it's easy for me to say, but I really don't think you have. She loves you Robby. She's not going to give up on you or your relationship this easily. She's wanted and waited for it just as long as you. I know the panic and the grief and the guilt are telling you there's no way, that there's no hope. I know how black and white everything feels right now. But that's a lie, that's your brain being a dick and lying to you." Jack's eyes are imploring, too much for Robby to stand right now. He has to look away.

"There is hope. You guys haven't even really had a chance to start properly working through everything that's happened as a couple. By yourselves or with a couple's therapist. You're in this totally abnormal and kind of fake environment right now in the hospital. There's no privacy, you can't talk without risking being interrupted, you can't touch the way you do at home, you can't just exist together like you can at home. I know you know that." Jack pauses, probably to try and let his words sink in but Robby doesn't believe him right now. He can't. "We've talked about that before, you've told me before that you're just having to accept right now that healing and working on your relationship is extremely difficult to do while living in the hospital. She knows that too. And we both know her. She's not going to give up on things without really getting a chance to try to heal and work through things."

Robby knows that Jack is trying to help, but it's getting irritating to hear and he's tired and he's hurting and his brain needs to protect him. "There's no hope, Jack," he snaps, "and it's kind of cruel to try and make me believe there is."

Jack shakes his head and lets out a huff of air telling Robby he's trying to control himself. "Yes, Robby. There is hope. There's hope at the very least because she's alive. She's alive and you don't get to throw that hope and that chance away. I won't let you." Jack's voice trembles just slightly, so subtle only someone as close to him as Robby would pick up on it. And Robby knows it's not anger or hurt or irritation. It's grief for his wife. Because Jack knows what no hope really looks and feels like. Robby knows Jack isn't trying to compare or say he had it worse, just using the reality of it to try and get through to Robby. "She's fucking alive and she loves you and cares about you and worries about you even when you've hurt her and she's still hurting. She fucking called me Robby. How do you think I knew to come up here?"

Robby blinks at Jack with furrowed brows. He hadn't actually thought about that, about how Jack ended up on the roof at the same time he was breaking down. Jack was just here on the roof with him, something they do together at times. "I…"

"It wasn't a fucking coincidence, I didn't come to the roof on my own and happen to find you, I didn't have a feeling. She called me," Jack tells him with a gentle emphasis on that last sentence. "She called me and asked me to find you because she loves you and she cares about you and she's worried about you and you killing yourself. She's so worried, so fucking terrified by the thought of losing you that she was in tears, Robby."

"Really?" Robby whispers, tears stinging his eyes again.

"Really," Jack nods. "And at the end of the call she asked me to tell you that she's so sorry for everything and that she loves you so much it hurts and she loves you more and always will. So there's hope, Robby. Don't let your brain sabotage this further and convince you that there's not."

Tears stream down Robby's face again and he covers his mouth with a hand to stifle a small sob. Even after everything, the supply closet, him pushing you way the fuck too far and making you snap and be angry with him and kick him out, you still thought of him. Still worried about him. And pretty immediately too with how little time passed between him getting to the roof and Jack appearing. He nods at Jack. It's scary but he's starting to believe it, not completely, but a little. That there is hope.

"Yes, she said those things, that she was done, and can't do this, and that she didn't know if she'd want you to come back, but that doesn't mean it's completely over now or forever, or that all hope is lost. She loves you and she cares about you." Jack lets out a slow breath and pauses, like he's trying to think. "Was hope lost after the supply closet before you found out it wasn't her? Let's just assume it had been her. Was there hope for her to cling to even when she probably felt like there wasn't, because, despite what you thought she did to you and despite everything you said to her, you had it in your heart to work through things and forgive her?"

That question slams into Robby, just like Jack probably wanted it to. It helps put things in perspective if only somewhat. Because there had been hope. He thought to himself at the time that he could forgive you. Even through all of his pain and anger and hurt and the betrayal he felt and even after all the things he said to you, there was hope. He had very explicitly said you were over and done, far more explicitly than you just now, and there was still hope.

"I, yeah, I thought that I could forgive her. That we might be able to work through it," Robby sniffles, wiping at his eyes, tears stopping. "It just feels, it feels so different on the other side, but I, I see it. What you're trying to point to. That hope." Robby loves Jack and is beyond appreciative to his friend for being here for and with him but Robby's rapidly getting tired and that post-emotional catharsis fog is setting in.

"Good," Jack nods. Robby can hear in Jack's voice how Jack knows he's done with this conversation. How he wants this conversation about hope to be over, doesn't want to talk about it anymore. And he finds that pretty ironic, almost wants to ask Jack to keep talking about it just to subject himself to his own medicine. "So, you wanna go to Dana's or to my place?"

Robby looks at Jack unimpressed. "No."

Jack huffs a laugh at Robby's unimpressed expression. "It's not a yes or no question Robby. You're actively suicidal, don't deny it. Or at least you just were and could slide back there incredibly easily. We both know it. And I know you have at least several ideas in your mind about how to do it, potentially several plans, so going home alone is not an option."

"That's fine," Robby shrugs. "I want to stay in the hospital somewhere anyway." Jack shoots Robby a look. "Don't look at me like that, Jack." The subtlest uptick of anxiety floods Robby's voice. "What if something happens and she's dying or she needs me and I'm not here? I have to be here if something happens, Jack."

"If something happens they'll call you and Dana or I will take you straight to the hospital. Neither of us live more than a 10 minute drive away, especially during the night. I assume you'll be working tomorrow for the distraction so you'll be here during the day. And she's okay and stable now, Robby," Jack reminds him. 'The chance of something serious and life-threatening happening is low. She loves you and she would want you to go get some good sleep on a real bed."

"Fine." Robby doesn't have it in him to argue about that and he knows Jack is right. He's not sure if his resolve is fading so fast because he's tired or because he really has hope. Or both. "But I see the hope. So I don't need to go to yours or Dana's-"

"No. You're going to Dana's with her or you're going to my place with me," Jack cuts him off. "I don't trust you Robby. In the same way you didn't trust me after."

"Come to my place with me then."

"No," Jack shakes his head. "Because I know you and you won't want to do anything in Dana's place or in mine and ruin our spaces for us. But you'll do it so fast in your own space if you slip back into that really active headspace. Especially after you walk in and see her all over your apartment, all her stuff that's made its way to your place. That pain and panic will take back over and you'll try even with one of us there because we won't be able to watch you literally every second."

The two stare at each other. Robby doesn't really want to have to go to someone's place. He hates feeling like others think he needs babysitted even though he knows Jack is one hundred percent correct. Where else would he really go though? He doesn't even really want to go back to his place. He doesn't want to see your presence in his apartment. He doesn't want to see that fucking cup of coffee.

He wants to go down to your room and slip in your bed beside you and apologize and hold you until you guys work this out. Wishful thinking for a multitude of reasons, he knows.

"I really don't want to have to 302 you, Robby, but I will if it's the only way to keep you safe." It's nearly word for word the exact same thing Robby said to Jack on this same roof after Jack's wife died. "You haven't once denied having suicidal thoughts because we both know you can't. And that's okay. But it means you can't be alone right now. So Dana's place or mine?"

Robby finally looks away from Jack and takes a deep breath. Some small part of him is still ready to jump up and fling himself off the roof before Jack can stop him. But there's that little glimmer. "You really think there's hope?" he asks Jack quietly.

"When have I ever lied to you Robby?"

Robby nods. For self-protection, his brain won't let him completely accept that there's hope, he can't really get his hopes up. But he can see and believe in just enough hope to get himself off the roof and through the night. "Okay. I'll go to Dana's since you're working and I can come in with her tomorrow."

"Okay?"

"That I think I can do," Robby jokes sleepily, the cutest drowsy smile on his face when his eyes open enough to see you walking closer to him.

"Good." You lean down and give him a forehead kiss and then pull the bed rail up, the other side already raised. "I'm gonna go get everything and some pillows and a few blankets for when the chills start. I'll be right back."

You collecting supplies gets Dana's attention, and the two of you are quickly able to get everything done so that Robby can get some sleep. After calling Jack you have to get back to your other patients but you keep an eye out for Robby's test results. You frown to yourself when they come in. It's exactly what you expected but some part of you was trying to delude yourself into believing that it was going to end up just being a cold.

He's asleep when you go in to let him know and you hate having to wake him, but he needs to start tamiflu. "Michael," you say softly, just above a whisper as you kiss his forehead again trying to wake him and also trying to get a read on his temperature. "I need you to wake up for me for just a minute." You run a hand through his hair and then drop your hand to his beard and scratch softly, coaxing him awake. Eventually his brown eyes flutter open for you, glassy and a little red. "Influenza A. I have some tamiflu for you."

Robby shifts on the bed, leans his face into your hand as he blinks awake, more awake than he really needs to be. He just wants a moment with you. But then he has a realization. "You're going to catch it from me. You should get me a mask and stay away." His voice is already quite hoarse.

"I'll be okay. And if you think I'm going to stay away you must be in some fever induced delirium." You do walk over to get him a mask though, more for others than yourself. "And we both know if I'm going to catch it that transmission has probably already happened. You might have even gotten it from me and I'm just not symptomatic yet."

He hums in response as you help support him so he can sit up enough to take the tamiflu with the water you've brought him. Robby sighs as he leans back onto the bed again. "I can't believe the flu is cock blocking me." You huff a laugh quietly since he has a headache and shake your head at him, smiling. His hand runs over the bed rail and sneaks under your shirt, fingers finding the waistband of your pants and underwear and slipping inside so that the pads of his fingers rub against the fabric of your underwear's waistband, the backs of his fingers against your skin. "Can I get another pair of underwear today?" he asks with big puppy dog eyes and a pout tugging against the fabric a little.

"Because you feel well enough to use them?" you smirk at him knowingly. "The wait just makes it feel even better, right?"

Robby almost whines. "I want you so badly," he croaks out, his throat rough.

"And I you," you promise him, smiling adoringly at him. "But I need you healthy."

He studies your face for a moment and smirks a little. "You're really worried," he teases.

"Of course I am, Michael!" you huff. "Imagine if our positions were reversed and I was the one in the hospital bed! How would you feel? Would you be worried?"

"Honey it's just the flu," he reminds you. "I'm only in a hospital bed because I happened to be here. I don't really need to be here, I could be at home in bed sleeping, but I know you'll want to go with me and you need to stay and work. They need you. It's bad enough I'm assuming you had to call Jack in on his day off so we have an attending."

You know he probably doesn't mean for it to feel like he's making fun of you for being worried and that it's you just being hypersensitive because you are so worried, but it still ends up feeling that way and hurts a little. "Hospital logistics and how I could really just be at home? That's what you'd be thinking about if I was the one in the hospital bed?"

Robby clicks his tongue and sighs while you grab the thermometer in the room and take his temperature. "That's not what I meant I-"

"103.2," you cut him off, reading out the measurement and then turning the device so he can see. "That's with fever reducers in your system. You'd tell anyone else to go to the hospital with that reading. So tell me again how this is no big deal and you could be sleeping it off at home. If our positions were reversed right now, maybe you wouldn't be worried about me but I'm worried about you and I'm not going to apologize for it." You drop the thermometer in his lap and walk out, his hand just a little too slow in trying to grab your waistband tight enough so you can't leave.

"Kid!" he calls after you as the door shuts.

Dana finds you an hour or so later. "His fever is down to 102.3 with more meds and some ice packs." She pauses for a second. "He's asking for you."

"He should be asleep," you mutter.

"I think the chills are making it hard for him to." She's wearing a little smile that tells you to go work it out with him when you look at her.

"Fuck. I was hoping he'd luck out and avoid them," you sigh, pushing out of your chair to go to him. You know you shouldn't have walked out like that, shouldn't have put that stress on him while he's sick. "Hi," you say softly as you walk in.

Robby's shivering hard in bed, even with a couple of blankets on him. You're sure he wants more but you don't want his temperature getting much higher than it is.

"I don't like it when you're mad at me." His teeth chatter as he speaks and seeing him this sick and shaking with chills makes your heart ache. You'd do anything to make him better.

"I wasn't mad, not really. I'm just worried and I let it come out poorly, I'm sorry." You find one of his hands once you're standing by his bed and hold it. "I know it's just the flu but we've both seen what just the flu can do, even to otherwise healthy individuals."

"I know," he whispers, anything louder clearly hurting his throat. "I'm sorry."

You shake your head at him. "I don't want you to apologize, I just want you to be okay."

"I will be." The smile he gives you is weak but it reaches his eyes. "I've got the best doctor taking care of me."

You smile back at him. "Jack will be offended." Robby shrugs at your words. "My shift is almost over. I'm going to run to my place and shower and pick up my car and then come back and take you home as long as your fever isn't too high, okay?"

"Okay," Robby agrees. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. I'll be as quick as I can, promise." With another lingering forehead kiss you leave him to rest more. You'd give him a kiss on the lips without hesitation but you know he'd push you away mumbling about not catching it from him.

A few hours later Robby can hear you trying to wake him, telling him it's time to go home. Home. With you. It sounds perfect. "I'm ready," he mumbles, forcing his eyes open and smiling lazily when your beautiful face greets him.

He doesn't remember much of getting home, little bits of conversation between you and Jack and Jack to him as you got him to your car. There's something about a tamiflu prescription and calling if you need anything and take it easy and listen to her. He's pretty sure he sleeps most of the short drive home, head pressed against the cool glass of the car, his chills having passed and turned into sweats as he tries to cool down.

Robby wakes up more when you pull into his place and help him get out. He doesn't notice the duffel bag with you, the one you already had packed to take to his place since you were supposed to be staying the next few nights anyway. When you get in he starts walking towards the bathroom, you watching carefully to make sure he's awake and okay enough to not stumble and fall.

"I'm gonna shower before I get in bed," he tells you as grabs an old shirt and pair of boxers and then opens the door to the master bath.

You eye him wearily. "Do you think I should help you with that?"

He'd make a joke about you just wanting to see him naked if he didn't feel so fucking miserable. "No. This is really not how I want to look when you see me naked for the first time." It might be stupid but he hates the thought of you seeing him so weak.

"You really think that matters to me, Michael? That I'm going to think any less of you or find you less attractive?" You raise your eyebrows at him a little.

"No, but it matters to me," he admits lowly.

You take in a breath and nod. You can understand that. If the situation were reversed you're sure you wouldn't want him seeing you naked like that for the first time. The thought of him showering alone worries you some though.

"I'll sit or call for you if I feel at all dizzy or like I'm going to pass out, I promise," he tries to reassure you. "And it's not going to be long, just enough to rinse. Bed sounds so good right now."

You give him a soft laugh through your nose even as some anxiety twists your stomach. But there's no intuition telling you not to let him shower alone. "Okay. I'll be right here if you need me."

"I mean I always need you," he jokes through a raspy voice that makes him wince.

"Same," you remind him. "So be careful."

While he showers you check on the groceries you scheduled to be delivered. Robby's even quicker than you imagined he would be, truly doing the bare minimum washing his hair and body with no soaking. Standing is too tiring.

His wet hair makes him look so boyish you can't help but smile even with as poorly as his posture and face tell you he's feeling. "Let's get you in bed." You stand up so that he can get in on his side of the bed. Robby doesn't need to be told twice, humming in response as he climbs in and curls up on his side, his eyes fighting to stay open the second his head hits the pillow. "Rest now, Baby."

You step back from the bed and move towards the door and not the other side of the bed to get in. Robby doesn't know how to ask. Or maybe it's just that he's scared of asking and facing your rejection as irrational as he knows that thought likely is. But he wants you. He wants you to stay. He wants to curl up on you or against you or have you hold him and let him be the little spoon.

"Stay," he whispers so quietly you almost miss it as you reach the door. "Please."

You look back at him and even in just the ambient lighting slipping in through the curtains and from the rest of the house through the open door you can see his brown eyes pleading with you. It's not even the puppy dog looks he gives you on occasion. These eyes reveal how vulnerable he's being by asking, how worried he is you'll say no and leave him to care for himself, how he feels like he doesn't know how to ask, how he's not used to being cared for how you've cared for him up to now.

"Of course," you smile at him, "I brought a whole bag and everything." You nod over at the duffel. "I got some groceries delivered that I'm going to put away quickly and then grab a few things and I'll be right back. I promise. You're not getting rid of me, Robinavitch. I'll be here taking care of you until you're better."

"Thank you," he whispers with a small smile. He feels a little bad for doubting you but he's so used to having significant others leave figuring that he can take care of himself since he's a doctor. And he can, sure. But it's nice not to have to.

You're true to your word, grabbing the groceries from the front door and only bothering to put the perishables away, leaving the rest on the counter for later. You grab some drinks and snacks for the both of you, all the meds you need, your phone and a charger and head back into Robby's room. "I'm back," you whisper in case he's asleep, setting everything on the nightstand on your side of the bed as quietly as possible.

"Good," he mumbles.

With him half asleep you stand behind Robby and slip into an old t-shirt you sleep in and a pair of pajama shorts. "Do you want me close or do you like some space when you're sick?" you ask as you slide in bed next to him.

Robby groans to himself as he rolls over so he can see you. He hasn't been this sick with such bad body aches in a long time. "Close." He smiles sheepishly at you. "If that's okay. It's okay if it's not."

"It's more than okay, it's what I was hoping you'd say, selfishly." His brows raise in slight confusion at that. "Having you close is reassuring. I feel like I can keep a better eye on you. So you get me into whatever position you'd like that's comfy for you and then get back to sleep," you say with mock sternness and a smile. You lean over to kiss his forehead before laying back on your pillow and nodding at him encouragingly. You get the feeling you may have just awakened a clingy monster in him and you love it and are so ready for it.

It takes him a second to move because he's still a bit stunned that you're really here taking care of him and letting him move you into the position he wants. Putting his comfort and care first. That you're willing to be stuck under him while he sleeps, especially when he's probably going to get you all sweaty at some point. He can't remember the last time he was taken care of like this, the last time he was allowed to just be sick and lean into it and feel miserable and cling to his partner. But then he supposes he's never had his person while this sick.

Robby moves you just a little, lowering himself on top of you so he can sleep on you, his head on your chest, arms under your shoulders and his chest and abdomen pressed to your abdomen until his body hits the bed between your legs. You have your arms wrapped around him and your legs over his as much as possible before he can even ask if this position is okay and you're comfortable. He lets himself relax against you completely.

"Does this hurt?" you ask as you start running your hand through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp intermittently, conscious of him having a headache earlier.

"It feels so fuckin' good," Robby groans, melting further against you somehow. "Thanks for taking care of me."

His words are adorably sleep slurred and you giggle a little. "Of course, Baby. I always will. Whenever you need."

You're not sure how much time has passed when there's a knock on your door. Whoever it is doesn't wait for you to call out a come in. You know it has to be Jack then because the nurses and doctors always announce themselves as they walk in and nobody else would walk in without getting your okay first. You're surprised he came.

Jack closes the door and raises his eyebrows at you slightly. "Told you I'd come check on you after I got him safe." He grabs what used to be Robby's chair and slides it over closer to your bed, sits in it.

You assume Jack doesn't really want to be here. Not if Robby told him how fucking awful you were. You and Jack are close but not as close or in the same way as he and Robby. "He asked you to come check on me?"

Jack takes a breath in and holds it, clearly trying to think of what to say. You already know the answer. He lets the breath out and confirms it. "No, he didn't."

The flood of hurt and shame that overwhelms you makes it difficult to even look in Jack's direction. You know you have no right to feel hurt by that. Robby shouldn't care about you, not after what you said. You stare down at your hands, fiddle with your fingers in your lap. "Where is he?"

He lets out a breath and sinks into the chair a little more. "With Dana."

You let out a huff of air in an attempt at a sad laugh. "She's going to fucking hate me when he tells her what I said."

"She's not going to hate you." Jack shoots you a pointed look.

"Yes she will. Or even if she doesn't, she'll never forgive me even if Michael does. She has the softest of soft spots for him, you know that." You shake your head and sigh. "I don't want to argue about that right now, Jack. Please."

He nods. You hate yourself for thinking it but god you wish Robby would've done what Jack just did and not force a conversation on you.

"What were you going to do if I couldn't get away or wasn't here?" There's genuine curiosity in his voice.

You shrug. "Go after him myself."

Jack blinks at you and nods slowly. "You struggle to walk without assistance still," he points out.

You laugh sadly and return your gaze to Jack. "It would amaze you what a woman is capable of doing to make sure the love of her life doesn't kill himself."

"True." He smiles at you.

"I would have literally dragged myself around looking for him if that's what it came to." You swallow hard and look away from Jack. "Was he thinking about it?" you ask quietly. You already know the answer, but you need Jack to confirm it.

"Yeah," Jack nods, "pretty seriously too I think, honestly. He was on the roof, but that's not how he'd do it. It's just where he'd find the resolve to do it."

Despite knowing it was coming, Jack's answer is still like a knife to whatever tiny piece of your heart is left. You made Robby want to kill himself. You made your Michael want to kill himself. A few tears slide down your cheeks at the thought. Jack grabs a tissue from the box and hands you it.

"I just made him want to kill himself, Jack," you sniffle, voice unrecognizably high-pitched as you try not to completely lose it. "How do we ever come back from that?"

He shakes his head. "I understand why you feel like that and it's valid to feel like that, but we both know that's not true, that it doesn't work like that. It wasn't you that made him get to that point."

You know Jack's right, but your heart won't let you believe him right now. Robby wanted to kill himself because of you. Because of what you did to him. "It was my words. How I treated him. How I kicked him out and said I was done even when I'm not and said I didn't know if I'd want him to come back when I know I will. Did he tell you? What I said? About Leah." You blot away your tears.

"He did, yeah." Jack grimaces. "Pretty rough," he admits, not shying away from it like some people might, "but so was everything he said to you in the supply closet from what he's told me. Not that it's a tit for tat thing and the two just nullify each other, I know."

You're quiet for a moment. "Yeah, but all he was doing when I fucking threw Leah in his face was trying to help. That's all he's been doing this entire time. Showing up for me and helping and supporting me. Trying to stop my depression from taking my progress from me, fighting it when I wasn't. Moving into the hospital for me. Putting his entire fucking life on hold. And I said thank you by yelling at him, using one of his most horrific traumas against him, kicking him out and making him want to kill himself."

"You're his entire fucking life," Jack pushes back a little.

"Was," you murmur. Jack raises an eyebrow at you. "I was his entire fucking life. Now I'm just what makes him want to end it."

"No," Jack shakes his head. "He-"

"He wouldn't have been up on the roof if I hadn't said what I did and kicked him out, Jack!" you cut him off. "He was down, he has been down since this happened, since the morning of the day of PittFest and I fucking took advantage of it and kicked him while he was down. Stomped on him. Shoved a fucking knife in his heart. I mean what the fuck? What the fuck was I doing? I don't know how to ask him to forgive me. I don't know if he should, or if he should even consider it. It was fucking deliberate, Jack. I brought her up deliberately because I wanted him to hurt like he made me hurt in the supply closet and I wanted him to just shut up and leave me alone." You pause and shake your head. "I just wanted an hour of space and instead I made him want to kill himself."

"It's not you. It's not. He doesn't blame you, he's not thinking oh she was so mad at me and said this hurtful thing and kicked me out and I'm so hurt by her and sad because of her that I want to kill myself. He blames himself. He thinks it's him, that he pushed you and he lost you and so it's his fault. He traces it all the way back. If he hadn't said what he did in the supply closet you wouldn't have gotten hurt and you wouldn't be in the hospital and this wouldn't have happened." Jack catches your eye contact and holds it. "It's not you."

You want to believe him, you really do. But it's hard to. "I don't know, Jack. Post hoc ergo propter hoc."

"Is a literal logical fallacy," he cuts you off. "I know you know that."

"You're not going to get me to change my mind right now Jack." You shrug. "We're just going to go in circles and that's not fair to you. It's a waste of your time and I'm sure you need to get back down there."

"I have time," he says definitively.

"Spend it on something better, something worthwhile," you fire back.

Jack keeps your gaze again for a couple of seconds before looking away and letting the silence live. Again he doesn't force the conversation on you, and again you find yourself wishing Robby could've been like him.

After a few minutes, though, Jack does break the silence. He looks like he just put something together. "You said goodbye." You look at him questioningly, shaking your head slightly. "When you called me. You didn't say bye. You said goodbye, right after asking me to tell Robby you love him and that you're sorry."

You blink at him, trying to play it off so he'll let it go even though you know he won't. "And?"

He cocks his head at you, gives you a look that tells you he knows you know what he's talking about. "You gonna try?"

"Does it matter if I do?" you mumble.

"Yeah," Jack scoffs a laugh. "Especially if you succeed." He shakes his head at you and lets out another long breath. "There's no talking Robby off that roof."

You shrug. "He'd be fine. Might take a while, but he would be. I mean truly, Jack, he didn't even ask you to check on me."

"We both know that's bullshit. I know your brain is being a dick and won't let you see it, but we both know that's bullshit. And I think we both know your justification isn't that you think he'd be fine and survive it, but that you think he'd be better off if you were dead." You look away from him at that because it's true and you hate that he could see it so easily and that he called you on it. "I cannot tell you how wrong that is. He wouldn't be."

"That was fucking rude," you mutter. You're not mad at him, you're annoyed with yourself for being so transparent right now. You prefer hiding and dealing with things on your own, especially something like this.

Jack cracks a little smile at that for a second, but grows serious again. "Do you have a plan?"

You sigh, rub your hands over your face. "No. I just thought about doing it. That maybe it would be what's best for him and the best apology I could give him. I thought about how I could leave a note or record a video apologizing and stuff. I'm too tired to think of a plan, much less figure out how to execute it here."

Jack nods slowly and leans forward in the chair. He squeezes your forearm with one hand to get you to look at him. "I watched that man sob like I've never seen from him before, watched him come fully fucking unglued in observation while watching you be operated on out of sheer fear of losing you. Twice. And I watched him sob just as hard tonight if not harder because he thinks he has lost you, that there's no hope for the two of you because of his actions and words."

You don't think the two of you are beyond hope. The thought kind of makes you sick because it's Michael. You need him and you want him. You love him. Even after what he said in the supply closet and the way he wouldn't leave you alone. "We're not, things aren't…I," you stutter. "There is hope, Jack. I don't want him to think there's not, you have to tell him there is."

"I know," Jack nods, "and I did. I was just able to talk him down and get him to see that there is hope, so I promise you that I know he would not be fine if you killed yourself. If you weren't alive and there was literally no hope, I wouldn't have been able to talk him down tonight. He'd be 302-ed and in the hospital. It took a lot but eventually I got him to believe that there's at least some hope and so he agreed to go to Dana's. I don't know how long his belief will last, but the fact that you are still alive and that there is still hope for the two of you is what he's clinging to."

Jack's eyes plead with you to believe him. "I know your brain is telling you something else and that it's much easier to believe it than me but your brain is wrong. If you killed yourself he wouldn't be fine, it wouldn't be what's best for him, it wouldn't be some act of love setting him free or the best apology or whatever else your brain is telling you to try and justify it. It would destroy him. The exact same way him killing himself would destroy you."

Your chin and lips tremble as Jack speaks, the urge to cry growing stronger and stronger. "I…" Hot tears slide down your cheeks and over the back of your hand as you bring it to your mouth to cover your sobs. "I'm sorry," you finally choke out between sobs, dropping your hand, "I'm sorry, Jack." You gulp in hiccuped breaths trying in vain to calm yourself down, use the tissues Jack places in your lap to wipe your tears and nose.

"I love him. I really do, I, I, I promise I do and I miss him," your voice breaks at the end. "I hate myself and I feel awful, and I," your voice breaks and you take in a shuddery breath as the tears fall harder. "I'm so tired," you whisper, barely audible. "In every sense of the word, in every way. I'm so fucking tired, Jack." Even you can hear the defeat and aching sadness in your voice.

"I know," Jack whispers, "I know." And you know he does, know he gets it better than most. "I think you're overly tired right now and it's been a very difficult and long day and you need to get some sleep. At the very least it should help you feel a bit more in control when you wake up."

You nod, knowing he's right as scary as trying to sleep and being left alone with your thoughts feels. "I feel like I don't even know how to sleep without him at least in the room," you sniffle sadly.

"You want me to have Dana bring him back?" Jack asks with a small tilt of his head.

"I, I…" You shake your head, sobbing so hard you choke on your breath a little. "I still need space, I hate, I hate it but I do." While you do feel like you still need some space, there's a part of you, however irrational, that worries Robby wouldn't come back. "I'm too tired to talk and I can't, can't have him refuse to listen and stop talking. I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry for all of this."

"Hey, hey," Jack says softly, his hand squeezing your forearm gently again, "you have nothing to apologize for, especially not to me. And you're allowed to need space. Do you want me to talk to your doctor and get you something to help you sleep?" You nod at him while trying to pull yourself together. "Okay."

Jack calls your nurse and gets her to speak with your doctor. She comes back into your room a few minutes later with some meds, administers them and then leaves you and Jack alone once more.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep," Jack tells you quietly.

"You don't have to do that." You dab at your eyes and blow your nose, calming down some as you feel sleep coming for you quickly.

"I know," he nods. You can feel him looking at you for a couple of seconds before he speaks further. "Can I tell him what you said earlier? That you're not done and you know you'll want him to come back."

"You can tell him whatever you want Jack," you shrug, taking in a big shuddery breath and then yawning. Your eyelids flutter as you fight to keep them open. "Who knows what good it'll really do. Because once he sleeps and gets some clarity and is rational… I won't be anything in his life anymore. He'll realize there's no way to forgive me, that he shouldn't. And I'll have lost him."

"I don't think that's true, but just get some sleep right now, okay?" Jack's voice sounds far away as your eyes close.

All you can do is hum in acknowledgment at him as you slip under.

"You have plans the third weekend in August, just so you know. Make sure you don't double book yourself," Robby murmurs in your ear, stepping up behind you while you look at the August schedule in the breakroom.

You smile amusedly to yourself and tilt your head, look at Robby as he walks by you to head to the floor. "What exactly are said plans? Because I don't remember making any."

Robby fake gasps as you step out onto the floor together. "That Saturday is our four month anniversary! How could you forget? I'm hurt."

You snort at him. "That feels vaguely ad hominem given that asking what the plans are because I don't remember making any doesn't mean I didn't remember it was our four month anniversary."

"Did you?" Robby smirks.

"No," you admit, "but I also don't know what today is Michael. The day or date. Right now I'm in days are either a work day or an off day mode. Though I can tell you this Saturday is a full moon."

"I'm sensing there's a story to you knowing that," Robby observes as you walk up to the hub.

"I don't work that Saturday and so Jack asked me if I'd cover his shift for him, which I actually almost did just for the night shift throwback, but he had no real reason for wanting it covered which was suspicious. So I looked up the date and there it was. Full moon. So I told him I'd have to pass." You smirk as Jack walks up for hand off and stands on the other side of Robby. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear."

Jack raises his eyebrows and cocks his head. "And why were you speaking of me?"

You smile sweetly at him. "I was sharing that you tried to trick me into working a night shift on a full moon."

"Ha!" Jack laughs. "Trick is a strong word." He looks at Robby.

"I'm taking you to my cabin up on the lake that weekend. We'll head up Friday, come back Monday night. I made sure we both had the time off." Robby smiles down at you.

"Oh the betrayal!" You clutch at your heart dramatically. "Changing the subject for your bestie instead of supporting your girlfriend in making his trick by omission ways known! Maybe you should take Jack instead?"

"Already been," Jack smirks at you. "Multiple times. Have my own room and everything."

You roll your eyes at him, all of the teasing between you and Jack good natured and fun. "Well he's going to like being there with me more than with you." You raise your eyebrows in a 'take that' way.

Jack's smirk remains as he raises his own eyebrows back at you in an amused challenge. "Why's that?"

It's still just the three of you in a row on one side of the hub so you lean forward a bit so you're pressed against the counter and able to look at Jack better. You narrow your eyes and smirk at him, lower your voice a little. "Because with me he gets to spend all weekend doing whatever he usually does with you with me and he gets to spend all weekend in my pu-"

"Okay!" Robby interjects, drawing the word out and clapping his hands. His cheeks and neck are slightly flushed as he clears his throat, nods to the others now coming over. "Handoff time. What should we know Dr. Abbot?"

You and Jack both burst into laughter and bump Robby with your sides. Jack pulls it together and starts running the board and it's not long before assignments have been given and everyone is dissipating into the madness.

"Hey," you say softly to Robby before he can walk away. You smile at him and squeeze his forearm. "Thank you. For planning the trip to the cabin. I'm really looking forward to it."

The time between Robby telling you about the trip to the cabin and actually getting to the cabin goes by surprisingly fast.

The cabin is on Sandy Lake, a little over an hour from Pittsburgh, has a private dock and, according to Robby is 'secluded enough' and 'nice enough.' You're particularly intrigued to find out what nice enough means to him because he'd seemed almost embarrassed when he told you. As far as you're concerned, as long as it's clean, has a bed, indoor plumbing and electricity it will be perfect.

Robby's hand rests on your thigh as he drives the two of you up there, looking painfully handsome and hot in his sunglasses and buffalo plaid flannel. It's not really fall in August in Pennsylvania, the leaves haven't really started turning, but there's a cold front moving through that has dropped the temperature enough for jeans and flannels and cabin coziness, especially at night.

You rest your hand on top of Robby's, play with his fingers at times while chattering away how you do. He loves it about you. That you know when it's okay and when to stop because he needs quiet without him saying anything. You can just read him. He keeps glancing over at you to admire your profile especially when the late morning sun streams in your window and backlights your face so perfectly.

The outside of the cabin is unassuming as you pull up, no neighbors in sight. It's a classic wooden cabin with no outside frills. It looks big enough without being too big and is framed beautifully by a mix of evergreen and deciduous trees and the lake behind it. It's beautiful now but it must be something else during peak fall and in the snow.

"It's beautiful, Michael," you murmur as he parks. Robby gives you a lopsided smile as he gets out of the car and gets your door and the bags you'd packed together for the long weekend.

You take in a deep breath once you're outside and have taken a few steps from the car. "God, the air here, it's so…" You try to think of a word as you tip your head back and close your eyes, a sliver of sun peaking through the trees and warming your face a little.

"Clean?" Robby volunteers with a smirk while unlocking the front door.

"Well I was trying to find a more elegant word, but yes. Clean." You take in another breath and look around more. "Fresh. And crisp."

Robby watches you take it all in. He could watch you like this forever, the way your eyes delicately trace your surroundings and your mouth so seamlessly moves into different expressions. The cuteness aggression slams into him and he has the urge to go squeeze you what would surely be too tight and bite you when he watches you smile brightly when you see a chipmunk on one of the trees.

"Alright, clean, fresh, and crisp, would you like to see the inside?" he calls to you after a few minutes.

"Yeah, sorry!" You smile as you turn and walk to the front door. "I got distracted."

Robby smiles at you just as hard. You think it almost looks longing in a way, like you're not right here and his. It's a feeling you understand well. "Nothing to apologize for Kid." He leans down and kisses you sweetly before opening the door for you.

You walk in and the interior is equally as beautiful, the perfect balance of rustic cabin with modern touches. It's an open floor plan, the kitchen, dining room and living room not separated by any walls, the back wall all glass windows giving a stunning view of the lake. There's a beautiful real wood fireplace and immediately all you can think of is Michael fucking you in front of it when it's on at some point during the winter with snow falling outside.

"We need to work on your definition of nice enough, Michael." You glance at him as you walk over to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. "Because this is quite far beyond nice enough."

Robby lets out a bit of a relieved sigh, watching you as you stick your head in the spare room and guest bathroom. He was pretty sure you'd like it but he was worried anyway that you wouldn't. You heading into the master bedroom spurs Robby to follow you, bringing the bags with your clothes and toiletries with him.

"Very nice," you say softly as you walk in. There's a plush king size bed in an understated, beautiful rustic bed frame with a slatted headboard, typical bedroom furniture and beautiful photographs of what look to be the area decorating the walls. "I like the headboard," you wink at him.

You stop walking when you hit the en suite. "Wow." The bathroom itself is, of course, beautiful like the rest of the cabin, but it's the tub that makes you stop. Next to the shower is the biggest and deepest clawfoot tub you've ever seen. It's obviously made to be big enough for two people, even if one of them is Robby size. The water spigot is on one side in the middle of the tub so that you can sit on either end and has a handheld shower head to rinse with. "That is a tub."

"Mhm," Robby hums, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. He rests his chin on your shoulder. "It's cast iron so it holds heat really, really well."

"Did it come with the place or did you buy it?" You lean your head against his, bring a hand up and rest it on the outside of his face at his jaw, fingers scratching through his beard how you've learned he loves.

"I'll consider telling you the story when we're in it together, okay?" he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut at how good you scratching through his beard feels.

"Consider?" you gasp, feigning shock and upset. "What can be so special about this tub you'll only consider it?"

Robby smiles to himself but you can feel it with how your faces are pressed together. He takes a breath in and pulls you against him tighter. "Maybe you'll find out," he teases. He turns his head and kisses your temple and then pulls away.

"I better find out," you grumble as you walk back out to the living room. "It really is gorgeous, Michael." You smile at him as you speak and then look around more.

"Sure is," he murmurs to himself, looking at you and not the cabin. "I'm glad you like it."

You walk slowly towards the glass door to the patio. "We're taking the tub. If we sell this place and buy a new cabin at some point."

Robby frowns. He thought you liked the place but apparently not if you're already thinking about selling it. "Why would we do that?"

You turn at the door to look back at him, rest your hand on the door handle. "If we have kids we'll need a bigger one. Uncle Jack has to have his own room to brag about, right?"

The way you say it is so casual, like it's obvious, like the first sentence doesn't rock Robby's world and turn his brain to static every time he hears you say something about having kids.

You don't wait for Robby's answer, turning around and opening the door so you can step out onto the patio. It's a raised deck with railing running along the sides. It's big enough for a nice size patio table and chairs and a grill with space to spare. A set of steps coming off it lead down to the grassy area in front of the lake that turns into a small, more tiny pebbles than sand beach. The stairs connect with a walkway leading from them to the private dock. Robby told you he has a small fishing boat in the shed off to the side.

While you're on the patio looking around, Robby is stuck in his spot in the cabin, his mind replaying you saying if we have kids over and over and over. His head is a little fuzzy and he can never decide if it's truly because of your words and the thought of having kids with you or because the words and thoughts send what feels like all the blood in his body to his cock.

And this is you. This is a you thing. The idea of having kids with any of his previous girlfriends didn't make him react like this. He didn't have this breeding kink as you call it until you. He doesn't think he really wanted kids, Jake aside of course, until you. The thought of having kids with you makes him as emotional as it does horny if he thinks about it for too long. The idea that you want to have his child, want to let him get you pregnant and mix your genetics with his and bring his baby, potentially babies, into the world all perfect and innocent and good and half you and half him is something he struggles to wrap his head around and that he isn't sure he deserves and that leaves him wanting to cry.

Robby forces himself to come back to and move so that he's following you out onto the patio. But exploration and looking around time is over for now.

"We could also just build onto this place. I'd kind of like that because this place feels perfect," you say when you hear Robby walk onto the patio, still looking out at the lake. "A couple bedrooms, a play room that could turn into a game room as everyone gets older, maybe. I don't know what the building codes and permitting processes are-"

You yelp a little as Robby grabs your hips and spins you so that you're looking at him. "Say that first part again." His voice strains against the words.

Your brows furrow a little, confused by the sudden intensity and hunger that Robby's looking down at you with. "We could also just build onto this place?"

A week has passed since Robby last saw you and spoke to you.

Seven days.

Robby can't remember the last time he's gone an entire week without seeing you. He's not sure he ever has. You never took a long vacation during your residency. Neither did he. Every conference you went to he ended up going to as well and those were never a week anyway.

And now it's been a whole week without you.

He throws himself into work to avoid having to think about it, seven shifts in seven days with no intention of taking a break anytime soon. The more days that pass the less people look at him with what he thinks are pitying eyes. He goes straight from work to Dana or Jack's. He makes himself keep his therapy appointment that week but it's a quiet session. Sometimes he puts something on the TV and zones out on the couch but every show and movie seem to remind him of you. So more often than not he just leaves work and goes straight to bed.

It makes it seem like he should be well-rested, like he's getting the most sleep he's gotten in a long time but it's terrible sleep. He tosses and turns the entire time, dreams of you and things that could've been. Things that were.

He doesn't understand it. Jack told him what you said that night it all happened, that you weren't done and you knew you'd want him to come back. It had given him hope, more hope than he had after he and Jack spoke that night. Hope he let himself buy into fully. And then this. He knows it should make sense with Jack also telling him that you said you hated yourself and were beating yourself up for what you said.

But he just can't wrap his mind around it. Or maybe he can and just won't let himself.

The complicated grief and sadness and hurt and feelings in general fuck with his mind. Because, yeah, he misses you, wishes you guys could talk and figure it out, but you still said what you did. You hurt him, so incredibly deeply. You threw his trauma in his face and he struggles to know what to do with that. How to forgive and heal. He's not sure he'll ever be able to figure it out by himself, without you.

Over the week patients come in that are particularly difficult for Robby to see and treat. Assault victims with head injuries, head injuries in general, seizures.

Dana finds him alone outside after one such patient. She was around your age, talking one moment and seizing the next, rushed to surgery with her partner looking on hopelessly and terrified. It was close to home to say the least. "You okay?"

Robby starts to nod but he turns it into shaking his head. Of course he's not okay. Of course he's thinking about you. What's the point in denying it?

"No," he mutters, running a hand through his hair and then grabbing the back of his neck. "Everything reminds me of her. Patients like that. Ordering certain meds because she was on them. Even certain BP and pulse readings I remember her having, sometimes. And then there's all the shit that happens down here that I know I'd go home and tell her about if we weren't working together for some reason. All the things she'd laugh about if she saw. I swear I can hear her laugh in my head sometimes like she's standing right beside me. Sometimes I see something and make a mental note to remember so I can tell her once I'm off and then I remember. I can't. Because she's… not here."

"I know, Hon," Dana murmurs, squeezing his arm with a small, sympathetic smile.

"I don't know how to do this Dana." Robby bites his lip to fight back the tears and try to hide the way it trembles. "I don't know how to keep pretending everything is okay."

"You don't have to pretend," she reminds him.

"Yeah I do or I'll fall apart," he admits with a shrug. "I can't stop. I try so hard not to let myself feel anything, to avoid that part of reality right now. And I know it's not healthy but it's the only thing keeping me on my feet, and no, I don't know what I'm going to do once my ability to avoid it goes away."

"Jack and I aren't going to let you self-destruct, Robby. No matter how much you want to." She moves to stand by him and wraps an arm around him.

"I'd do anything, Dana," Robby says through a shaky breath, "I'd give fucking anything to go back in time and make it so that none of this happened."

"I know you would and I wish I could help you and give you that option," Dana murmurs, face furrowed in concern and empathy.

"I know, thank you." Robby shakes his head and takes in a deep breath. "We've gotta go back inside, I can't stay out here, it's all slipping away from me and I can't."

He and Dana walk back inside and he heads to the men's room to splash some water on his face. He's surprised when Jack walks in. It's only three or so. "Why are you here so early?"

Jack shakes his head as he runs his eyes over the stalls to make sure all the doors are open and the two are alone. "I'm not. I don't work today, I'm just here to visit." The water Robby's splashed on his face and is trying to dry must be a giveaway. "Bad day?"

"They all are anymore," Robby shrugs.

"That's fair." Jack takes a couple of steps closer to Robby. "Anything in particular about today?"

"Patient that reminded me of her." Robby sighs heavily. "I swear everything everywhere reminds me of her, but especially here. It makes it hard to be here sometimes. And then I think about how fucking lucky I am to get to be here, to have all this as a distraction because she's sitting up there alone most of the day except when she gets visitors and she hates that, I know."

Jack nods. "Yeah, she mentioned it when I visited her yesterday."

Robby tilts his head at Jack slowly, face setting. "Mentioned what?"

"That she's been feeling the loneliness and that I'm the only one who's been to see her." Jack frowns.

"Oh my fucking god," Robby breathes out, his heart shattering at the thought. He turns around so his back is to Jack and leans on one forearm against the wall. He's trying to curb the overwhelming urge to give into his trembling chin and cry. He doesn't know what he expected but he thought the others would have tried to see you, Dana, though Robby supposes she's been busy babysitting him when she's not at work for the most part.

He knows how much you hate feeling alone, how hard of an emotion it is for you to cope with, how depressed and anxious it gets you and how fast. That's why you only asked for space. You just wanted a little time alone, not enough to feel truly lonely. And then Robby pushed you and you kicked him out and you've effectively been alone for an entire week. He's made you be alone for an entire week.

He hates this. He hates all of it so much he could scream and it wouldn't come anywhere near close to catharsis. He hates that he caused it and that he can't fix it and the thought of you all alone.

"In fairness to the others, she hadn't wanted visitors before and they're just trying to respect that, I think," Jack offers.

"Did any of them think to fucking ask her when they noticed me working full time again out of the blue?" He doesn't need Jack to tell him the answer. Robby turns back to Jack. "She's been alone except for you this entire time?" Jack nods.

Robby wants to be sick. That is so much time alone. Alone with your thoughts. And he knows your thoughts can get dark like his, even if you've never explicitly told him you've been suicidal before. He just knows.

But up until now Robby hadn't even considered the possibility that maybe you'd want to take your own life. It hadn't been on his radar, wasn't something he thought about or was worried about. Now it seems obvious and he feels like an idiot and a piece of shit for not realizing you might be suicidal and that maybe he should've sent someone to you that night. He knows Jack went to see you but that's not the same as him sending Jack to you the way you sent Jack to him.

"It's gotta be a miracle she's even fucking alive," Robby mumbles, a thinly veiled ask for Jack to confirm what just occurred to him. He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head, still struggling to process just the idea of a reality where you do that. Take your own life. Maybe he's wrong. He hopes he's wrong.

"Less a miracle and more a safety plan discussed and adjusted as needed every day," Jack admits. "She's never had a plan, just ideation. And it's not just me, she decided to pull a psychiatrist and a therapist in. I know that much."

Jack's words, his confirmation, rock Robby. You were suicidal. You are. His girl. His woman. Thinking about killing herself. Seriously enough to have Jack making a fucking safety plan with you. And he can't even be there for you because he pushed you away. He stops breathing for a minute from how badly his heart and entire being fucking hurt at the thought.

Obviously he knows what it feels like to be that low, to be suffering so greatly that your mind turns on you, how truly fucking awful those emotions are to feel and endure. Even he hasn't been suicidal the entire time. It's ebbed and flowed with how much he's able to remind himself of the hope, but it doesn't appear the same can be said for you. The night on the roof was his worst night. The rest has been passive in comparison.

Robby never truly stops to consider why you're suicidal, why you might think it's a good idea, what's underlying those thoughts. It's like his brain can't let himself go there. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jack shrugs. "You weren't thinking about it and it didn't seem like it would do any good to tell you. It wouldn't have helped her or you."

"I hate this Jack, I hate this so fucking much." Robby paces a little. "I feel like I'm slowly losing my fucking mind and bleeding out and I know that's melodramatic but it's suffocating knowing she's up there and struggling and now knowing she's ideating and I can't do fucking anything about it because I fucked up so badly."

He runs both hands through his hair, hunching his shoulders and dropping them. "I need to see her Jack. God, even to just lay eyes on her at this point. I miss her more than I know what to do with and I need to fucking see her. I need to tell her, beg her, whatever, to not do that, to try and help her not feel that way, not even have the thoughts. I need her to know I love her. I want to say fuck it and go back to her but I know that'll just obliterate any hope."

"I know," Jack murmurs, seeming to know there's really nothing else he could say that would help Robby or that Robby wants to hear. "But she knows you love her."

"How bad has it been for her?" Robby's voice is quiet. It sounds like he almost doesn't want to know the answer. In a way he doesn't, not unless it's good news.

"It's clearly and visibly been… difficult." Robby knows that pause and search for the right word means it's been fucking awful. "She just looks sad and defeated, you know? She doesn't seem to be eating much or sleeping well. That spark she normally has is still missing."

Robby's face breaks, the way he's hurting and the depth of it so clear. "Is she doing any therapy? Maintaining things physically?"

"I don't know. I haven't brought it up. I don't want to push her." Jack pauses and then lets out a breath. "Listen, I'm gonna go visit her right now and feel out how she's doing today and see what I can find out and share, okay?"

"Yeah," Robby whispers, resigned. He wants to go. He wants to be the one to talk to you. But he can't be. You don't want him to be. "Okay."

The two walk out of the bathroom, Jack turning to go to the elevators and Robby walking back towards the hub.

Robby's attention is quickly drawn to the ambulance bay doors, the paramedics, Mateo, Mel and Trinity all attempting to get the extremely combative man on the gurney under control as they wheel him towards trauma 2, the guys' head wound sending blood everywhere. Robby immediately grabs gloves from his pocket and puts them on as he takes off after them. "Where are we on sedation?" he poses to the group as he steps in the room. "This guy is going to hurt someone if we don't get him under control."

"We could also just build onto this place?"

"No," Robby shakes his head, voice low in that way that makes you shiver, "before that. Before your question."

You look away from him as you replay the conversation in your head. You said you guys would need a bigger place, that you had to have a room for Jack, right? If we have kids. If we have kids.

It clicks immediately, your mind going back to that day after work where you'd asked if he was keeping a breeding kink from you and he'd showed you all about said breeding kink. You hadn't said it deliberately right now, weren't trying to rile him up or instigate anything. It was just a natural thought you had looking around the place and thinking about times you might come here in the future.

You look back at Robby and let a slow smirk pull onto your face. This time you play it up, drop your voice and make it a little breathy. "If we have kids."

Robby's jaw clenches hard as he hears you say it again, eyes now more black than brown as they pierce into yours. His breathing becomes a bit harder, enough so that you can really see his chest moving with every breath even with your eyes locked with his. His hands squeeze your hips and then drop from them. "Go get on the bed."

It's an instruction, an order, low and husky and with a thin edge of something almost dangerous in the most delicious way.

You don't drop your smirk, nor do you make any movement to follow Robby's instruction. "Or?"

Robby doesn't move. "Go. Get. On. The. Bed." You know that tone and this seriousness, the emphasis on every word and what it all means. It's not the time to be bratty. He is not fucking around. You give him a single nod and move to do as instructed.

A few hours later once you've regained the ability to walk normally and have woken up from being damn near literally burrowed into Robby and held so tightly during the most intense and perfect post-sex nap of your life, he takes you on a drive to show you the area and the two of you stop at the grocery to pick up whatever you didn't bring from home.

By the time you get home you're both hungry enough for dinner and spend the evening cooking and eating and drinking together, and now you find yourself with your back pressed against Robby's chest in the clawfoot tub with only candles lighting the room. He put a bath melt in while running it so the just below scalding water smells incredible and is satin soft and lets skin run along skin even easier. Romance you never thought you'd have.

The two of you have already been soaking for a bit, chatting and just enjoying each other. Robby's hands roam your body as he holds you close against him, a firm enough touch not to be too teasing, but his hands on your naked body are always somewhat teasing just the same. Both of you would be happy to stay here forever, think about how you can't lose this, can't lose each other.

"So what's the story with the tub?" you finally ask.

You feel the vibration of his chest when Robby chuckles lowly. "I appreciate you giving us some time in here together and not asking the second we were in."

"I can control myself on occasion," you giggle as Robby holds you tighter to him.

"It's kind of embarrassing," he groans. "Or maybe it's just creepy and so that's why it feels embarrassing."

You click your tongue at him. "Well now you have to tell me."

"We both know I was always going to tell you," Robby murmurs as he presses a kiss to the side of your hair.

"True," you hum.

He lets his lips linger and then pulls away. "I bought this place four years ago, just a bit before you started at the Pitt and changed my entire world. I've spent the last four years remodeling and updating parts-"

"Like with your own two hands, or?" you interrupt him.

"Some of it, yeah. Jack helped with some of it. I had to hire a contractor for some stuff simply because I just didn't have the time, I couldn't be up here enough to get everything I wanted done in a timely fashion and without leaving parts half-done for months until I could get back up here." He makes a little noise of consideration. "Some of the bigger electrical and plumbing work I still would have contracted out even if I had time. But I probably could have done 90% of it myself."

"That's so fucking hot," you sigh happily. "I always knew you were good with your hands obviously, but being able to do home improvement stuff. It's really doing a lot for the primal part of my brain looking for a mate that can provide. But continue."

Robby laughs because that entire thing was so you, especially the 'but continue' at the end. He can't imagine his life without you, how boring it would seem, how much less laughter there would be.

"Continuing on," he teases you with a gentle pinch to your side, "there was a night when you were an r3 where after a shift everyone went to the park and you, you'd had a bad day, like a really fucking bad day, but you went. You didn't say a word the entire time, we didn't drink and eventually we left when some others did and I started walking you home and it was silent between us because you were so out of it. As we were walking you very abruptly you grabbed my sleeve as we walked by-"

"That fucking diner," you laugh, the memory coming back to you. "Damn, I would so go back there, it was fucking good."

"It was very good, yeah," he agrees. "So you remember that night then."

You nod against him, smiling to yourself. "You asked what was up and I said that if it was okay with you I'd like to go inside this diner, have whatever pie or milkshake or dessert they recommended and then maybe cry in front of you because I really didn't want to do it at home alone tonight." A soft laugh falls off your lips as it replays in your head and you see Robby's reaction. "You were so deer in the headlights because I'd gone from not talking at all to being that honest. But you said okay and we got whatever and when I started crying you slid into my side of the booth and held me. And then somehow I stopped crying and we ended up ordering like an entire fucking breakfast spread. Yeah," your voice turns fond, "I remember."

"Well at that time I was redoing the master bath and once I was home that night I was looking at fixtures for it and you were still on my mind, of course." You hum happily at that, you always like hearing you stayed on his mind outside of work before you were together. "When I got to bathtubs I remembered this one time I overheard you talking to whoever at work and you said you love a good bath especially when you're sad but you don't have a tub at your place."

You stiffen in Robby's arms as it dawns on you. "Oh my god, Michael," you murmur before he can continue with his story. You sit up off his chest and turn in the water so that you're looking at him, face etched with soft disbelief. "You picked this tub for me."

Robby grimaces and nods slowly. "You got me," he sighs. "Creepy, I know."

"No," you shake your head at him, smiling at him lovingly."It's not creepy, I promise."

He laughs and gives you a really? look. "Your older attending thinking about you, his resident at the time, in his bathtub with him in his secluded lakeside cabin and choosing the tub he thought you'd like best, when you weren't together, isn't kind of creepy?"

You cock your head at him and give him a look back. "I mean Michael, by that point we both knew." You slide a hand up his chest and cup the side of his neck. "We'd almost kissed how many times by that point? You'd been to my place and I'd been to yours, just to hang out outside of work. We both knew what this was between us, that we were always going to end up here." You lean in and kiss him a few times and then pull back to look at him.

"So no, it's not creepy. It's not like it was some hidden thing where I didn't know you were interested in me and you didn't know I was interested in you and you were just having these thoughts about me without me knowing." You bite your lip and turn a bit sheepish yourself now, resettling yourself with your back against his chest. "If this makes you creepy then I was too, and worse, because it was around literally the same exact time that I first… touched myself while explicitly thinking about you."

Robby gasps in mock scandal. "That early on?"

He already knew you'd done it, the fact had come out at some point when you were having sex and dirty talk was being exchanged. You'd just never specified when you started doing it.

"That early on?" You huff at him. "It had been over two years already by that point! I was dying, Michael!"

He tuts teasingly but brings his lips to your ears, runs his hands down your body and over your thighs. "Was it good?" he murmurs, starting to press light kisses to your jaw and the side of your neck.

"Oh," you breathe out, turning your neck to give him more access. "It was so fucking good."

Robby hums against your skin, hands moving more and more inward on your thighs. "Wanna tell me what you imagined?"

"I'll consider telling you when we're in bed together." He can hear the smirk in your voice.

"You better." He nips at your neck and then soothes the spot with a kiss.

"This is so sweet, Michael. It's touching and romantic and I love it. It's perfect. You're perfect." You can feel him make a face. "Don't argue." Robby pulls his face from your neck when you turn your head to give him a fake stern look.

He smiles, trying to hold back his laugh at how cute you are. "Come here," he tells you. Your lips meet as both of you lean into each other, one kiss turning into the two of you making out in the tub Robby picked out for you, his tongue still a little fiery on yours from the whiskey he's been sipping.

When you're both breathless you settle back against Robby, sighing happily. You're already so used to this. Life with him as your love.

"I've wanted to bring you here for so long," Robby admits softly after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence. "Since before the tub was installed, but especially since then. There were times I thought about inviting you but I knew we'd break. I knew we'd end up in that bed together and then I knew we'd end up in this bath together."

"Would that have been so horrible?" you murmur.

"No," he says quickly, emphatically. "Not at all. But you are so incredibly smart and good at your job and I know everyone knows that and wouldn't have really thought you got an attending spot just because of me, but I didn't want to even chance your reputation. I didn't want to chance people thinking I played any role in that decision." His hands find and cover yours under the water, lacing your fingers together from the top and squeezing. "Trust me though, Kid, now that I have you I'm never letting you go."

"Good," you squeeze his hands back as much as you can, "because I'm not letting you go either." You're not certain of it, but with the time you got in the tub and how long it feels like you've been in here, you're pretty sure it must be past midnight. But even if it isn't, who cares if you're a little early. "Hey." You shift so that you're more on one side of Robby and can look up at him. "Happy four month anniversary, Baby."

A wide smile breaks over Robby's face as he looks down at you. He lets out a soft laugh almost of wonder. Like he can't believe he has you, let alone has had you for four months already. "Happy four month anniversary, Sweetheart."

The two of you share a few kisses, both of you unable to stop smiling long enough for any of them to turn into something sultrier. You look at each other as you pull away. Both of you feel it. Both of you want to say it. I love you. It's though you're each waiting for the other to say it, too scared to be the one to say it first and have it somehow ruin things. Like anything ever could.

Robby finally breaks the silence. "I want you to know that if you ever have a bad day or are sad or are feeling however, or if you just want a nice bath, I'll bring you up here. Whenever you want or need, it's only an hour away. So, eight a.m., noon, midnight, three in the morning," Robby smiles at you and nods once. "Whenever you need."

You didn't mean for this much time to pass.

You never wanted an entire week to go by. You definitely didn't need a week's worth of space. But the problem is that the more time that goes by the harder it is for you to figure out how to ask Robby to come back.

So you sleep. A lot. Probably too much. None of it's particularly restful though. It doesn't leave you feeling refreshed and energized. It just leaves you sadder. But it's better than sitting in near silence and wondering how Robby is and thinking about how much you miss and love him and if he'll come back and how much you fucking hate yourself for what you said.

The loneliness got to you by noon the day after you told Robby to leave. Too much and all consuming and scary and agonizingly foreign. Before you kicked Robby out the last time you were alone, truly alone, was the morning of PittFest in the shower. You don't know how to be alone. You struggled with it when you did know how before all this. So the loneliness now leaves you circling the drain.

You start doing all your therapies again just so that there are people in the room with you for a while. The day after it happened Jack stopped by again and suggested you add a psychologist into the mix and maybe a psychiatrist. You didn't want to but when he offered to get it set up so that you didn't have to talk to anyone or do the work of getting it set up yourself you said okay.

It's helping, you think. You've met with your therapist twice and have at least been able to verbally process most of what's happened by saying it out loud to someone.

Your own complicated grief and sadness and hurt and feelings in general make you feel like you're drowning sometimes. You miss Robby and you wish he was here and that you guys could talk and work through things, but he still said what he did in the supply closet. He broke up with you. He completely doubted you. He didn't listen to you, barely let you talk. It's difficult to reconcile your hurt from his words and actions with how disappointed in yourself you are and how much you hate yourself for what you said to him. You're not sure how to work through any of it, but you suppose that's what your new therapist is for.

Jack has come and checked in on you all seven days. Sometimes more than once to bring you non-hospital food. Check in on you is selling it and him short. He's visiting you. It's not as clinical or as short as checking in.

Nobody else has come. You're not surprised. And you tell yourself that you're not super hurt by it. You hadn't wanted visitors before this so you know they think they're respecting your wishes. Hurts a little that nobody bothered to ask, though.

Jack knocks on your door, walking in without waiting for a response like he always does. You don't mind, you know if you told him to stop he would, and you find it to be a very Jack thing.

You and Jack have always been close. Not in the same way you and Robby were close before you got together. You and Jack are close in a sibling kind of way. He feels like an older brother. It's because the two of you are so similar in personality and wit and dry and dark humor.

"What's up?" Jack asks as he walks in.

You wake your phone and glance at it. "You're here awfully early."

He smirks at you and shakes his head as he pulls the chair moved against the wall closer to your bedside. "Don't work today. Came to see you."

You frown at him a little. "You should be asleep right now if you're not working tonight, Jack."

"I'm good, I promise." You know the smile he's giving you is meant to be reassuring and in a sense it is but you also just feel bad about him having to come to the hospital on his day off. "Swung by and checked on Robby quickly before I came up," he says casually, chin tilting up just slightly.

This is what you guys do. This is what Jack does for you. He lets you know he saw Robby so you can ask a vague and casual 'oh, yeah?' back if you want to know how Robby is but don't want to have to ask directly. You've never not floated that question back to him. You're sure he's probably doing something similar with Robby about you and you're okay with that.

The last couple of days though you've been thinking about how it's incredibly nice and kind of Jack, but that it's more fucked up that you're putting him in this position.

"I'm sorry Jack," you say quietly before looking away from him. "I'm sorry that you had to talk both Michael and I down and play therapist, and I'm sorry we're using you as this go between and putting you in the middle. It's not fair of us."

Jack gives you a soft smile as you force yourself to look back at him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I've never felt like I've had to play therapist in any way other than as friends sometimes do, and I've never felt like I'm being used or that I'm in the middle of something between the two of you. Not in the way you mean. You guys aren't asking me to get info on the other, I'm not passing messages between you, I'm not being asked to pick a side and struggling to stay neutral. I'm just keeping you guys updated on each other. That's what you guys need right now and I'm happy to help."

"Still," you shrug gently, "it's unfair."

"I know when I'm being treated unfairly, and I know you know that I don't put up with it. Even with the two of you if I thought I was being treated unfairly I'd tell you so we could figure it out." Your expression doesn't change much, the sadness in your eyes and the set of your face overwhelmingly forlorn. "You know, after my wife died, Robby had to talk me down from the roof. And then he had to talk me down constantly for a while there. You wanna talk about playing therapist." Jack raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue.

"He used a bunch of his vacation time after she died to make sure I wasn't alone while on bereavement leave. He let me, or maybe made me at the beginning is more accurate," Jack laughs to himself, "he let me stay with him for a few months after because I couldn't stand the silence at home. He dealt with shit I didn't want to deal with for me. Life insurance, social security, shit like that."

"And you know everything you've done for me." You give Jack a look and shrug at him, trying to play off the few things you've done for him. "Don't shrug at me. You've talked me off the roof more than once. And remember that string we did together when you were an r3? Night six we get a female shooting victim on the anniversary of her death. You probably don't even know it but you were the only thing holding me together through that trauma and after it when you hauled me to the roof even though it was that sudden cold snap and you stood out there, jacket-less, with me for a couple of minutes because you somehow knew I just needed to feel something that wasn't an emotion and was external and that the freezing wind chill would do it."

Jack's face pulls up into a smirk. "Then when Robby showed up that morning, not for work but just to take you to your guys' totally platonic, not at all a date in everything but name, 'mentor-mentee-breakfast-meeting' as you guys called it, you just told him I was joining. It wasn't a question." You roll your eyes at his ridiculous description of the event but smile because it is apt. "You and Robby had well past mastered silent communication by that point and so he knew just by the way you said I was joining and how you looked at him that it wasn't just that it was the anniversary of her death, that there was more. You guys took care of me then. You have together and separately a bunch of times since and before too."

"And look," Jack tilts his head, shaking it a little. "I don't want it to seem like I'm reminding you and telling you this stuff because I view what I'm doing now for you guys as a 'I'm just making it even with Robby and you' thing. Because it's not that, at all, that's not how being as close of friends as we all are works. I'm just trying to remind you that this is what we do for each other. This is the kind of friends we are. I don't feel used or like I'm being treated unfairly or am in the middle. All I feel like I'm doing is being there for two of the most important people in my life who I love very much and care very deeply for, okay?"

"Okay," you nod slowly, hold Jack's gaze and try to believe him. That last story has you missing Robby so much harder somehow. You're glad Jack said it and reminded you of the memory because it's one you hadn't thought about in a while, but damn you fucking miss him. Miss him so much it makes it hard to breathe. "So?"

"He still won't take a day off. But at this point I think the distraction is good for him if he's not going to confront it properly right now," Jack sighs. "He's visibly lost more weight. Honestly, he's having as bad of a time as you are, which isn't your fault." He gives you a pointed look. "He was very upset to learn I'm the only one who has been to see you and was more or less devastated when I mentioned a safety plan and he realized you've been thinking how he was."

You turn away from Jack and stare out of the window as you try to process everything he just said, how poorly Robby is doing. And you're so all-consumingly sad and fucking sorrowful that you're hollow. So you can't bring yourself to really even react, which you hate because you're sure it makes it look like you don't care and it doesn't bother you or matter to you. It's easy to start spiraling.

"Can I be a doctor for a minute?" Jack's question interrupts your thoughts. He always seems to know when it's time to change the topic of conversation. You nod. You're not sure you really want him too but you're so apathetic at the moment you don't even care. You can't get yourself to. "How have things been going physically? With your recovery and therapies?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Better, I guess." There's a pause, probably to see if you'll say more but you don't really know what to say. Well, you do. You know exactly what to say. But thinking about it makes you sad and ache for Robby because he hasn't been here for it. "Just read my chart, it's easier. And has better info and descriptions."

He raises his brows at you and nods. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, "it's not like there's anything to hide in there."

Jack watches you for a couple of seconds before getting up and standing at the computer in your room and logging on. You know what he's reading.

Speech therapy wise you're pretty much back to normal. You rarely stumble on words, and when you do it's at the frequency of the general population. They're close to discharging you from therapy.

Occupational and physical therapy wise your strides have been dramatic. Your fine motor skills and movements are nearly completely normal. The biggest improvement is that you can walk unassisted now. Not for too long and it's safer for you to walk holding onto someone or with a walker but still, you're doing it on your own without stumbling too much until you get tired. Strength and endurance are still your biggest challenges right now but they're just going to take time to build back up. They're the hardest to build up because you don't have someone with you much right now and your therapists can only stay with you for so long, so it's not like you can do laps.

Jack huffs a laugh a little incredulously as he scrolls. "Okay, better is an understatement. The amount of improvement and the gains you've made this week are insane, especially considering the break you took."

"I went back to therapy to not be alone." Jack looks over at you with a sad, sympathetic smile. "I let them come multiple times a day if they want. And when I'm not sleeping I just do exercises because I have nothing else to do really. Plus if you scroll up," you flick your chin at the computer, "you'll see the MRI results. I had it the day this all happened. The residual swelling I had is pretty much gone. Not really clear why and it seems bizarre that it didn't just increase again with my increased stress, but I'm not really questioning it at this point."

You watch Jack's eyes move back and forth across the screen as he reads everything, a true smile growing on his face. "This is great. It's incredible." He logs off and starts walking back to the chair. "Is there a reason why you're not more enthusiastic and excited about it?"

Your eyes find your lap again and you pick at a non-existent piece of fuzz on your blanket. It's quiet for a moment as you try to gather your thoughts and repress the emotions they stir up. "I don't know," you finally say quietly. "I wish Michael was here to see it and experience it with me." You look up at Jack again. "I miss him, Jack. A lot. All the fucking time. I want him here. I need him here. Something goes well at some therapy and I look around the room for him. To share it with him. Something goes wrong or I can't do something, and I’m still looking around the room for him for support and reassurance. But he's not here because of me."

"How come you haven't asked him to come back?" Jack asks quietly.

You shrug, holding your shoulders by your ears for a couple of seconds. The answer is simple but it's hard to admit for some reason. It feels like speaking your worries will make them come true. Internally you debate with yourself about how honest to be with Jack. You already know this is going to end up with you in tears.

"I'm scared," you admit in a whisper.

Jack's eyebrows raise slightly like it's not the answer he was expecting. "That he'll hurt you again?"

"No," you shake your head, "god, no. I don't even care if he does." You clench your jaw, trying and failing to stop a couple of tears from sliding down your cheeks. "I feel like I don't know how to apologize to him and I'm scared he won't come back and that fear just builds every day and becomes more and more paralyzing and makes it harder to reach out and ask him to come back."

Your tears are falling harder now, your voice getting thicker with them. "What if he won't come back?" The what if questions start to flow easily now that you've started. "What if he shouldn't come back? After what I said to him. What if it's selfish of me to ask him to come back? And what if he comes back and then leaves? Because I've hurt him too deeply? What if I've really lost him, Jack?"

He moves his chair a little closer and hands you a few tissues. "I don't have answers for all of those what ifs, I wish I did for you, I just don't. But I do know that he will come back. I promise you that if you ask him he will come back here and he'll be on his way before you even finish asking him."

You dab at your eyes with one of the tissues, sniffle repeatedly as you try to control yourself. But it's pointless. "I want him here. I need him here." You finally break open completely, sobbing in front of Jack again as your head spins with what ifs and how much you need Robby, need to see him and smell him and feel him and be in his arms. "I need him. I need him to forgive me and still want me Jack. And I need this all to be over and me to be better and us to be better because I don’t want to lose him. I can't lose him. I need him, Jack. I need him."

"I know," Jack whispers just loud enough for you to hear over your crying. "I know."

"No," you shake your head at him, "I need him Jack, now. Please," you sob, "please get him. I need him."

"Okay, I'll get him." Jack stands and presses the nurse call button, sits on the edge of your bed by you and hugs you tightly when you lean forward. He's not Michael, but he's another human who cares about you and is warm and comforting and here. "Okay, okay. Shh," he soothes, "I’m getting him, okay?"

You're still sobbing and choking on rough sucked in breaths when your nurse walks in. You feel Jack move his head to look at her. "She's having a panic attack. Listen to me. Please run down to the ED and find Dr. Robinavitch, tell him that Jack says he needs to get the fuck up to her room immediately because she's asking for him, okay?"

There's a beat of silence and then an "okay," followed by your door opening and closing.

You can't stop panicking, it's too consuming, the fear, the way it feels like you'll never come out of this place, of these feelings. You're pretty sure you'll die like this, stuck in panic until it's too much to bear and you end it for yourself.

"What if she goes down there and tells him and he doesn't care and doesn't come?" you cry, Jack's embrace the only thing keeping you from scratching your arms until they bleed in an attempt to self-soothe.

"He's going to come, I promise. I promise you." Jack squeezes you a little tighter at that. "He's not even going to listen to her explanation, he's just going to hear you're asking for him and start running, okay?"

"I need, I need him." Time ticks by. Too much of it. Every second that passes is torture, is more confirmation Robby's not coming back. He should be here by now and he isn't. He isn't here. Your panic intensifies and you get lightheaded as you start to hyperventilate between choking out questions to Jack. "What if he doesn't want me anymore, Jack? What if he can't forgive me? What if he doesn't need me? What if, what if he never wants to see me again? What if I've lost him?"

More time ticks by. The door to your room still doesn't open. You're vaguely aware of Jack trying to shift you and telling you that you have to try and follow his breathing or you're going to pass out and he's right, you can feel the dizziness, the nausea too, but you don't care. You hope you do pass out. You hope you pass out and are sick and aspirate. You hope you don't wake up. Not unless it's to Robby's face and his love. But, you ask yourself, what if? What if, what if, what if?

You pose one last question to Jack. "What if he doesn't love me anymore?"

One day these two will get a resolution, I promise. Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was worth the wait and okay and enjoyable! I really enjoy hearing your thoughts and comments, they give me so much motivation and inspiration!! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming! ♥️

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[paucubarsisimp]

hii👋🏼 love love love your writing!

would you write something for toto and susie, where maybe r is a sports physician and toto falls off of his scooter or trips and he goes to her and gets checked out, starts to take a liking to her, tells susie and both start to make things up to talk to her/be checked by her and then someone, maybe one of the drivers or bono, point it out to her and they get together??

if you don't feel comfortable writing this I'd totally understand, I'm still going to thank you in advance though<3

hope you have a great day/night and remember to stay hydrated!!

fell for you

pairing: poly!toto wolff x reader x susie wolff

summary: in which toto and susie start faking injuries to see you

warnings: none!

a/n: hi my love!! tysm for requesting. <33 i'm sorry this took so long, i hope you like it!!

the first time toto wolff walks into your medical tent, he's holding his knee like it betrayed him.

"i fell," he says. "scooter. too fast. stupid."

you blink. "how fast?"

"fast enough that i stopped it with my face," he mutters.

you fight a smirk and gesture to the table. "right. sit."

he limps past you with exaggerated dignity and a wounded expression that’s only half fake. he’s tall, lean, annoyingly handsome for someone bleeding from the knee, and absolutely trying not to look embarrassed.

"you know," you say, tugging on gloves, "those scooters have brakes for a reason."

"i panicked."

"you’re six-foot-five and run a multi-million dollar team. and you panicked?"

he gestures with one hand. "it came out of nowhere."

"what, the turn?"

"the speed."

you huff a laugh as you kneel to examine the scrape. bruised, mostly. he’ll live. definitely not worth the dramatics.

"your pride took the biggest hit," you say, taping down a bandage.

"well," he says, and you can feel him smiling even though you’re not looking up, "you patched that too, ja?"

you glance up. he's watching you a little too closely. his smile is boyish, like he's getting away with something.

"you’re flirting."

"i’m injured."

"mhmm."

he shows up again three days later, holding his wrist this time.

"i fell. again."

"on the same scooter?"

"new scooter. same corner."

you raise an eyebrow, but say nothing. the wrist isn’t even swollen.

"toto," you say, gently flexing it, "did you actually fall or did you just miss me?"

he pauses.

then smiles.

"bit of both."

you don’t call him out on it. you probably should. but it’s harmless. and sweet. and — fine — maybe you’ve thought about him a little too often lately.

it’s susie who shows up next.

you recognize her instantly, of course — even if she’s not in uniform, even if she doesn’t say her name. she’s poised in a way that doesn’t bend to the noise of the paddock.

"shoulder’s tight," she says, hopping onto the exam table with ease. "figured i’d get it looked at before i talk myself out of it."

you press along the joint, slow and careful. it’s tight, sure, but not injured.

"you been training?" you ask.

"not enough to strain anything."

you glance up. her expression is unreadable.

"did someone send you?"

"what do you mean?"

"toto’s been by. twice."

"oh?" she smiles, not even pretending. "he didn’t mention that."

you pause, fingers still pressed to the edge of her collarbone.

"you’re faking this too."

"i never said i wasn’t."

you shake your head. "you two are ridiculous."

"he said you were brilliant," she says, voice soft now, less teasing. "he undersold it."

you straighten, flustered despite yourself. "right. well. you’re cleared."

she hops down, brushes imaginary dust off her shoulder. as she leaves, she says, almost casually, "we usually don’t share. but... we’ve been thinking about making exceptions."

and then she’s gone.

after that, it’s game over.

you catch them doing synchronized slow stretches in the middle of the garage. they pass your tent like they’ve got nothing better to do. toto somehow finds six different reasons to need his wrist checked. susie starts bringing you coffee “just because.”

and through it all, you pretend you don’t notice.

but you do.

of course you do.

and worse — you like it.

it’s bono who finally calls it out.

you’re leaning over a performance tablet when he sidles up next to you and murmurs, “you know you don’t have to keep pretending you’re just their doctor.”

you blink. "i— what?"

he nods toward toto, who’s wincing again as he adjusts that same wrist you cleared days ago.

"he’s not even trying anymore. look at him. he’s doing it for attention."

you glance at susie, who’s walking past your tent doing the slowest neck roll known to man.

"you’re kidding."

bono gives you a look. "you’re a professional. they’re just two married idiots who don’t know how to flirt like normal people."

you snort. “i’m not their type.”

“you’re exactly their type.”

and then he walks off like he hasn’t just thrown a bomb into your carefully organized emotional filing cabinet.

you confront them that evening, by the back of the hospitality suite, where they’re sharing a quiet moment like they don’t know how noticeable they are when they’re together.

you cross your arms. “so. this is a thing now.”

susie raises an eyebrow. “what is?”

“fake injuries. flirting via bandages. unsolicited coffees.”

toto at least has the decency to look sheepish. “i did fall the first time.”

“and the wrist?”

“...fell emotionally.”

you groan.

susie smiles. “we like you.”

“is that what this is?”

“we were going to ask if you wanted dinner,” toto says. “no scooters. no ice packs. just... us.”

you study them. they look like opposites on the surface — soft blonde and tall shadow — but they move in sync. speak in rhythm. they’re magnetic.

and they’re looking at you like you belong.

"...okay," you say. "but if either of you fakes a limp tomorrow, i’m out."

the first date isn’t dramatic.

quiet restaurant. low lights. susie orders dessert first. toto insists on pouring your wine. they ask about your life like they want to know everything — not just the shiny parts, but the boring middle bits, too.

when the night ends, susie kisses your cheek.

toto’s hand lingers on your waist a second too long.

your heart’s still racing when you get back to your hotel.

the next few weeks are a blur of long days, longer nights, and something soft growing under all of it.

you don’t tell anyone. not really. but the team notices. bono starts calling you “doctor love.” kimi winks whenever you hand susie a coffee. george offers to crash his own scooter if it means getting a date.

and through it all, they’re... there.

toto, showing up with your favorite snacks when you’re working late. susie, leaning against your desk like she’s always meant to be part of your day. sometimes they bicker. sometimes they kiss in front of you. sometimes they just sit, letting you rest your head on one of their shoulders during a red flag break, no words needed.

you stop pretending this isn’t real.

and they stop pretending their injuries are, too.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @freyathehuntress, @dakotapaigelove,@beathreat,lmk if you want to be added or removed!

[not-the-conversation-starter]

I looked into this, because as popular as Spamton was/is, Queen is still the funniest character in the game and she is still also really popular. So how much merch does she actually have?

She's featured in the Chapter Poster & Pin set, not special though. But she has her own magnet set, a dedicated poster for her special final battle, and a sleeping mask! You used to be able to buy her Goblet & T-shirt, but those have both been discontinued in the US. I imagine the Goblet required special production since it's a unique shape for their store, and while Queen's shirt is no longer produced it's notable that Spamton's T-Shirt also got discontinued.

If we compare that to Tenna we get

2

dedicated figures, and in the chapter pin set so barebones we got a second Ralsei. (The TV Time shirt could go either way if you ask me, he's like 30% of it but honestly Rouxls sticks out the most. Half-point?) If we compare Queen's dedicated merch count of 5, two of which are entirely unique, to everyone else in the plush bundle: She's actually solidly in third place. Only behind Ralsei (main character) and Spamton (funnyman icon).

I'm not saying that misogyny isn't playing a role in it, she's third place to two male characters. One of which has way less dialog. Why did Queen's shirt get discontinued, one of only 3 deltarune shirts that's happened to? Third place is so far behind that even if she had a plush it wouldn't come close to changing the rankings. She's probably not going to get anymore new merch, but Spamton will probably get merch forever. There's going to be more stuff announced during the 10th anniversary, and I wouldn't be surprised if Tenna got even more attention. Queen is the only female main-antagonist of 4 chapters, with the knowledge we have now pointing towards another male antagonist in the next one. There are other female characters. Fandom in general. Etc.

What I am saying is there's probably a primary reason we never got a plush of her, she was very popular and I think it's obvious whoever has been doing the merch thinks highly of her too. They probably considered a plush for every single character in the game, so why didn't they make one for the Third Most Popular Darkner in the four years between chapters? My guess:

Her head is long as hell. To do a Queen Plush justice might significantly increase the amount of material used to make her Giant Ass Head accurately. I'm very unfamiliar with the plush-making process but after looking at every plush on the site, none of the humanoid ones had large protrusions in either forward nor backward directions. So this could very well be a restriction they decided not to work with.

Would they have worked through this is Spamton was the one with the weird head? Yeah, but they also didn't make the Spamton plush until the 7th anniversary. They made that plush in response to his insane popularity, which they didn't expect. If Queen was as popular, they would of done it for her. Which she never could of been.

Tl;Dr still misogyny but the team making the merch thinks Queen is cool. Also You Can Wear Her Face On Your Face.

toby fox: no merch of lightners because narrative reasons

me: ok well thats too bad but can i have a queen plushie then. or a queen figurine. you made them for tenna

toby:

me: toby please

[rumncokebaby]

crosswired

pairing: johnny storm x female reader

synopsis: when a spider-variant drops into johnny storm’s new york, the chaos is instant: midair fights, peter parker’s eternal suffering, and johnny catching feelings faster than he can flame on. between missions, haunted couches, and pizza dates on terrible chairs, y/n and johnny discover that sometimes the multiverse gives you exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

word count: 3.8k

requested by: @rr1127

You meet Johnny Storm on a Wednesday, which feels wrong because everything about him is Sunday afternoon energy—loud, bright, and allergic to subtlety.

Technically you meet him midair, mid-fight, mid-Peter yelling in your ear: “Please, for the love of physics, don’t let the human blowtorch improvise a plan.”

“I would never,” you tell your comm, already improvising a plan.

The portal spits you and Peter out above a skyline that isn’t yours but close enough: same steel, same glass, same sirens, different billboard ads. Beneath you, something with too many joints is crawling over a traffic light like it paid rent. The Fantastic Four are already on scene—Sue’s shielding civilians, Reed is stretching into a knot you don’t understand, Ben’s throwing a sedan like it’s a softball. And then there’s him.

Johnny snaps into view like a match strike. Gold flame, lazy grin, too much confidence to be legal. He clocks you immediately. You catch him looking and try not to enjoy it.

“You didn’t tell me she was hot,” he says into someone’s comm that is definitely not yours.

Peter groans. “I didn’t tell you anything because I live for peace.”

You webline down, land clean, kick the many-jointed thing off the traffic light. It hisses, launches acid. You slip under it, flick a web to redirect the stream into the storm drain. You feel eyes on you while you move. You don’t have to check to know whose.

Johnny blasts over your shoulder, fire curling like a ribbon. It’s gorgeous, you’ll give him that. The monster shrieks and scrambles sideways.

“Left!” you call.

“On it,” he says, and then immediately goes right.

Peter whistles past, tags the creature’s knees with webbing, and huffs. “Why are you like this.”

“I panicked,” Johnny says, cheerful. “She said it like—I don’t know—like a lyric.”

“Focus!” Sue calls. “And stop hitting the streetlights!”

You roll your eyes, swing up, and plant both feet in the creature’s face. It reels; Ben finishes it with a punch that rattles the crosswalk. Reed’s already on a phone with probably the mayor and three scientists. Sirens converge, civilians cheer, your adrenaline dips, and you suddenly remember you’ve been in a mask for three hours and your hair looks like a conspiracy theory.

Johnny lands lightly on the roofline, flame snuffing out. He’s all flushed cheeks and bright eyes, the kind of pretty that knows it. He opens his mouth.

Peter points at him without looking. “Don’t.”

Johnny spreads his hands. “What? I’m literally just breathing.”

“You’re about to make it weird,” Peter says.

“Define weird.”

“Johnny.”

He ignores Peter and looks at you instead. You expect the line, some heat pun, the kind of thing you’ll tease him for later. It… doesn’t come. He just smiles, a little surprised, a little soft, like he discovered a new color. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Johnny.”

You blink. The lack of cringe throws off your entire internal defense system. “I know,” you say, and hate the immediate warmth in your voice.

“This is my friend,” Peter says, dropping down beside you, sounding like someone introducing a feral cat to a toddler. “She’s from—another… neighborhood.”

“A variant,” Reed says, appearing like a PowerPoint slide. “Fascinating. Your webbing tensile strength—”

“Later,” Sue interrupts, kind. She looks at you with the calm of a woman who has been Johnny’s sister since the dawn of time. “Thanks for the assist.”

“Anytime,” you say, and then Johnny’s grin tilts cocky again, like he remembered who he is. You tell yourself your stomach flipping is from the swing.

Peter nudges you subtly. Don’t. his eyes say.

You blink back: I’m not doing anything.

He tilts his head toward Johnny: Tell your face.

You pretend you don’t know what that means.

Later, the streets are cleaner and the civilians are back to pretending the city is normal. Johnny finds you leaning on a rooftop ledge, watching traffic blur into red and white. Peter is in the corner of your eye, upside down, fiddling with a web cartridge and pretending he’s not supervising.

“So,” Johnny says, joining you at the ledge. He keeps a respectful distance like it’s a dare he wants to pass. “Welcome to our… slightly messier New York.”

“The acid was a nice touch,” you say.

“Really brings out the sewers,” Peter adds.

Johnny shoots him a look. “Do you ever stop being the commentary track?”

“No,” Peter says, then to you, softer: “You good?”

You nod. “Good. I like your skyline. And your… team.” You don’t look at Johnny when you say it. You also do not not look.

“Right?” he says, bright. “We’re like if the Avengers had a group chat and boundaries.”

“Barely,” Sue says, walking through a force field like a mom entering a playroom. “Don’t let him sell you a brochure.”

Johnny places a hand over his heart, wounded. “Why do you ruin everything I love.”

“Someone has to,” she says, and squeezes your elbow. “Nice work today.”

You smile at her, which is also not at Johnny, and head to the edge. “We should jump back before our portal window shrinks.”

“Oh,” Johnny says too quickly. “You’re… leaving?”

Peter looks at him, then at you, then at the sky like he hopes lightning will strike him. “We’re coming back for the debrief,” he tells Reed. “Don’t start the science without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Reed says, already halfway into a spreadsheet.

Johnny scuffs his boot across rooftop gravel. “Cool. Yeah. I mean—cool. Uh…” His mouth does a small stutter, and you discover a completely unfair fact: he’s hotter when he’s off-balance.

Peter steps between you like an overworked stage manager. “We will return.”

“Great,” Johnny says, brightening. “For… science.”

“Sure,” you say, and push off into the air because your voice just did a thing and you would rather fall than let him hear it.

You feel his eyes on your back the whole swing away. You let yourself smile where no one can see.

Two days later, you’re at the Baxter Building because Reed wants cross-dimensional web samples and because Peter needs to apologize for borrowing their power converter like it was a stapler. You pretend you came for the science. You do not fool anyone.

Johnny meets you in the lobby—jeans, a hoodie, sunglasses indoors like a celebrity at an airport. He takes off the sunglasses, sees you, and forgets to put them back on. Sue materializes beside him with a look that says be normal. He nods once and immediately fails.

“Hi,” he says, already smiling. “You’re here.”

“I am,” you say, with the exact amount of cool you practiced in the elevator.

Peter arrives, juggling a box and a coffee, and clocks the vibe immediately. “I’ll just… go suffer elsewhere.”

“Take Reed,” Sue says.

Peter goes, muttering about betrayal. Sue squeezes Johnny’s shoulder like a leash, then disappears in a shimmer.

Johnny exhales like he’s been underwater. “Hey.”

You tilt your head. “Hey.”

“Do you… want a tour?”

You should say no. You say, “Sure.”

The Baxter Building is a maze of lab glass and absurd tech. Johnny doesn’t show you the impressive parts; he shows you the weird ones: a vending machine that dispenses both electrolyte packets and mini screwdrivers (“Reed says it reduces errand trips by 14%”), a lounge couch Ben swears is haunted (“It’s just a recliner, but don’t sit in it”), an elevator that announces the weather for no reason. He keeps up a steady patter so you don’t have to, little jokes tossed like paper planes. The rhythm is easy. You hate that it’s easy.

You pass a wall of framed articles—front pages, glossy covers. Johnny’s on half of them, the headline font always a little breathless. Flame Boy this, Human Torch that, the same smile in every shot. He notices you lingering.

“It’s obnoxious,” he says. ��I was going to take them down, but Reed says they’re useful for ‘external credibility.’ Also Sue likes to circle the typos.”

“You like them,” you say, and it’s not unkind.

“I like the pictures,” he grins. “They’re from my left side.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

“My favorite,” he adds, softer, “isn’t there.” He taps his temple. “It’s—sorry. That sounded like I was going to say ‘you.’”

Your brain goes static. “Were you?”

“No!” he says. “I mean—maybe. I don’t know. I’m bad at not saying things when I think them.”

“I noticed.”

He looks at you. It’s not a player look; it’s an I’m trying look. It makes your chest feel too full. You breathe out slowly and tip your head toward the elevator. “Show me the roof.”

His smile, when it hits, makes you want to check the building’s power grid.

On the roof, the wind is a steady hand, the sky a big open thing, the kind of air that makes you think about decisions. Johnny leans on the ledge like he owns it, elbows out, hoodie soft, flame nowhere in sight. He’s less loud up here. You like it.

“Peter says you make him feel forty,” you say, because honesty has to come out sideways or you’ll choke on it.

Johnny snorts. “Peter is forty. In spirit. I bring his average down.”

“He also says you’re his best friend.”

“Gross,” Johnny says, then softer: “Yeah.”

You look out over the city. “He’s my best friend, too.”

“I can tell,” he says. “You move like you’ve been in each other’s pockets for years.”

You don’t say the part where you and your Peter spent a whole summer building web shooters out of parts you dumpster-dived from the science building and laughed so hard you cried when the first one exploded. You don’t say the part where you learned to be brave because he was. Instead, you say, “We annoy each other better than anyone else.”

“Same,” Johnny says. “But you—” He fumbles again, and your heart does that rude hop. “You were… I mean, are… I mean, I noticed you were good.”

“Thanks,” you say, too quickly.

He looks at you like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out without breaking. “You’re very—” He makes a face. “I don’t have a word that isn’t lame.”

“Please don’t say badass,” you warn.

“I was going to say precise,” he says, which you were not expecting. “Like you don’t waste any motion. It’s… cool.”

Something in your throat loosens. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it lands.

A beat passes. The wind ruffles his hair. You allow yourself one second to imagine threading your fingers through it. You yank yourself back like you grabbed a live wire.

The door clanks open. Peter emerges, a man haunted by lab meetings. “Okay. The science people have questions and graphs and I need you both in there or I’m going to throw myself down the quantum stairwell.”

Johnny brightens. “Our date is over,” he tells you solemnly.

You arch a brow. “This was a tour.”

“Same thing,” he says, following Peter inside. “I showed you a haunted couch, that’s intimate.”

“You’re exhausting,” Peter tells him.

“You love me,” Johnny sings.

“I truly don’t.”

You do not smile. You fail.

The mission comes at 2 A.M., because the universe sees your REM cycle and chooses violence. You and Peter arrive half awake to find the Baxter floor humming. A pocket of warped space is blooming over the Hudson like bad balloon art, and Reed says if it tears, half the city’s gravity might feel like an elevator drop. You put your mask on and try not to think about how much you hate falling.

The plan: Reed stabilizes the edges with some fancy tech, Sue keeps everything contained, Ben anchors the rig, Peter calibrates web tethers, and you and Johnny handle the “patch points”—tiny rips trying to unzip the sky. It’s delicate work. You hate that you’ll be close to him because you like it.

“You good?” Johnny asks, hovering beside you, flame low, eyes steady.

You nod. “Don’t be heroic. Be exact.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, even as the word lands somewhere unhelpful.

You move. You and Johnny talk in quick shorthand—“Two o’clock,” “Tighten,” “Again”—and somewhere between the third and the fourth patch you realize you’re syncing up. His fire trims exactly where your web seals. Your web catches exactly where his flame would be too hot. He reads your angle and makes space. You anticipate his burst and fill it. It should feel like an accident. It doesn’t.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Peter says in your ear, which is unfair because he’s ten stories away and still smug.

“Focus,” you say.

“I am focusing on the romance.”

“I will drop you into the river.”

“Rude,” he says. “Anyway, you’re welcome.”

“For what.”

“For introducing you to your boyfriend.”

“Peter.”

“Okay, okay, bestie, geez.”

The rip shudders. A sound like metal tearing screams through the air. Your stomach drops. You grab a tether, miss by inches. The world tilts.

“Hey,” Johnny says, too calm. The heat at your back spikes, not burning, just present. He steadies your harness with a flash of fire that tightens the webbing without singeing it. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t look at him. You don’t have to. “I know.”

You land the tether on the second try. Reed’s voice cuts through with numbers and assurances. Sue’s field flares. Everything holds.

It takes forty more minutes and all of your last nerves, but the tear shrinks to a fist and then a coin and then a glint that winks out like it was never there. The city exhales. So do you.

You and Johnny end up on a maintenance platform, kneeling across from each other, breathing hard, not quite touching. Peter perches above like a gargoyle, eating someone’s emergency granola bar.

Johnny pushes a hand through his hair and laughs, short and disbelieving. “We didn’t die.”

“High bar,” you say, breathless.

He looks at you, the grin fading into something quieter. “You were amazing.”

“So were you,” you say before you can stop it.

He blinks, a little stunned, like you handed him a gift and he forgot how to unwrap things.

Peter drops down, flips his mask up to his nose, and speaks through granola. “If you two are going to continue making heart eyes, can one of you at least adopt me so I can be justified in feeling this tired.”

“Nobody asked you,” you say.

“The taxpayers did,” he says, pointing vaguely at the skyline.

Johnny leans back on his hands, looks at the sky for a second, then back at you. “Do you want to—” He gestures, not smooth for once, searching. “Get food? Like, carbs. With sauce. After we sleep for a year. Or now. I can do now.”

You feel the yes leap to your tongue, shameless and teenage. You catch it, tuck it in your cheek like candy. “I’m busy,” you say lightly.

His face does a microflicker of disappointment that he tries to smother with a shrug. It is unfair that you like him more for that. “Sure,” he says, easy, and you hate that word because it’s never true.

Peter looks between you, suspicious. “She’s lying.”

“I’m not,” you say.

“You are,” he sings. “She’s lying, Johnny. She’s lowkey.”

Johnny’s mouth curves. “Lowkey, huh?”

You feel a smile try to happen. You body-check it. It still gets out. “Maybe.”

“Cool,” he says, and stands, offering a hand you pointedly don’t take because boundaries are fake but you will pretend. He doesn’t look offended; he pockets the hand and rocks on his heels. “I’ll… see you at the debrief.”

“Yeah,” you say.

Peter tosses the granola wrapper at your forehead. “Translation: text each other already, I’m tired.”

“Put your mask down,” you tell him.

“Make me,” he says.

You web his mask back over his face. He muffles indignation. Johnny wheezes, delighted. You do not enjoy any of this. You enjoy all of it.

The debrief is a slideshow and forty-seven acronyms. Reed is mercifully concise; Sue translates; Ben eats three bagels. You sit between Peter and an empty chair you will not look at. Johnny drops into that chair ten minutes late, hair damp, hoodie gone, T-shirt unfair. He smells like soap, which you discover because life hates you.

Sue watches the way your shoulders straighten when he sits. She does nothing with this information, which is somehow worse than if she had smirked.

After, the lab empties. Peter does a stretch that looks like grief. “If one more adult says ‘non-Euclidean’ to me I’m going back to high school for the peace.”

“Please don’t,” Johnny says. “You were insufferable.”

“I was bullied by your cheekbones,” Peter says, then points at you. “Don’t let him corner you. He will ask you out and then do jazz hands.”

“I don’t do jazz hands,” Johnny says, offended. “It’s more of a—” He jazz hands.

Peter stares. Then he claps you on the shoulder. “I’m going to go pretend to nap.”

He leaves you with Johnny because he is a traitor and also because he knows you want him to.

Johnny leans against a lab bench, hands in his pockets. He looks down at his sneakers, then up at you from under his lashes, which should be illegal. “So.”

“So,” you say, matching his casual like it’s a game.

“I’m bad at subtle,” he says.

“I noticed.”

“You’re good at it.”

“I noticed,” you echo, and he laughs, warm.

He rocks on his heels again, nervous energy he’s not bothering to hide. “If I say I like you, will you run away?”

“Probably,” you say, honest.

“And will you come back if I don’t chase you?”

You look at his mouth. You shouldn’t. He hasn’t said anything cheesy, he hasn’t tried to sell you some ninety-watt version of himself, and it’s somehow worse. He’s just… here. Loud and kind and terminally sincere. You’re not used to sincerity. You’re used to quips. You’re used to Peter, who wraps feelings in six layers of sarcasm and then mails them to himself.

You clear your throat. “I like you, too,” you say, quiet, like if you speak louder you’ll break it. “A little.”

His inhale is audible. His smile is a firework that doesn’t explode, just glows. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, and that’s the whole thing. No speeches. No flames writing your name in the sky. Just that.

Peter, from the doorway he absolutely did not leave, says, “I’m not kidding, I will pass out on the floor. Please exchange numbers so I can stop being emotionally responsible for two people who legally should have guardians.”

Johnny laughs, breathless. He holds his phone up like a peace flag. You consider making him work for it, consider being impossible for another five minutes. Instead, you take it and type.

He looks at the new contact like it’s proof of something. “Can I—” He stops, shakes his head. “Nope. Leaving that in my brain.”

“Thank you,” you say, and mean it.

“I am so proud,” Peter sniffs, fake-crying. “My little chaos gremlins are communicating.”

“Go home,” you both say at once.

He grins, satisfied. “Gross.”

You don’t go on a date. Not immediately. You go on a mission that turns into a sandwich at 3 A.M. on a curb while Johnny tells you about the first time he flew and how it felt like losing and finding the same thing. You go to a rooftop where he teaches you how to roll your shoulders out of a fall so your back doesn’t ache the next day. You clean acid off his boot with a toothbrush from the lab supply closet and bully him into buying another hoodie because the old one actually is singed. He texts you pictures of dogs he meets and once, at 2 P.M., a photo of a sky so stupidly blue he captions it this is what your voice looks like and you stare at it for too long before replying you’re insufferable.

You see him at a press thing, stuck between sound bites, eyes glazing. You swing by and knock your knuckles against the back of his calf, quick and hidden. He looks down, finds you in the crowd, and the way his shoulders drop like he remembered he has a body makes something in your chest stutter.

Peter suffers through all of it like a saint. He third-wheels with dignity and snacks. He makes a spreadsheet called “Reasons Why I Was Right,” which is just the word “Vibes” in size 72 font.

And then one night, after a fight that ends clean and early, the city quiet, the air washed, you land on a fire escape and Johnny lands across from you, not too close. You both peel your masks back like you’re removing the end of a day.

“I was going to ask again,” he says, careful. “But I don’t have to. I can wait.”

You consider your options. You could be coy forever, slow-drip it until the edge wears off. Or—this is the part you never plan for—you could let the thing be what it is.

“Pizza,” you say. “One block over. Terrible chairs. Best crust.”

He blinks. Then he beams, bright enough the neon sign above you flickers, like the city’s in on it. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Peter texts a single word in the group chat he titled “Custody Battle”: Finally.

You send him a photo of the terrible chairs. Johnny sends a photo of two slices, one folded in his hand, grease on his wrist, your glove off on the table beside it. Peter reacts with a thumbs-up and, three dots later, a heart.

Johnny looks at you over the rim of a paper cup. His knee knocks yours once, like a question. You knock back, an answer so quiet only the two of you hear it.

Outside, a siren wails, distant and familiar. Inside, the radio crackles, the guy at the counter curses at the oven, your phone buzzes with a text that can wait. Johnny wipes a dot of sauce from your lip with a napkin, hand hovering like he’s waiting to be told off. You don’t tell him off.

“Don’t get cocky,” you say, because equilibrium is religion.

“Never,” he says, and you laugh, and he grins, and Peter, two blocks away, snaps a photo of the sky because it looks like your voice.

You do not hold hands. You do not kiss. You eat pizza and argue about who would win in a fight (you say Sue, he says Sue, you both nod because obviously), and when you part, you do it like you’ll see each other tomorrow, because you will.

You swing away and you think—okay. Not Sunday afternoon. More like Tuesday night. Reliable. Warm. Something you didn’t realize you wanted until it was there.

Your comm buzzes. Peter: Did you tell him you like him.

You: No.

Peter: Liar.

You: Shut up.

Peter: Proud of you tho.

You: I know.

You put your mask back on. You leap, and in the split second before the line catches, you feel your stomach drop and your heart rise, and somewhere behind you a boy made of fire laughs into the wind like it knows your name.

taglist: @starsanarchy @iliketoeatpaint @cpnsteverogers @spideywebss @inkedeye2345 @sidkneeeee @neilsemeraldsweater @yuuuraaa @baguwagu

[wcnderlnds]

purple lace bra ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: trying to tell seunghyun how you feel is almost impossible when he keeps brushing you off but you can't resist that damn mondrian suit. ・❥・word count: 3.5k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. unprotected sex. oral. fingering. spanking. deep throating. dirty talk. rough sex. multiple orgasms. swearing. friends with benefits. mutual pining. ・❥・authors note: this is part of @slut4kwon's so close to what challenge. so happy to be a part of this <3 this might be one of the filthiest things i've ever wrote so i'm going into hiding goodbye.

It was almost infuriating how attractive Choi Seunhyun was. That defined jawline paired with those gorgeous brown eyes was a deadly combination. Pair those with that cocky little smirk he sometimes liked to wear and it could make anyone fall at his feet. The most attractive thing, though, was that he didn’t even realise it. On stage, he oozed this confident, cocky persona but behind the scenes? He was one of the goofiest, chillest people on the planet. Thankfully, you got to see both sides of him. Each side of him hard wormed his way into your heart making you fall hard and fast.

But, you shouldn’t have. 

That hadn’t been part of the deal. 

Being BigBang’s hair stylist meant you spent a lot of time on the road with them. Each one of the guys meant a whole lot to you but you had always been closer to Seunhyun. Often when the others had gone to bed, the two of you would hang out, watching a movie or just chatting. It was in those moments together where you’d grown even closer. Seunghyun was probably your closest friend – he made being away from home so much easier. Those nights when you felt homesick, he was always there to listen and comfort you. Somewhere along the way, the friendship had turned into more. It had started out with flirting with each other while you did his hair, Seunghyun throwing you winks in the hallways when he passed you to head to the stage, the brush of his hand against yours. It wasn’t until one night when you were both alone when he first made a move. He’d kissed you so gently at first, almost afraid of your reaction but when you kissed him back, that was all he needed. That night you’d hooked up for the very first time. The conversation that occurred afterwards set the deal. Friends with benefits. Nothing more and nothing less. No feelings involved, just two people helping each other out when they were in need.

Except, along the way, you’d done the one thing both of you said was off limits.

You caught real feelings for him.

It had got to the point where you knew you had to tell him but how? What would happen when you did? There was the possibility that you could lose him altogether and that was something you didn’t think your heart could handle. Seunghyun was so important to you. Losing him would leave a massive hole in your life that would never be filled. So, for the longest time, you put it off. Why ruin a good thing while you had it? Maybe the sex could just be enough.

…but, no. You wanted more. He had to know.

There had been a moment before the show while you’d been doing his hair. Everyone else was getting changed into their outfits for the night so you were both alone. It wasn’t quiet — you’d both been talking idly about anything and everything. Seunghyun had asked you to meet him after the show was over which, of course, you happily obliged. You’d tried to take that moment to approach the subject of your feelings but instead he’d burst out laughing at some video he was watching on his phone, shoving it in your face to show you.

The moment was quickly over.

All thoughts of a serious conversation had flown out of your head the second you’d seen him thrusting violently on stage in that damn Mondrian suit that you loved so much. All logical thinking flew out of the window especially when he had the nerve to throw a wink your way when he spotted you at the side of the stage. He knew exactly what he was doing and it was working. But, two could play at that game.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I got your text. Is everything okay? You could’ve just waited backst-” Seunghyun walked through the hotel room door, immediately stopping in his tracks when he saw you. His eyes almost bulged out of his head as he looked you over. There you were, laying on the bed in some gorgeous lacy purple lingerie. He felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening at the sight of you. “Holy fuck.”

“I saw you in that Mondrian suit, thrusting and I couldn’t take it. Especially when you decided to wink at me. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?” You began crawling to the edge of the bed towards him, noticing he was still in that damn suit.

Seungyhun opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a grunt as you tugged him towards you by hooking your fingers in the waistband of his white pants. He watched with lust filled eyes as you ran your hand over his bulge, giving him a squeeze. He hissed through his teeth, resiting the urge to free himself and plunge his hard cock into your mouth but he wanted to see what you’d do. Your fingers slowly danced up to pop open the button, tugging the pants down his legs. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the outline of his cock in his boxers.

“So hard already, baby. I’ve barely even touched you yet,” you smirked up at him, fingers dipping into the elastic to tug them down his legs. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking. Licking your lips, you wrapped your hand around his length, slowly, teasingly pumping him from base to tip.

Seunghyun thrust his hips into the tight circle of your hand, biting his lower lip between his teeth as you teased him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. Your soft hand slowly stroking him was sending him into overdrive, the only thought in his mind was how much he wanted to push you back onto the bed and fuck you. As your thumb brushed along the slit on the head of his cock, he let out a long, drawn out moan. “Shit, baby, I need to feel your lips wrapped around my dick. Need to fuck that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I guess I’ll put you out of your misery since I like you so much.”

It was a test, really, saying that but you knew in his lust hazed state he wouldn’t take it as anything more than you teasing him. There’d be no deeper meaning behind it in his eyes but to you, there would always be more to it. He didn’t even really acknowledge it, too focused on watching as your tongue darted out to lap up the bead of pre-cum on the tip of his cock. Your lips wrapped around the head, sucking lightly, the soft moan from your throat vibrating around him. When you pulled off him, your tongue ran along the underside, feeling every ridge and vein. He was at breaking point, his hand finding the back of your head, tangling in your hair to try and push you forward. So, you did. Finally, you wrapped your lips around him fully, flattening your tongue out as you slid your mouth down along him then back up, bobbing along his length.

“Yeah, just like that,” Seunghyun groaned, guiding your movements. “Take it deeper, baby. I want to feel my cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. Want to hear you choking on my dick.”

You moaned around him at his filthy words, feeling your own arousal dripping between your legs. With your free hand, you moved it between your legs, rubbing circles against your clothed pussy. Seunghyun almost came right then and there. Seeing you touch yourself while you sucked him off was probably the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life. He pushed his hips forward, hitting the back of your throat. He held you in place, thrusting into your mouth. “Take it, baby. Fuck, look at you, touching yourself while you suck me off. Such a dirty little thing. You going to make yourself cum while my dick is in your mouth?”

You could only splutter around his length as he fucked your faster, your fingers moving rapidly against yourself. His grunts and the occasional gagging sounds coming from you each time he hit the back of your throat filled the hotel room. He was so close but he didn’t want to cum inside your mouth. Well, that was a lie, he did but he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. Not before he’d buried himself inside you. “Come on, princess. Make yourself cum then I’ll fuck you nice and hard like you desperately want me to.”

Whether it was the way he was erratically using your mouth to get himself off or the way his dirty words spilled in that deep, husky voice of his, you weren’t sure but you moaned loudly around him, your first orgasm of the night – courtesy of yourself – hitting you. Seunghyun pulled himself from your mouth as he watched your face flush with pleasure, your fingers moving rapidly against yourself, working through your release.

Seunghyun let you have no time to recover before he pushed you back onto the bed, pulling off his jacket and shirt. He all but ripped your lacy panties off before he buried himself between your legs. “Need to taste you.”

He ran his tongue between your soaked folds, tasting your release. He groaned, savouring the flavour on his tongue as he flicked at your clit. His lips wrapped around the bud, sucking it causing you to moan loudly. He didn’t let up, his tongue alternating between long stripes along your folds and teasing flicks to your clit. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging at the pink strands. “Seunghyun, oh my God. I-I’m… so close.”

He smirked up at you from between your legs. “Gonna cum again so soon? Such a needy little thing.”

Two of his fingers circled your entrance before plunging inside. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, pushing yourself more into his mouth. His tongue worked in tandem with his fingers and you were sure you were about to black out from the intense pleasure. You writhed, bucking your hips wildly as you felt the coil snap once again. Your body tensed, another orgasm washing over you, his name falling from your lips in a whiny, high pitched moan. He slowed the pace of his fingers, working you through it. Once he knew you were finished, he pressed a light kiss to your thigh, pulling his fingers from you. Panting, you watched as his fingers pressed into his mouth, cleaning them of your juices. “Mhm, you always taste so sweet, baby.”

Seunghyun crawled up your body, his lips finding yours in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue tangled with yours, his hips grinding against your glistening folds. “Think you could give me another one? I need to feel you cum around my cock.”

He tugged at your bottom lip as he pulled back from the kiss, meeting your eyes. He watched as you nodded lamely; exhausted but the need to feel him inside you beat every other emotion you were feeling. Seunghyun had a way of making you want more. Each time he was inside you, you felt connected in a way you never had with anyone else before. Surely he had to feel it, too. It couldn’t be that one sided, could it? Was it really just sex for him? The question was on the tip of your tongue, almost daring to slip out.

“Seunghyun…” you started but decided not to ruin the moment, instead changing the direction of your words. “Fuck me. Please.”

“On your hands and knees, baby. I want to fuck you from behind. Want to watch this perfect ass bounce as I make you mine,” he whispered into your ear, his hands moving behind your back to unclasp your bra. He tossed it on the floor, leaving you fully bare to him, finally. His eyes raked over you, his breath almost hitching as he did. You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It was just too hard for him to voice that, fear that you’d turn him down, only wanting this.

You moved into position, getting on your hands on knees for him just like he’d asked. He kneeled behind you, his hand trailing along your spin, pushing down in the middle so you’d arch up more, pushing your ass up higher. His hands kneaded the flesh of your ass before he pulled one back and spanked you. You moaned as you felt the crack of his hand on your skin. 

“You like that, baby?” He teased, giving your ass another smack. “Yeah, you do. I can see you dripping onto the sheets. Tell me how bad you want it. Beg me to fill you up and fuck you. I need to hear it.” Seunghyun’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock, teasing the head through your folds, notching on the entrance, pushing in slightly but not fully. You whined, trying to push back but his hands firmly grabbed your hips, stilling your movements. “Nuh-uh, princess. You have to say it first.”

“Please, Seunghyun,” you practically panted. “Please, please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me, need you to fuck me so good I can’t remember my own name.”

That was all he needed to hear as he thrust into you balls deep in one, hard thrust. He grunted as he bottomed out, your moan at the feeling of him filling you up so good making his cock twitch inside you. The way your walls gripped him was his favourite feeling. You were a perfect fit, like you were made just for him. Seunghyun pulled back until his tip remained inside then slammed back in, setting a deep, hard pace from the start. You were so wet, so sensitive. He could almost come just from a few thrusts but he wanted this to last. Wanted to make this good for you both. You couldn’t stop the moans falling from your lips as he pounded into you, your fingers grasping the sheets below you for something to hold onto. The feeling of him so deep inside you, paired with how hard his fingers were grabbing your hips was intense. There was no doubt there’d be bruises tomorrow but you didn’t care. You liked carrying his marks, knowing that he’d taken care of you like nobody else could. Seunghyun slapped your ass again as he continued to thrust into you, his other hand reaching under you to grab one of your breasts. He squeezed the supple flesh, his fingers teasing your nipple until it pebbled under his touch.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight, so good. I can feel you squeezing around me. I can’t wait to fill you up. You want that, princess? Want me to fill you up nice and deep?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Please, oh God, please, Seunghyun. F-fuck. I’m… gonna come.”

“That’s it. Come for me. Now.”

On his command, you came. Your walls squeezed tightly around his pistoning length, squeezing him for all he was worth. “Seunghyun!” You practically screamed, your third orgasm hitting you harder than the rest. You were sure you saw stars as your juices covered his length. Seunghyun was still pounding into you but his thrusts had become erratic, sloppy. He groaned deeply, his hand grabbing your hair and tugging your head back. “I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up just like you wanted.”

One, two, three more thrusts and Seunghyun moaned deeply, his hips flush against yours as he stilled. He emptied himself inside you, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he pulled out abruptly, covering your back in the last spurts of his release. You fell onto your stomach, catching your breath back, Seunghyun throwing himself down beside you.

“Holy fuck,” he panted, his hand on his heaving chest. “That was… intense.”

“Yeah,” you said, too dazed to form a full sentence just yet. 

Seunghyun smiled softly at you, reaching down on to the floor to grab his shirt, gently cleaning his mess from your skin and between your legs. He threw it back onto the floor, pulling you into his arms. He spooned you from behind, pulling your body flush against him. His lips pressed soft, sweet kisses along your shoulder. “You okay?”

The way he had thought to clean you up then ask you if you were okay made your heart ache. He was so sweet, so kind. It almost brought tears to your eyes that he was here, taking care of you. That thought was brought to the forefront of you mind again. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said quietly. “Seunghyun, I… want to say something.”

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked, concern lacing his voice.

“I think I might be in lo-”

Just as you were about to finish your sentence, he cut you off. “Shhh, it’s okay. Just rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

For the life of him, Seunghyun couldn’t understand why you’d been avoiding him all day. Each time he tried to come and speak to you, you made some excuse and walked away. If you saw him walking down the hallway backstage, you’d suddenly dip into one of the rooms. He was confused. Last night had been amazing, you’d seemed okay. Had he done something wrong? Had he been too rough? He needed to talk to you. Apologise if he’d upset you in any way but it was hard when you refused to even look at him.

Thankfully, the moment came when it was his turn to get his hair styled for the show. For the first five minutes, you worked in silence, barely even looking at him through the mirror.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He suddenly asked.

You stopped what you were doing with his hair. “I’m not.”

“Bullshit and you know it. Did I do something? Was it something that happened last night? Did I hurt you?”

“What? No! Last night was… amazing. You didn’t hurt me… not physically,” you sighed, finally meeting his eyes through his reflection in the mirror. 

Seunghyun’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Seunghyun, yesterday, I tried to say something to you so many times but each time you cut me off. You’ve done it each time I’ve tried to say the words I’ve wanted to say,” you paused, swirling his chair around so you could look at him properly. “It feels like this is just sex for you and I know that’s what we agreed on but… something changed for me and I don’t know if I can keep doing this anymore without saying this so let me say it, please.”

Seunghyun swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His hands suddenly felt sweaty as he rubbed them against his pants, his heart pounding in his chest. “Okay.”

“I’m.. I think I’m in love with you. If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine but we can’t keep doing this anymore if you don’t. My heart can’t take it,” you spoke quietly, the nerves radiating off you in waves. You felt sick, your heart beating wildly against your chest. There was no going back now.

Seunghyun sat there confused before it finally registered. His eyes widened, realisation hitting him. In a rush, like he thought you were about to run out of the door, he took both of your hands in his. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I… have no excuse. I… kind of thought that’s what you wanted to say and, I admit, I have been cutting you off on purpose because I didn’t want you to say it because then it’d be real and I don’t know that I’m the right person for you.”

At his words, you tried to pull your hands from his but he wouldn’t let you, tugging you closer to him as he got to his feet, continuing to speak, almost in a rush. “But, I want to be. It’s not just sex for me. I don’t think it’s ever been just sex for me but I was a coward and couldn’t tell you how I felt so… I offered the thing that I thought would give you an out if you wanted one. I’m in love with you, too. I want to be with you in every single way.”

“Do you mean that?” You asked, hopeful.

“I’ve never meant anything more than I mean that. I’m not good at expressing my feelings, you know that more than anyone. I have a lot of shit I need to work on but I want to do that with you by my side… if you’ll have me.”

“I want that more than anything.”

“Yeah?” He smiled that beautiful smile of his. His hand rested on your cheek, his thumb running along your soft skin. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can kiss me anytime you want to,” you whispered as he leaned forward, his hot breath fanning across your face.

His lips met yours in a slow, deep kiss, pouring all of his feelings into it. He knew he had to make up for how he’d dismissed your feelings and he would spend the rest of his days doing just that.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @bettelaboure @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @thanosspills @moontabi @pinkpunkdynamite @zaaraaax0 @pepsicolapussi @charlenethecattt @crvshedpetals @ferald @jenni-wilk

[neilperryismine]

I JUST MET RSL AND PATEN HUGHES

okay i’m gonna tell you what happened because i need to document this…

so i arrived just in time to enter the theatre at 7:30pm (london traffic🙄) and we sat down, and pretty soon after the lights dimmed and rsl appeared in a chair right at the front. i remember walking in and seeing that chair just sitting there, it was so close to the audience and off the stage, and then rsl sitting in it was so crazy. i was in the third row right at the end, but i was so close. the studio isn’t that big, it felt like i was in my school drama studio, it was very comfortable. then it started and one of my favourite moments is literally rsl sitting there and talking in the dark. it really gave me a moment to just adjust to seeing him in person which i still can’t quite believe. the play itself was AMAZING, so creative, and i loved the digital elements (especially because it meant having rsl’s face projected very big on the wall). paten as katya was just phenomenal. she really owned the whole show and i really felt her character. her dancing was so thrilling. throughout the play rsl did sing for what felt like a long time but was probably more like 30 seconds. him and paten also danced (and kissed) and he did pull his shirt up which i have no idea how to feel about i felt like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles!! they’re just both such great actors and im so lucky to have been able to see them. [i won’t say anything about the play bc i don’t want to spoil it incase anyone sees it] at the end they did a bow, walked off stage and looked like they were animatedly fight about going back on again to do another bow lmao. that felt like a whirlwind and i did quickly video that!! after, rsl came out about 10 minutes later i think, and there was a long queue to see him and paten. but i managed to get to them pretty quickly and sooner than i was prepared for. paten was so lovely and she told me about how they have different songs to switch it up a bit, and that they hadn’t really gotten to explore london but they would have time to do that next week. she also saw my earrings which were snoopy earrings and she told me rsl would love them and he did! after i took a photo with her, i went over to rsl accept he started wandering off so paten called him back which was so funny and the second he saw me his eyes went wide and he went “you’re wearing snoopy earrings!” it’s so funny because i forgot that i was and they’re pretty big. then he asked me if he could show his friend and i followed him to this lovely girl who was a big fan i assume. and when i showed her my earrings rsl touched my hair so she could see!!! (never washing it again /j) then we walked back over and talked a lot. i was so nervous and my mind really went blank so i forgot everything i prepared to say. but some highlights were:

- i went with a friend and we both wore snoopy outfits and when we pointed it out he said “wow you guys are snoopied out!” he also saw my top which has a biker snoopy on it and he did this nine yards stare at it and was like “wow i’ve never seen one like that before” i was so close to telling him where to buy it (also j love that too because it makes me think of biker rsl, especially in the manhattan project. bike rsl is such a strange concept to me and i love this little reminder that no one else can see)

- i gave him an orange slice keyring and he told us that he really likes the orange pieces from m&s!! he looked so happy saying that, and then i gave him a letter and he thanked me and said that he would read it tonight which is now terrifying me because it was horribly sappy and sentimental and i can’t believe i gave him that😭 (plus it had a dianosaur holding a pizza sticker because it’s all i had to hold it together and i love pizza so)

- i was saying how touched i was by dps and how it means so much to me and so many people, and that it’s so well made, and he said “we didn’t think that when we were making it”

- i told him i loved the play and i thought it was just like tape and he said he thought so too, and that it was also like another play called Venus in Furs (i’m pretty sure this was it but my memory is really foggy even though he repeated the name twice to make sure i remembered it), and he gave a description of it and said that it had a better ending than interview. he also said that he wasn’t a fan of his character obviously and that he doesn’t love playing those characters but someone has too, and i said “at least it’s a job” (still mentally kicking myself for that😭)

- he also talked about how his daughters didn’t want to hear anything about the play because they don’t like it or his character😭 which is so real of them honestly

- he hugged me and my friend once when we first met him, then he hugged us before we took photos with him, and then after when we went to say goodbye he said give me another hug and hugged me and my friend again (although this is so blurry i was just so in shock all i remember us being so close to him the whole time and just staring at his face because how is this man real, and the little squeeze he did when he hugged me. it was so surreal)

also rsl has a new haircut and he looks so good. i kinda missed his longer hair but this really suits him, i was just staring at him during the whole play in awe

i was planning on getting him to write something for me to get tattooed but i was so nervous and i completely forgot but i don’t mind i’m just so happy to have met him, and that i was brave enough to do it!!!

here’s what i got signed:

anyway that’s all i can remember rn but i’ll add anything if i remember more!!! this was the coolest experience of my life and if anyone can go and see the play you should!!

[gulliblelemon]

Sunday Snippet

I wasn't going to post a snippet today, because I haven't written much this week. But I have been playing around with a couple of new ideas, which means this is probably a good week to post. Nothing had quite stuck yet, but this is from something I've dabbled with this week.

-

Careful to avoid the main crowd, Wille slipped around the edge of the room and onto a chair at an empty table. It was always a risk ��� the chance of one of the vacant seats being filled by someone desperate for a couple of minutes in his presence was exceptionally high at an event like this – but this vantage point was too good to pass up.

From here, Wille could see almost the whole room, but, more importantly, he could see the beautiful man – currently in conversation with a girl that Wille thought he recognised from some of Felice’s Hillerska photos.

Clearly, the beautiful man liked this person more than he’d liked whoever he had been talking to at the bar. The smile on his face looked easy, and Wille watched in awe as he threw his head back and laughed – bright and unhindered, revealing a beautiful expanse of neck.

Lucky for Wille, no one was close enough to hear his ardent sigh, least of all the man in question. He might not have been able to hear Wille, but it soon became apparent that he could see him. At a lull in conversation, the man glanced over and caught Wille’s eye again. This time, he frowned and looked behind him. Upon seeing no one, he turned back to Wille and, once again, raised an eyebrow. This one seemed to say, ‘Are you looking at me?’.

Unsure what to do with the blatant attention, Wille just shrugged and gave a wry smile. The man shook his head with a small laugh and turned back to the conversation. But now, every minute or so, he would look over at Wille, and every time, Wille would be looking back. 

He knew he was being weird about it, but Wille had never been chill about a pretty man in his life – a fact that had got him into more than one scrape – and he wasn’t about to start now, with potentially the prettiest man he’d ever seen. And it wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it. Hitting on mutual guests at a wedding was a bad idea for anyone, even if they weren’t in Wille’s position. So he planned to borderline inappropriately ogle this man from afar, maybe if he was lucky he’d get to exchange a couple of words, flirt a little, then go home to his own bed.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

The morning of inauguration, the future is a question pressed to your chest and your first answer is Steve’s soft snoring: a tender, arrhythmic little click from somewhere in the roof of his mouth. It is still dark, but you prop yourself up on one elbow—the official time on the old analog clock points to 4:33, which gives you one and a half hours before the first round of ceremonial suits and ties and hair spray and Secret Service. One and a half hours to be yourself, or the version of yourself that belongs only in this bed, in Blair House, in this liminal pre-inaugural morning.

I hate to get up early but also to be instantly rushed so these 1 1/2 hours i totally understand

“Makes sense,” he says, not opening his eyes. “You gonna run for the hills before the swearing-in?” You laugh, but the sound falls apart a tiny bit with the nerves for the enormity of the day. “Only if you come with me.”

He might go for a literal run around the hills of DC tho 🤭

He grins, lips barely moving. “I hid from a hundred and seventeen countries before when we broke the Sokovia Accords. I could probably do it again. ” You nestle into him a little deeper and close your eyes, letting the heat of him drown out everything else. The thickness of his bicep, the soft bristle of his facial hair. “People didn’t know you adopted the full beard back then. Now they know you too well with both, don’t know if we could hide you at all.”

Fair

He chuckles. “You really don’t think the sunglasses and baseball cap work? When you don’t have Secret Service officers milling around, I promise I really can blend in to a crowd.”

Lmao this is one of my fav running jokes in the mcu so this cracked me up 😂

“Doubtful,” you grunt, then you shift, turning over to your other side, and he pulls your back flush to his chest. “But I love you anyway,” you add. “You better, Mrs. Rogers,” quips, accompanying it with a nip at your neck.

They are so perfect together like this 🥰

Steve’s hand drifts across your belly, then down to your hip, thumb tracing a faint line above the waistband of your pajamas. For a moment, you both lie there, in the dark, with his hand just resting. But then you feel the smallest pressure, an invitation, not insistent but certain, and you respond by shifting your weight back against him, aligning your hips to his, letting your body say yes.

Easy yes 🙂‍↕️

You move together with the wordless patience of people who know each other’s every story, every scar, every morning need. You breathe in tandem with each other. You slip your hand over his, guiding his palm up under your shirt, where the heat of his skin makes you shiver. He hums, a quiet yes, and cups your breast gently, thumb sweeping in a lazy arc that makes the nerves under your skin spark. Your heart stutters, not from nerves about the outside world, but from the immediate intimacy of this, the soft noise he makes when you squeeze, the tremor in his breath. You feel yourself open, your body responding in ways of familiarity that he’s forged with your body. His hand slips back to your mound, over the soft trail of hair, and when his fingers finally find your clit, you gasp into the darkness, eager for the more you know you’re about to share with each other.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

It’s not about urgency—neither of you are in a hurry to get to the end of this final morning—but about the gathering heat, the slow burn of inevitability. Your fingers twist the sheet in small, desperate vines, and Steve’s thrusts grow deeper, more sure, as if setting a rhythm you will carry into the rest of this day, this term, this life.

Getting warmed up for the day 🤭

Steve’s chest rises and falls against your back, his breathing a lullaby. You close your eyes and let the hush stretch. The world will come for you soon enough: the tidal wave of handlers and stylists and makeup artists, the whirl of press and protocol of it all. In a handful of hours, you’ll be standing on the West Front of the Capitol, wrapped in wool and nerves, the eyes of history and the world watching you. But for now, it’s just you and Steve, two bodies in a bed, building a myth that nobody else gets to see.

🥹🥹🥹

“You want the shower first, or shall I?” he offers, with the chivalry of a doomed man. “Together,” you say, and he beams, but you really only want him nearby, to catch the fragments of this morning before the world scoops them away.

To soak up the last moments alone

It’s domestic and clumsy and sweet, and when you emerge, clean and a little pink from the heat, Steve wraps you in one of the thick government-issued towels and swaddles you like a pastry. You dry off in the guest bathroom, side by side, brushing your teeth and trading wry glances in the mirror before donning robes, knowing you’re nearly to the point that staff and stylists will invade.

Domesticity looks good on them 😍

By the time you’re back in the bedroom, there are footsteps in the hallway—heavier than civilian tread, the Security Service cadence you’ve learned to recognize.

Footsteps are truly an identifier

Steve catches your other hand and tugs you back to him, capturing your lips with his for one final private moment. You melt into him, returning the kiss. When he pulls back, both of his hands are cupping your face, and the warmth in his eyes, in his smile, it radiates trough you, and you hope you’re giving every bit of it back to him tenfold.

God I love them 🥹🥰

Red, White & True: Inauguration Day in Washington, DC [bonus part]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary: The last morning you'll spend together before Steve officially becomes the President of the United States of America.

Content/Warnings: brief political logitics; married/established relationship; SMUT (breast play, cock stroking, clit play/vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse)

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Additional Notes: 4th of July just called for something Presidential, right? I CERTAINLY NEEDED IT ANYWAY, GIVEN HOW WE'RE SLIDING EVER FURTHER INTO A FASCIST REGIME.

Series Masterlist

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[JANUARY 20 - EARLY MORNING - BLAIR HOUSE, DC]

The morning of inauguration, the future is a question pressed to your chest and your first answer is Steve’s soft snoring: a tender, arrhythmic little click from somewhere in the roof of his mouth. It is still dark, but you prop yourself up on one elbow—the official time on the old analog clock points to 4:33, which gives you one and a half hours before the first round of ceremonial suits and ties and hair spray and Secret Service. One and a half hours to be yourself, or the version of yourself that belongs only in this bed, in Blair House, in this liminal pre-inaugural morning.

It’s still dark outside, but there’s enough light for you to see Steve’s outline, hunched under the white comforter, so familiar it makes you ache with the love you’ve forged for each other these past months. One of his bare shoulders is exposed to the room, and he has a hand tucked under the pillow like a child’s. The room is a little cold, but just the right amount of chilly to make burrowing in the bed wonderfully comfortable.

Last night you’d imagined yourself lying awake, mind racing through anxious what-ifs, fueled by nerves and anticipation, but exhaustion knocked out both you and Steve as soon as you hit the mattress. Now, in the unspeakable clarity before this January dawn, you had woken up at three, then again at four, and again now at four-thirty filled with a nervous, effervescent energy that seems to fizz up from your sternum.

Your thoughts oscillate between the day ahead, what will be said, the way your parents will be watching you from the front row of the West Front, and whether you’ve accidentally scheduled a diplomatic disaster for the first week. You have to pee, but you don’t want to wake Steve, so you lie there, twitching your feet under the covers, letting your mind race laps around the room.

You try to focus on the quiet, the hum of the ancient radiator, the whoosh of a snowplow in the distance. You want a few more minutes of this—this intimate, unpolished moment. The version of yourself that is not yet airbrushed for cameras or press or public. You’re not dreading that—it’s not something you love, but something you have embraced as a core part of basically every day for the next four years. It’s part and parcel for the roles you and Steve will play as President and First Lady of the United States of America.

You trace one finger lightly over Steve’s arm, studying his face for another moment, soft and so peaceful in sleep that you don’t see the soon-to-be President in his features at all.

You shift, careful not to wake him, untangling your legs from his, and shift out from the cocoon of the covers. You pad to the window and look out. Pennsylvania Avenue is empty, except for a few silent trucks and a pair of bundled-up secret service agents walking in slow, practiced arcs. The city is still, held in the hush of a stage play waiting for the curtain to rise. But you only linger for a moment, bladder insisting you do what you left the comfort of the bed for.

In the bathroom, the old tile is freezing, so you hop to the rug in front of the sink and from there to the rug in front of the toilet, before taking a seat to relieve yourself.

You flush, wash your hands, then examine your face in the mirrors above the sink. You still look like you, only a little thinner in the face and more crumpled and with a sort of furtive edge to your eyes. You practice a few neutral expressions, then a sequence of tiny smiles, each one slightly different in candor, grit, capacity for quiet hope. The last one, unexpectedly, looks like your mother. You almost laugh, but then the heavy significance of this day—of all you are meant to carry—presses down again, an affectionate, back-breaking hand.

On your way back to the bedroom, you take the long route, stopping at the sitting room that overlooks Lafayette Park. A single square of light glows from the house across the street. You imagine another family, maybe a judge or a senator or a career bureaucrat, awake already, assembling themselves for the spectacle, the pageantry of transition.

You leave the window, shuffle back into the bedroom, mindful to keep the door from squeaking, and slide into the warm spot you left in the bed.

But your return to the mattress must have alerted his body, because Steve stirs. He’s already reaching for you as you shimmy in as close to him as you can get, pressing into his chest.

He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you in a loose, sleepy clutch, the familiarity of his touch soothing the static inside your head.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles into your collarbone, his voice thick, warm with sleep. “You okay?”

“Too wound up.” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, inhale the mixture of fabric softener and the musky undertone his skin always carries. There is comfort here. Something outside of the press of the day, something that will always be here, when it’s just the two of you.

“Makes sense,” he says, not opening his eyes. “You gonna run for the hills before the swearing-in?”

You laugh, but the sound falls apart a tiny bit with the nerves for the enormity of the day. “Only if you come with me.”

He grins, lips barely moving. “I hid from a hundred and seventeen countries before when we broke the Sokovia Accords. I could probably do it again.”

You nestle into him a little deeper and close your eyes, letting the heat of him drown out everything else. The thickness of his bicep, the soft bristle of his facial hair. “People didn’t know you adopted the full beard back then. Now they know you too well with both, don’t know if we could hide you at all.”

He chuckles. “You really don’t think the sunglasses and baseball cap work? When you don’t have Secret Service officers milling around, I promise I really can blend in to a crowd.”

“Doubtful,” you grunt, then you shift, turning over to your other side, and he pulls your back flush to his chest. “But I love you anyway,” you add.

“You better, Mrs. Rogers,” quips, accompanying it with a nip at your neck.

You grin and sink further into his warmth,

A silence settles over you—comfortable and humming with the things you’re about to do, together and separately. It’s a prelude to standing, to showering, to the moment when you become the couple every American will be watching to officially lead the nation, and, to some extent, the world.

Steve’s hand drifts across your belly, then down to your hip, thumb tracing a faint line above the waistband of your pajamas. For a moment, you both lie there, in the dark, with his hand just resting. But then you feel the smallest pressure, an invitation, not insistent but certain, and you respond by shifting your weight back against him, aligning your hips to his, letting your body say yes.

He kisses your nape. The kiss is a soft vow, a confidence, not meant for you so much as something he needs to give. You turn your face to his, and, eyes still shut, he finds your mouth, sleep-sweet and slow. He tastes like toothpaste left from before bed and the sleep that has settled over the past few hours.

You move together with the wordless patience of people who know each other’s every story, every scar, every morning need. You breathe in tandem with each other. You slip your hand over his, guiding his palm up under your shirt, where the heat of his skin makes you shiver. He hums, a quiet yes, and cups your breast gently, thumb sweeping in a lazy arc that makes the nerves under your skin spark.

He shifts, propping himself half upright, then tugs the hem of your shirt higher, not urgently but with the slow, inevitable surety of a tide. He bends to kiss the hollow of your shoulder. Outside, a snowplow makes a pass down the avenue, and then you feel the world recede again, replaced by the hush of this room, this shared body heat, the way you fit so easily against each other.

You reach for him under the covers, your hand sliding beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, finding the warm, heavy shape of him, half-hard already. He exhales, a sound that is halfway between a sigh and a laugh, and buries his nose in your hair while his hand comes to rest on your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens into a stiff peak, and you bite down on a whimper, not wanting to break the hush of the room. He presses himself into your hand, hips flexing.

His lips find your jaw, then your mouth, then—deliberately—your ear. “God, you feel good,” he whispers, and you squeeze him in reply.

You stroke him slow, base to tip, the way you know he likes best—not fast, not teasing, just the kind of steady attention that says, we’re not going anywhere except together. Steve’s hand leaves your breast, sliding down your torso, pushing at the waistband of your pajamas and underwear together, one patient tug. You arch to let him remove them, and the cold air prickles against your bare skin for an instant until he draws you into the warmth of his body, the length of his thigh fitted into yours, the press of him behind you.

Your heart stutters, not from nerves about the outside world, but from the immediate intimacy of this, the soft noise he makes when you squeeze, the tremor in his breath. You feel yourself open, your body responding in ways of familiarity that he’s forged with your body. His hand slips back to your mound, over the soft trail of hair, and when his fingers finally find your clit, you gasp into the darkness, eager for the more you know you’re about to share with each other.

He knows your edges and soft spots, and he traces them, slow as a sunrise, until you are trembling with the effort not to cry out. The world has shrunk to his hand and his mouth at your ear and the slick, steady rhythm he sets with his fingers, mirroring your stroking of his cock, the ache of you gathering and cresting and threatening to spill even as you try to bring him along with you.

“Steve—” you whisper, and it’s a warning. It’s all you can manage. Your hips jerk into his hand but he holds you, palm firm, thumb working gentle, precise circles until you are nothing but nerve endings and need. When he feels you start to break, he slows, takes his hand away, and you make a noise, wounded, desperate.

He hushes you with a kiss to your temple, then, in the impossibly gentle way of his, he takes your hip in his hand and rolls you onto your stomach in one practiced movement. You catch your breath, pulse hammering in your ears.

He presses a line of kisses down the nape of your neck as he settles between your legs, his body a careful, considerate weight on top of you. In this position, your hips and shoulders pressed into the mattress, you feel owned and protected all at once; the covers thrown off your hips, the air cool on your bare skin, his hand warm as it presses the small of your back. You arch into his touch, the need gathering in you like a ripple, and he fills you with one slow, deliberate thrust, the stretch making you moan, this time into the pillow so as not to summon the world beyond the bedroom door.

You don’t speak, but you don’t have to. The rhythm is slow, almost reverent, Steve’s breath a steady cadence in your ear. Your body takes him in, and in, and in, every movement of his hips amplifying your own. He holds you by the waist, his big hands spanning the space with authority, fingers gliding over the soft swells of your sides. When you push back against him, slick and greedy, he groans your name, a prayer, a punctuation mark on a sentence only you two get to write together.

It’s not about urgency—neither of you are in a hurry to get to the end of this final morning—but about the gathering heat, the slow burn of inevitability. Your fingers twist the sheet in small, desperate vines, and Steve’s thrusts grow deeper, more sure, as if setting a rhythm you will carry into the rest of this day, this term, this life.

You feel the trembling begin at the base of your spine, a wildfire racing up, and it’s all you can do not to shout when the climax finally rips through you, white-hot and blinding. He holds you in place as you ride it out, hands gentle on your back as he bends to press his lips to your shoulder blade. It’s a pause, a moment where the world is so perfectly, privately yours. But Steve does not stop his slow strokes, only slows as your aftershocks thrum through you.

And then he begins to thrust more deeply. You hear his breathing change, his need mounting, and you reach back, finding the knob of his hip, dragging him deeper. “Don’t hold back,” you murmur, almost begging, your voice shaking with the tide in you.

He lets go. He presses you into the mattress, body shaking with the effort to stay quiet, and you feel him pulse deep inside, the rush and heat of him. The point of contact is so intimate it defies language, and you lie there, letting him chase his finish, letting him collapse on top of you, his weight both shelter and gravity. For a long while you breathe that way—him on you, half inside still, both of you trembling and sweating and insensible to everything except the animal comfort of the other. A president and a first lady, bare-assed and boneless, tangled in the damp, unremarkable sheets of a government guest bed.

Eventually, the cold air gets to you both; you wriggle out from under him and fumble for the comforter, pulling it over yourselves in a cocoon. You’re sticky and sweat-slicked and probably smell like sex, but the next shower you take will be in a different life, a different set of expectations. For now, you burrow into each other and, at least for now, the spinning carousel of your thoughts has been slowed.

Steve’s chest rises and falls against your back, his breathing a lullaby. You close your eyes and let the hush stretch. The world will come for you soon enough: the tidal wave of handlers and stylists and makeup artists, the whirl of press and protocol of it all. In a handful of hours, you’ll be standing on the West Front of the Capitol, wrapped in wool and nerves, the eyes of history and the world watching you.

But for now, it’s just you and Steve, two bodies in a bed, building a myth that nobody else gets to see.

You doze for what feels like moments but when the alarm goes off at six, you’ve slept just enough to feel the loss of it. Steve is up first, already leaning over the bed, stretching his shoulder like an old football player. His hair is crushed flat on one side, sticking out at odd angles, which makes you want to muss it more. He grins at you, a sheepish, crooked smile, like he still can’t believe any of this is happening. You look at him and know, neither can you.

“You want the shower first, or shall I?” he offers, with the chivalry of a doomed man.

“Together,” you say, and he beams, but you really only want him nearby, to catch the fragments of this morning before the world scoops them away.

The shower is small and institutional. The water pressure is almost dangerous. You squeeze together under the spray, laughing as you dodge the freezing mist, as you both nearly slip on the porcelain of he tub.

It’s domestic and clumsy and sweet, and when you emerge, clean and a little pink from the heat, Steve wraps you in one of the thick government-issued towels and swaddles you like a pastry. You dry off in the guest bathroom, side by side, brushing your teeth and trading wry glances in the mirror before donning robes, knowing you’re nearly to the point that staff and stylists will invade.

By the time you’re back in the bedroom, there are footsteps in the hallway—heavier than civilian tread, the Security Service cadence you’ve learned to recognize.

“Ready?” you ask, stepping to reach for the handle of the door to let people in.

Steve catches your other hand and tugs you back to him, capturing your lips with his for one final private moment. You melt into him, returning the kiss.

When he pulls back, both of his hands are cupping your face, and the warmth in his eyes, in his smile, it radiates trough you, and you hope you’re giving every bit of it back to him tenfold.

Then, finally, he presses a quick peck to your lips, and nods. “Let’s do this.”

I LOVED REVISITING THESE TWO, AND I HOPE IT WAS LOVELY FOR YOU, TOO! I had written bits of this in my head before I'd even finished the series. 🥰

I had something else in mind that I thought would happen here, but... the muse said tuck it away for later, so, it's been tucked into the vault.

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[coralaura]

Primadonna ​"Got you wrapped around my finger, babe" Part 1, Part 2 (This) † Yandere! Platonic! Batfam x Model! GN! Reader † Warning: Involvement of manipulation, undesirable behaviors, self-harm (mild, non-descriptive, at least not much), anger outbursts (mild) † Characters: 8,235.

Honestly, the Waynes could all go to hell—last name or not. Everyone in that gloomy mansion (except Alfred) was unbearable. You hated every single one of them, even the ones you hadn’t met. How dare they think they had the right to mess with you?

After ignoring Bruce’s request, he and his sons had started hounding you, their constant attempts at cornering you wearing down your patience. If there was a God, you prayed He’d finally take them off your back.

The first to try was Dick. Of course it was Dick—always cheerful, always pretending his stupid smile could win you over. You remembered him as a teenager, and back then his relentless optimism had been tolerable… to a point. Now it was unbearable.

He followed you around during your photoshoot, waving, shouting, even calling your name out loud in the middle of the session.

The photographer was just as frustrated as you were. Every time Grayson shouted your name, the man cursed under his breath in French, the camera shaking in his hands as another shot was ruined. You didn’t blame him—you were cursing internally too, even as you kept that flawless smile plastered on your face.

Finally, you sighed, called for a break, and walked toward Richard. If you hadn’t been surrounded by so many people, you would’ve already hit him, put him in his place.

“What do you want, Mr. Grayson?” you asked, your voice sharp.

He froze. The surname cut deeper than you’d expected; his gaze slipped away, discomfort written all over his face.

“Look, Y/N…” He hesitated, then pushed forward. “I don’t know why you’re mad at B, or why you’re being so cold with me, but… you should at least talk to us.”

At least he was direct. You appreciated that, though his persistence made your jaw tighten. Outwardly, though, all you gave him was a forced smile.

“I don’t want to. Anything else?”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He clearly hadn’t expected such a blunt response.

“Why?”

“Does there have to be a reason?”

You didn’t want them in your career. You had fought your way up to where you stood now, and you weren’t about to let them ruin it—or worse, diminish your achievements.

“You should leave,” you muttered, low enough to sting. “Your presence here isn’t exactly pleasant for everyone else.”

A few people nearby exchanged looks of relief, as if silently thanking you for driving away the spoiled rich kid.

But of course, they didn’t stop. No. The final straw came when gifts started showing up at your agency—flowers first, then fruit baskets, sweets, and every kind of cheesy nonsense imaginable.It became uncomfortable fast. Soon, most people around you were convinced you were dating one of Bruce Wayne’s sons.

It wasn’t trending anymore that you were Bruce’s “long-lost firstborn.” No, now the internet had decided you were secretly dating a Wayne heir, and theories exploded about which one it was and why you were separated.

The cherry on top was the blurry video one of the makeup artists had recorded—the one of you facing off with Bruce. No audio, shot from far away, and of course it was misinterpreted: Bruce Wayne, the disapproving father-in-law, meeting the mysterious lover of one of his sons.

Soon, the rumors shifted—suddenly you were “probably dating Dick,” and Bruce’s attempt to talk to you was framed as his attempt to interfere.

A minority still clung to the idea that you were related to the Waynes. But screw them. You just had to keep playing the role you had created: the charming, beautiful model the world adored, the one no one dared to blame because your smile was always perfect.

Sometimes you asked whatever higher power might be listening: why was this happening to you? Karma? Maybe. You knew you hadn’t exactly been a saint. Your competitiveness had always been extreme—borderline insane.

But so what? You didn’t care if it was wrong. You had crushed your rivals—real or potential—before they had a chance to shine. And it wasn’t like anyone ever pointed a finger at you, called you a monster. The world only ever saw the surface.

People were shallow. Always. Being beautiful meant winning, especially in modeling. Add a little charisma to your looks and people fell for you instantly.You had mastered that lesson. Bruce Wayne had seen it too.

Soon his entire family was hounding you online, clearly realizing either you had a brilliant PR advisor or you were simply that convincing.

Reporters, though a pain in the ass, always left defeated. You were patient, kind, even playful with their questions. In every interview, they tried to trip you up—but you never faltered. That smile of yours never slipped. That warmth in your tone never wavered.

Bruce, the “world’s greatest detective,” couldn’t tell if it was real or just a façade. But he had noticed one thing: the way you treated him, and Dick, was completely different from the persona you showed the world. Cold. Demanding. Proud.

He was Bruce Wayne—billionaire, philanthropist, Gotham’s golden playboy. But he was also your father. You had no right to treat him like that. And you had no right to treat Dick that way either—your older brother, who had been nothing but kind.

And then there were your public statements. Over and over, you denied any ties, romantic or familial, with the Waynes. Bruce had watched one clip on repeat, analyzing your face, your voice.

“Do you have any relationship with the Waynes?”

“No. Unfortunately, none. Not by blood, not romantic, and definitely not business-related.”

The reporter had pressed further.

“Currently none. But in the past?”

You had bristled, anger flashing in your eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone.

“No. Not past, not present, and not in the future either. So please—no more questions.” Your tone had been polite, almost too polite. Forced.

And Bruce had realized: maybe he’d just found your Achilles heel.

You wanted to disappear from the media. How did they know where you were going? Someone on your team had to be leaking information. Makeup, wardrobe, catering—anyone.You hated it. You hated all of it. The last thing you wanted was to be tied to the Waynes.Your mask started to crack. Your true self—the one you kept buried—slipped through the fractures. People excused it as exhaustion, but you knew better.One night, staring into the mirror, you growled under your breath. Rage bubbled up, white-hot, and you clenched your fist until your knuckles went pale. Then, with a sharp cry, you slammed it into the glass.Shards rained down around you, slicing your skin, painting your arm with blood. But the pain barely registered. The anger burned it all away.You were beautiful. But at what cost? To be stripped of your fame? To be forced into connection with that spoiled family? To inherit traits from a man who suddenly decided he wanted to play “good father”?You wanted nothing from him.You were more than them. You had built yourself from nothing. No one had given you anything—not even money for college. And here you were, a world-renowned model, forged by your own blood and sweat. Did they have any idea how much you’d sacrificed to get here?You had manipulated, destroyed, broken people—emotionally and mentally—to climb your way up. To escape this filthy city. To finally walk the runways of Metropolis. You were so close you could taste it.

But you had gotten cocky. You’d savored the victory before even holding it in your hands. You’d been too narcissistic. And now, you were paying the price.Fine. You had started from zero before. You could do it again. Staying at the top was the real challenge, and the Waynes were just another obstacle. Whether you had to go over them or crush them—it was the same to you.

After all, they hadn’t fought their way up. They hadn’t clawed, cheated, manipulated their way into status. They’d been born into it.

Your father—sadly, that’s what he was—had been born into his throne. Richard Grayson had inherited his privilege by adoption. The others followed the same pattern.

You, though—you had been cast aside. He had never even given you his name. You had built yourself from nothing.

Never recognized as a son, unlike Grayson. Unlike Todd. Unlike that idiot Drake—or whatever his name was.

Taglist:

@hopingtoclearmedschool, @br0ke-b1tch, @holderoflostmemories, @kittzu

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Kyle with a secret partner that likes giving him love bites

kind pt 2 but can be read alone, a little suggestive, keep in mind Kyle has a darker skin complexion so hickeys look different on him

Kyle never thought he’d be the kind of teammate to hide things from his team, he knew he didn’t have to tell them everything but he liked that they knew even the small things about him, and he loved whenever they felt close enough to share things with him

But that all changed when he met you

You don't even remember meeting him, you were drunk and wasted right outside the bar, according to Kyle you clung to him at first sight, loudly declaring he needed to walk you home, which of course he did. He even helped you into bed, where you immediately passed out, he made sure you were nice and tucked in before adding his number into your phone

Your relationship really blossomed from there, you were both looking for something serious while still taking it slow, taking your time learning about each other. Kyle's only ever been in serious relationships and he usually tells the rest of the tf 141 after about 4-6 months of dating, but when the time came around to tell them about you a part of him hesitated, he decided he would keep your existence all to himself for a few more months. It was during these months when you first started biting. The first time it happened you two were making out, you started gently biting against the skin around his neck, his hands tightening around your waist with a low moan falling from his lips. The next morning while you two were still laying in bed you asked how he felt about hickeys, you were very open about wanting to bite him and honestly he didn't care, even going so far as to say you could bite him anywhere anytime. Ever since he told you this he hasn't gone a single day without having a hickey on him, only about half of them are sexual bites while the other ones are loving ones when you use him as a chew toy.

He fell into simple rhythm with you, and the bites just became a part of it, he kept the hickeys hidden under his clothes and the ones that picked out he could brush of as normal bruises, there was always a part of him that wanted to tell them about you, but at the same time part of him liked having a secret little thing waiting for him at home. And then he learns that Simon also has a girlfriend that bites, and he just can't help but look at Simon knowingly, even though he knows Simon doesn't understand.

It was supposed to be a normal day at work but the recruits were pushing everyone's buttons, it was a normal drill in one of the vehicles, till they started acting up in the back somehow resulting in the vehicle getting flipped over and everyone covered head to toe in mud. Price was absolutely pissed, making everyone run laps and do extra work, which meant the sergeants and lieutenant had to stay behind to oversee them. Like most of the others Kyle liked to shower at home, even if his home was the farthest from base out of the 141, it was worth it to get a hot shower and see his girl, but that wasn't going to be possible today. He went with Soap into the bathroom not even thinking about the hickeys covering his skin, now Soap didn't notice at first but he saw whenever they were getting dressed “ay, whit ur those” Soap was pointing to his abdomen, and Kyle immediately knew what it was “just a few bruises, probably from the fall” but Soap wasn't convinced in fact he was getting closer “nah, ya got a few on your arms to” Kyle was desperately trying to hide his collar area but Soap saw threw him, Soap let out the most dramatic sigh ever “oh ma, you've got hickeys, and they're everywhere” Soap’s eyes were clearly connecting the dots “which means you've got a girlfriend you've never telt us aboot” before Kyle could try to convince him otherwise, Soap was running out of the bathroom still half dressed to tell everybody.

When Kyle finally managed to get dressed and catch up with Soap, the rest of the 141 were staring at him knowingly, Price was the first to say anything “so that's why you've been leaving early”  he was gonna try and deny it but Soap walked right up to him and pulled up his shirt revealing what you like to call ‘your masterpiece’ “and that's why you've been looking at me” Ghost said “Can’t believe ma fellow sergeant woid lie t’ me” Soap feigned hurt “i was gonna tell yous about ‘er i swear” Kyle was worried they would be mad he never told him, but Price just patted him on the shoulder “sergeant, i don't care what you do and don't tell us, as long as you're safe and gonna show up to work” and with that Price left mumbling about how all his soldiers have weird taste. Ghost walked out next but before leaving gave Kyle a knowing look, i know exactly how it feels, Ghost would be the last person to judge him for the bites or for hiding things from the rest of the group. Soap just shook his head a Kyle, “as long as i get t’ be the best man, i’m cool with it, first ya gotta let us meet her, preferably wit’ Simon’s girl present” Kyle was glad the team understood, but he was unbelievable worried for the day you and Simon’s fiancé would meet.

not sure how i would write Kyle and Simon's partner meeting because i wrote them both as reader, one day i might try to figure it out

[kosmicdream]

I haven't seen people calling FFAK vore for a while but I just want to clarify, as a certified Vore Enthusiast, that it's very much cannibalism and not vore. The themes between the two are very different!

Cannibalism is about giving yourself entirely to your partner and being part of them forever; this is also the central theme of consumption in FFAK.

Vore is a lot of different things under one tent, but a big one is that it's about Ultimate Physical Intimacy. When FFAK addresses that theme, it's via different metaphors like Simon and Knife merging their heads to kiss. Conversely, when mandragora physically inhabit someone else's body, this isn't treated as intimate but as intensely alienating.

One of the big distinctions I draw between cannibalism and hard vore is that cannibalism is about power dynamics *within a society* while hard vore is an expression of raw power in a Hobbesian state of nature. While much of FFAK is about the breakdown of society, it is still very much a story about society.

There's only a couple scenes that come particularly close to vore imo:

The scene where Antony gets eaten by the mindless worm in his secret laboratory (there's no emotional bonding there, the worm has no place in any society)

The fight between Knife and Celadon, particularly where Celadon is rearranging the interior of The Helper to attack Knife (he's literally inside her body and extremely vulnerable as a result)

Pluto going kaiju mode and blasting part of the Crosshatch Colony, causing Celadon to bleed (again literally inside her body, highlighting the vulnerability of her vital organs)

Jacket skinsuiting Agent Shell

Notably, none of these are treated as intimate, and Chain and Nail being used as actual utensils to be eaten from is treated with genuine discomfort rather than lurid protestations and descriptions. They went in a mouth, it was gross, they don't want to think about it. Nail going into Kurt's mouth is briefly alluded to once and moved on from; Nail having seen Kurt's butthole comes up repeatedly and is a big sticking point.

Meanwhile, Dylan and Crimson's whole encounter (and Crimson generally) is all about codependency and attachment issues and burdening others with unasked-for self-sacrifice. Celadon's themes are similar but inverted, her life being sacrificed while being told that she's being saved. All themes for which cannibalism is an apt metaphor and vore is not.

Anyway I love themes and symbolism, vore and cannibalism, thank you for coming to my Tedx Talk

oh!! this is a really interesting analysis and it was fun to read, ty! FFAK does get labeled as "the vore webcomic" a lot, and i cannot deny there's likely a crossover there. but I personally have always thought it probably wasn't the best representation of that niche kink - or more so my interpretation might not really align exactly with what people might expect? So i agree that Cannibalism probably fits more even if its probably a more broad/vague label in general. Id love to hear ppls thoughts on it tho, or more analysis type things in general because its fun for me to read and see what people take from my work! (also the referencing of various scenes was fun to read too lol!)

[backjustforberena]

I've done this before and found it helpful, so I'm asking again to pick a WIP to commit to. I, admittedly, didn't do this the last time (listen it's still in my drafts but it's tricky and now it's been months) but I've recently done a first full draft of another thing which should be published soon ish...

Once again, I asked the lovely @silkandsteel to pick a word to be found in my big document and other files, and from the examples, I would like to have my followers pick which one I should soldier on with.

The word, this time, was "touch". I've kept it to 5 options. Here they are:

Option #1 - A 5+ 1 fic, with Rhaenys and Corlys sharing a bed during the events from 1x10 to 2x04

They are face to face for a moment but neither disturb the silence, even as she traces a hand against his cheek. He closes his eyes against it: cold to her touch, for the fire has been stoked in this room and all is warmth with her.

Option #2 - A "missing scene" from 1x05, where Rhaenys catches up to Viserys after they have betrothed their children, and they have a guarded discussion with one another.

She watched the movement out of the corner of her eye, and suppressed a shiver, remembering that, to her brief touch, the hand on the end of that sleeve missed a few fingers now.

Option #3 - An AU where Rhaenys does kill Aegon and his family at the coronation. Daemon comes to Driftmark, with the new Queen ordering Rhaenys's death in order to safeguard her reign.

Her husband was a very tempest. To others, he was coarse and violent in his disposition. Powerful and overwhelming like the blackest and darkest of waves, ready to swallow any smaller prey. A force of nature.  But the seas could be gentle. They could be calm and embrace just as warmly as they might coldly consume. She felt immeasurably lucky that she knew of his soft touch, his gaze like sunlight glittering on crystal blue oceans.

Option #4 - An AU where Erryk is successful in rescuing Rhaenys and keeping her with him until they get on board a ship. Rhaenys has to reckon with leaving Meleys in the city.

At some point, Ser Erryk must have left her as he comes back to her now. A gentle touch to the small of her back. Rhaenys tears her eyes away from the shore to look at him.

Option #5 - This would probably be a three, FOUR AT MOST, scene long AU of Rhaenys surviving Rook's Rest and being imprisoned in Essos, ransomed back to Corlys at the end of the war. Focusing on the romance. Not the politics.

“Rhaenys.” One hand of his reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Corlys traces her crow’s feet, enraptured by the lines, the testament of the years, the trace of the smiles he’s already vowed to conjure onto her face again. Her eyes are wet, his touch featherlight against her skin.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Note to start; In the time since this was posted, I've renamed Ichigo to Kurumi.

That said, I SOMEHOW MISSED THISSSS??????? IM GRIPPING ONTO UR REBLOG WITH BOTH HANDS HYPERVENTALATING RN, HI NOT TO REBLOG LATE BUT I LOVE THIS ??

Team Ro my beloved,,, that'd be so fucking fun, especially with Tenzo there. I wonder how the timeline would add up, and if Tenzo would have some concept of them, having seen them in ROOT or heard whispers of Danzo's "personal project" at any point.

Just to get it out of the way, age time;

Kakashi, 19

Tenzo, 17

Shisui, 16

Itachi, 14

Kurumi, 14 (lost 3 years to ROOT)

Kagami, 14 (lost 3 years to ROOT)

Kurumi and Kagami both time traveled at like 11 (also putting Kurumi in an age range where she could be plausibly mistaken as Sakumo's kid)

Tenzo being so quietly excited about getting to show them the real world,,, he had Kakashi to take his hand and guide him, and now it's his turn to do the same for someone else. He's trying SO hard not to be insane about it. SO hard. This is the most enthusiastic his teammates have ever seen him about any one thing

Specifically Kagami and Shisui interacting would be so fucking fun, especially bc I subscribe to the hc that Kagami is Shisui's grandfather. Neither have any idea about their relation, but they're getting along great. Or as great as can be expected, yk, everything considered. Good for them!!

I think ur so fucking right about Kakashi mentally checking out actually. He's trying but also he can not fucking handle this. Thank you Shisui for being the only emotionally literate team member, they'd be nothing without you fr

Kakashi can try to check out mentally all he wants but Kurumi is going to wake him up in the middle of the night by curling on top of him because if she closes her eyes she can pretend he's one of her old clanmates she still misses so dearly.

I have to wonder how long it would take Kurumi and Kagami to properly piece together the time travel (it's unclear how much of it Danzo explained to them, but he probably lied about aspects of it / the future to better groom them) and also under what circumstances they'd finally confess to it. If they'd ever confess at all, anyways

I think Kurumi would be fine lying about it forever, but Kagami might fess up to Shisui after enough time. Maybe

Just in general this changed future Konoha is fun to think about,, by the time team 7 is formed, the Uchiha are solidly better standing in the village, Shikaku is hokage (which means we get Hokage's son Shikamaru), Itachi and Sasuke are doing just fine and have a fairly normal(ish) family (complete with Kakashi and the rest of team Ro having interacted with Sasuke semi regularly/hanging around the Uchiha head house— which should make team 7 interesting), and we also have like 19ish years old somewhat better adjusted Kagami and Kurumi just kinda around. Sarutobi is dead and Danzo is ??? (Which would put the sannin....?)

Just. All the pieces all over the board. Fun to think about.

Mmm. young Kagami accidental time travel gone wrong when Danzo is the first to find him,,

Danzo wants him as a loyal ROOT shinobi soooo baddd, it would fix all of his issues and give him 30 new ones and also make all of his everything so much worse

Ichigo comes with him too, but Danzo doesnt really give a shit ab her she's only here so that Danzo can make Kagami kill her to further his own ROOT training. She is having the worst time ever in the bg and also really mad that she's being ignored

Both kids have so much clan pride too,, the time they're from, they're only a couple years into Konoha being a thing, their clans make up the foundation of their personalities and lives. So them being forced to "forget" ab it,,, ough,,,

Being put through the process of forgetting themes to devote everything to ROOT, made so much worse because they don't even have 'true' Konoha loyalty to amplify like a modern shinobi kid might,, their clans are all they have,,, u cant just take it away,,

Ichigo especially I think would react SO violently to the concept of being forced to forget her clan. She is a HATAKE, she was raised in isolation and her clan is literally all she's ever had. They are raised into insane levels of loyalty to eachother and the spirit of their clans, Ichigo herself would have one day become her clans spiritual leader—in general too shes just. Very, very clan focused. All warring state era kids are.

Anyways, Kagami and Danzo

I think Kagami doesnt want to believe it's Danzo behind all of their suffering. And Danzo also probably does not present himself as the cause of it, at first anyways.

As is, Kagami is PRIMED for being groomed and gaslit tbh. The power imbalances are off the charts— he wants to be loyal and put his trust in Danzo so bad bc thats his best friend but also a whole adult now. A big, strong adult who Kagami is predisposed to trust.

Danzo is in the perfect position to present himself as a saving grace to Kagami. Slowly easing him into the realization that he's the one forcing him to go through all of this,,, by the time Kagami fully understands it was all Danzo's plans this whole time, he's already too thoroughly wrapped in his web to really see the facts straight

He also just has like. NO one left. Danzo is his only source of comfort in the darkness he carefully designed and submerged him into </3

Mmmm. Just Kagami and Ichigo depression hours up in ROOT club. They are having THE worst time ever in the world. When they're first caught, Ichigo tries to howl for help (with howling being a legitimate chakra technique all Hatake are taught as kids, often used to signal and communicate over long distances) so they have to fucking muzzle her as they go to get the chakra suppressants (its probably mostly a statement tbh, they could totally just get the suppresants and leave it at that)

Only a bit away, Kakashi hears the howl of a wolf in the distance and for a second, he is filled with the urge to run towards it. But the howling stops, and with it the strange urge. How odd. He'll have forgotten about it, not even a week later.

No one is coming for them btw, back in their time they're presumed dead in the lab explosion that sent them here. They're stuck in the torture machine with no rescue in sight <///3

I do wanna to see them escape together ,, but like Ichigo is now half feral and ready to fucking bite anyone who so much as looks at her and Kagami is now dissociating 80% of the time and cant seem to recognize anyone anymore

meanwhile the Uchiha massacre is only a week or two away, and their escape and subsequent discovery is a tipping point for the uchiha that makes them do the coup sooner rather than later,,,

No one other than Danzo knows ab the time travel and both the kids are a) very disoriented + dont super understand whats happening themselves, and b) filled to the fucking brim with trust issues now, thanks Danzo, so when they show up it's just. Kind of understood that Danzo was kidnapping actual babies. Like, no one recognizes Kagami, but he's clearly an Uchiha and the girl with him is insisting he's part of the clan (Kagami himself is fucking dead to the world and way too deep in his head to hold a conversation rn)

Meanwhile someone goes to get Kakashi and now Kakashi is understanding that Danzo was straight up kidnapping Hatake babies.

This is around the point where Kakashi was debating killing the Hokage for Danzo anyways so he's just kinda. Throwing down the towel. Man, FUCK this shit. Fuck ALL of this shit.

Uhhh Kakashi joins the Uchiha in their coup anyone? Anyone? No? Ok well he's doing it anyways.

The Uchiha overthrow the government and they peer pressure Shikaku into being new Hokage bc he serves as a good neutral figure for most in Konoha (and itd look bad if an Uchiha took the seat directly) and Ichigo and Kagami get to heal in the Uchiha compound, yayyy <3

Only they spent a few solid years with Danzo so they are for sure irreversibly fucked now. There is no true recovery because they have been changed as people at their core, and even free they've been permanently separated from the time, clans, and people that they once knew. They lost their childhoods and are now being forced to start from scratch in a world they can't fully recognize.

Eventually the time travel thing will probably be found out, but by that point shit already hit the fan and the walls were repainted anyways, so no one. Really cares. All's well that ends well...?

Then ofc, obligatory bad ending where they dont escape, Kagami kills Ichigo as part of his ROOT trials and becomes a full-fledged ROOT shinobi fully loyal to Danzo (and also gains his mangekyou)

The uchiha massacre happens and things happen as they do in canon— and when ROOT is finally "officially" disbanded, a curly haired Uchiha shows up among the ex agents struggling to relearn how to be human

Yayyyy <33 the end

Anyways the entire time I was typing this I was listening to Sub Urban - DIAMOND on loop, which is a really good song so Im gonna go ahead and plug it here bc like. It's really good. Highly reccomend.

[heldbybarnes]

OMG THE ASK BOX IS BACK!!! I am so so happy about this!! I’m sorry you had to close it in the first place! People can be so awful :(

I’ve had an idea brewing in my brain and it is so 2018 tower fic core but I can’t get it out of my head.

Reader is a Stark. Whether it be Tony’s sister or Tony’s kid, whatever you so choose. Bucky is starting to get used to being around everyone. Being at the compound and he’s taken quite the liking to reader. They become fast friends, the lines blurring a little bit the more they spend time with each other. Classic friends to lovers trope.

One thing Bucky has come to love is family dinners. The comfort of having people around is something new to him but he’s finding solace in the warmth of it. But he particularly loves what happens while dinner is being prepared. Especially when the Stark family is cooking. Pepper or Tony will put on a record, something funky and easy to dance to. Which always always always leads to pre dinner dancing while prepping said dinner. Tony will twirl pepper around the kitchen while reader aways her hips to the music, which Bucky always tries to respectfully ignore but finds he cannot the more their relationship grows.

As time goes on, reader has began to recruit more people. Sam needed no convincing to join the dance party but she even got Steve, Natasha, and Wanda to join. Bucky watches on, giving the excuse of “and miss this show? I think not, bug” but this night in particular snaps something in Bucky.

He watches Sam grab the readers hands from where they’re stirring something on the stove and twirls her before dipping her dramatically, making her laugh brightly and it just sets something off in Bucky and he’s standing before he can even realize it. It’s like he blinks and he’s standing next to reader and Sam and he’s like “mind if I cut in?” And reader and Sam are both kind of shocked but of course reader says yes. Maybe he fumbles with the rhythm a little bit so reader places his hands on her hips and is like “follow my rhythm, buck” and he’s like so fucking enticed. Trying not to take her right there on the kitchen counter.

As they keep dancing, his rhythm starts to match hers and she puts her arms around his neck as a more sultry song comes on and maybe they get a little closer, their hips swaying together. Not caring that everyone else is in the room too bc it feels like just them at this point. Sam would probably yell out “these two gunna get a room or what?” Or something like that and he’d think that would get a reaction but they’re so lost in each other it takes Tony being like “little too close Barnes! Don’t make me get the shot gun” in like a teasing protective manner for them to come out of this trance.

Haven’t really thought of a way to end it, could end in smut lol but I found a playlist of like soul music that I can imagine playing at the compound during a family dinner and it just made me think of reader trying to get Bucky to dance with her and when it does happen it’s absolutely fucking electric! I’m so so so so sorry I always send the longest prompts. You’re amazing and ily

- 🍎

i love the long requests theyre so funnnnn!!! this also went ALOT longer than i anticipated to write lol

1,000 follower prompt menu

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You’ve learned the sound of the compound at peace.

It isn’t quiet. It’s better than quiet. It’s the hum of the HVAC and the elevator ding, the hiss of a pan somewhere on the communal floor, the clink of ice in a glass, the easy flow of voices that don’t have to worry if the walls are listening. It’s Friday which means everyone who’s on-site is already drifting toward the kitchen like they were pulled there on an invisible string. Pepper has kicked off her heels. Tony has switched from the lab to a soft sweater he insists is “casual billionaire chic.” The smell of garlic hits the air and it’s home, it’s home, it’s home.

And Bucky—Bucky’s getting good at recognizing this version of the world. The one that doesn’t demand anything of him except that he exist in it. The one that looks back at him and says: stay. The one that has you in it.

“Bug!” Tony calls when he spots you. “Come tell me how right I am about the proportion of butter to olive oil.”

“You’re never right,” you sing back, breezing by him to press a kiss to Pepper’s cheek and steal a cherry tomato. “You bully the oil.”

“I woo the oil,” he corrects, wounded.

“You harass the oil,” Pepper says, laughing as she pulls a record from a sleeve. It’s one of the old soul compilations you found at a flea market last month, the sleeve frayed with a price sticker still half-stuck to the corner. She sets it on the turntable near the far counter, the needle dropping with a satisfied little static. Warm horns spill into the room like the lights just got more golden.

From his corner of the sectional, Bucky looks up. The music slides over him, familiar and new all at once. He sees you straighten a little taller, shoulders loosening as if something inside you recognizes this sound and unfurls.

“Uh-oh,” Sam says, waggling his brows from where he’s balancing a bowl of greens on his hip. “Here she goes.”

You pretend you don’t hear that, already swaying a tiny bit as you pass Bucky on your way to the stove. “Timer for the garlic knots?” you ask, voice bright.

“Five minutes,” he answers, because he’s been watching them like he was assigned. He’s perched on one of the stools, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a dish towel folded carefully under his forearms like he’s afraid of leaving fingerprints anywhere. He’s not; not anymore. But sometimes the old instincts and the new life overlap and leave him with tidy corners and precise piles and the habit of making himself smaller.

You never let him stay small.

“Thanks, soldier,” you murmur, bumping his knee with yours as you pass. Electricity skips over the denim where you touched him. He doesn’t flinch. He inhales. You smell like oregano and peach shampoo and laughter you haven’t laughed yet.

Stevie Wonder slides into something slower and low, the bass a heartbeat under the clatter. Pepper sways to it as she chops basil, hips making tiny figure eights. Tony pretends to be unaffected for approximately four seconds before abandoning the saucepan to pull her out into the open space between the island and the couch. “C’mon, Pep. Don’t embarrass me in front of our friends,” he says, already grinning as he pivots her under his arm, showy and shameless, the kind of twirl that makes her hair fan.

Your mouth curves. It always does, at this part. It’s their ritual: the record goes on, the party begins, and some part of you goes tender at the edges. Bucky’s noticed. He’s noticed everything about you in that dangerous, greedy way he doesn’t know how to stop. He knows which mug you grab first in the morning (the chipped blue one, because it fits your hands best). He knows your tell when you’re lying about being fine (you go too still; you stop tapping your fingers). He knows you’re the one who sneaks an extra pinch of salt into the sauce when Tony isn’t looking, because the first time he called you on it you hissed at him like a feral cat and he almost laughed while he was falling in love.

He also knows this makes him noticeable. He’s a man learning to re-inhabit his own body, and sometimes that means he looks up and finds his hands empty and shaking because you just brushed his wrist, or he realizes he’s smiling with his whole face because your laugh shot straight through him and made him forget to brace for impact. He knew from the first week that if he let himself, he’d orbit you. By the end of the second, he gave up pretending he wasn’t already doing it.

“Okay,” you say to Sam, mock-stern as you stir the sauce. “You’re on salad duty, Wilson. Don’t drown it in dressing.”

“Wow, no trust,” Sam says, uncapping the vinaigrette with a wounded sigh. “And here I was going to make it with love.”

“Make it with restraint,” Natasha deadpans, sweeping through to steal an olive. She’s in socked feet, hair up, eyes soft. She bumps Steve’s shoulder as she passes him a stack of plates. “Captain, set the table or perish.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve says cheerfully, because he’s a liar who likes orders.

Wanda appears like a whisper a second later, hovering happily near the record player, humming under her breath. She’s the easiest recruit for your dance crusade after Sam—she always is. She likes the way you move, the way you coax the room into joining you like you’re inviting them into a secret. Vision would be here, too, if he weren’t on a research call; he sent a text with a heart and a reminder to save him a knot. You sent back a photo of the dough rising like a cloud in the bowl and three musical note emojis. You like the ritual of this almost as much as you like the dancing.

The song flips, saxophone curling around the edges of the room now, something with a beat that feels like summer windows rolled down. Your hips answer it on instinct. It’s small, at first: a sway, a shift of weight, the way you stir that becomes a rhythm you can feel in your shoulders. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Bucky watching you, trying not to be caught, chin ducked like he’s hiding a smile.

“Come on,” you say to him, sing-song soft, because you’re not above being a menace. “Dance with me.”

He shakes his head, but it’s fond. It’s always fond, lately. “And miss this show?” His mouth quirks, eyes bright. “I think not, Bug.”

Sam hoots like he’s been waiting for the line. “Show?” he repeats, outrage scandalized. “You hear that? Objectifying your moves, that’s a write-up.”

“My moves are beyond HR,” you say, flipping your hair theatrically, which makes Bucky choke on a laugh. He ducks his face, ears pink. He’s getting better at letting the sound out. You hoard each one like a penny in a jar.

“Good lord,” Tony says, stirring the pot back over like he hasn’t been fully making out with Pepper two minutes ago. “If you two start something, you clean it up.”

“What does that even mean?” you ask, delighted. “Is love…sticky?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky mutters, eyes flicking to your mouth like on accident. He looks away immediately as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. The room keeps moving. You feel something under your ribs sit up and take notice.

“Timer,” Steve calls, pointing at the oven.

“I got it,” Bucky says, already half-standing. He’s graceful without trying, that military glide that never fully left him, but there’s a hitch when he’s close to you that makes his movements human. He moves around you, his metal hand careful on the oven door, the heat licking at his forearm as he pulls the tray out. Garlic and butter and parsley perfume the air. He sets it down and you could kiss him for saving dinner, except you’ve wanted to kiss him for other reasons for weeks and you keep not doing anything brave about it.

You’re brave about a lot of things. You go into boardrooms with your name on the door and call your brother on his nonsense and lean over the rail of the balcony when the city is asleep and breathe like the sky belongs to you. But Bucky Barnes, with his careful mouth and his stupidly gentle hands and his terror of taking more than he’s allowed? That’s a bravery you’re still building.

You drop the spoon into the sink.

Sam clocks it first. You can feel the change in the air like someone turned the lights down just a notch, just enough to make the room’s corners look like shadows you could step into. The saxophone melts into a bassline that sits right at your waist. You don’t have to think about it to start moving. You let your hips go. You let your shoulders loosen. You let your body do something it remembers: joy.

What happens next is always some version of this: Pepper and Tony show off, Wanda sways, Natasha pretends not to be charmed and fails, Steve does a dad two-step, Sam spins anyone foolish enough to get within reach. Tonight, he’s apparently decided that anyone means you.

You’re stirring again when his hand slides over yours and plucks the spoon away, slick as a pickpocket. “Excuse me, chef,” he says, and before you can protest he’s got your wrist, then your other hand, and he’s spinning you so the skirt of your dress flares and your laughter crack-crack-crackles in the room like ice.

“Samuel!” you shriek, delighted, as he dips you low with a theatricality that would make Tony proud. “I will drop you in the salad.”

“Worth it,” he says, utterly unrepentant as he hauls you back up and into a little side-step that makes your toes tap.

You’re still laughing when you see Bucky. You feel Sam see him, too, because Sam is a menace and a matchmaker and the biggest softie alive, and he meets your eyes with a look that says I know. You swallow around something bright and dangerous in your throat.

Because Bucky is standing.

He’s up like the floor moved under him, like his body decided he needed to be where you were and his brain is only now catching up. There’s a wash of color in his cheeks, a stubborn tilt to his jaw like he’s doing something that scares him and he’s doing it anyway. His dog tags glint when he steps forward.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asks.

Sam’s grin is slow and wolfish and made of pure love for the chaos he’s about to unleash on you. “By all means, Barnes,” he says, handing you over like you’ve just become the most fragile and most important object in the world.

For a second you both just look at each other. It’s dumb that it feels like the whole room went quiet. It didn’t. The song is sticky and sweet, the pan is still bubbling, Tony is muttering to Pepper about something that’s probably a joke only they understand. But all you can hear is the sound of your heart speeding up and Bucky’s breath when he says your name, soft as a touch. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you echo, smiling because you can’t not when he looks like that—like you are a sunrise he didn’t know he’d get a second time.

He reaches for you. He means to take your hand; you can see that. He hesitates at the last second, fingers hovering like he’s asking again without words. So you make the decision for both of you. You catch his hands and put them exactly where you want them: at your hips, warm and certain, his thumbs fitting instinctively into the indentations like they were carved for this.

“Follow my rhythm, Buck,” you say, and your voice is not as steady as you want it to be.

His eyes drop to your mouth and then he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

He’s not bad. He says he is, constantly, like the idea of being good at something that looks like joy still feels like a trick. He’s not bad at all. He’s a little stiff at first, counting under his breath the way Steve counts reps. His left hand—flesh—finds yours and holds it like he’s afraid if he squeezes he’ll break the moment. His right—metal—spans your hip and you swear your bones remember an older gravity and rearrange around the new one.

You start small. A sway. A step. Your body is teaching his, and he’s a quick study when he’s not trying so hard to be perfect. “Don’t think,” you murmur, smiling up at him. “Just—feel it.”

“I am,” he says, and the way he says it makes heat curl low in your belly.

You pull him a little closer to prove a point. His breath stutters. The song slides into something a touch more sultry, the horns silkier, the drums lazy and confident. Your hands go up, around his neck, fingers brushing the short hair at his nape. He makes a sound you pretend you didn’t hear because if you do you might put your mouth on his throat right here in front of God and Tony Stark.

“Okay,” Sam yells, delighted and scandalized, clapping once as he hops up to sit on the counter. “Are these two gonna get a room or what?”

You don’t look away from Bucky. He doesn’t look away from you. The room fades to a blur at the edges. Your hips find the exact same pattern as his like they were looking for it and just clicked into place; his chest is a solid wall against your palms; he smells like clean soap and leather and the faintest trace of motor oil from helping Tony earlier. His jaw is tight like he’s holding back a hundred things. His eyes are blue like a bruise just before it blooms.

Something flames through you that feels like relief and hunger and something older, something that knows his name even if you never said it like this before. You tilt your head. He leans in a fraction, as if the room has a gravity and you’re both subject to it.

“Little too close, Barnes!” Tony calls, faux-panicked. “Don’t make me get the shotgun. I’ll do it. I’ll—Pepper, where do we keep the metaphorical shotgun?”

“Next to your humility,” Pepper says sweetly, not looking up from the basil. “So…nowhere.”

“Ha. Ha.” Tony points a wooden spoon at the two of you, but there’s fondness in it. There always is, when he looks at you like this—half-dad, half-brother, half-incredulous that you grew up and found a way to be soft in a world that punished softness. The look he gives Bucky is complicated, too, but it’s not unkind. It’s I see you trying. It’s Don’t hurt my kid. It’s I’ll hurt you if you hurt my kid.

You lean back enough to meet Bucky’s eyes like you’re asking him a question without words. He answers you with a breath you feel where his chest touches yours. “Tell me if—” he starts, and stops, swallowing. “If this is too much.”

“Bucky,” you say, and if you say his name like a promise maybe that’s because you mean it. “I’m the one pulling you in.”

He huffs a laugh at that, and then you do the unthinkable and guide his metal hand lower, just the barest inch, to the curve where hip becomes waist. Something like a spark snaps through him. You see it in his eyes, the way they go a shade darker like he’s standing in a doorway and someone turned the light on in the room behind him.

The song dips. You sway. New song, slower. You don’t know who put it on; maybe the record found it for you. It threads its way around you both, and when his forehead tips to yours by instinct more than plan, you let it happen. You’re not really dancing anymore; you’re just moving together the way people do who forgot to be scared.

“Barnes,” Natasha calls, voice drier than the martinis she pretends to hate. “If you break the chef, you cook.”

“Copy that,” he says without looking away from you, and you feel his smile against your breath.

“You gonna kiss me or make me stir the sauce while we grind,” you whisper, tease soft and shaky, because if you don’t say something you’ll combust.

His hand tightens. Not hard; just careful like he’s anchoring himself. “I’ve been wanting,” he admits low. “But I—there’s…there’s a lot I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

You pull back enough to see him properly, to watch the truth of that sentence move over his face like light over water. You’ve known this, of course you have. He treats your boundaries like they’re holy and his like they’re a minefield. You’ve been trying to show him he can have things and not burn down the room. Maybe now is when you stop showing and start taking.

“New rule,” you say, and you’re proud your voice only trembles a little. “When the record’s on and the sauce isn’t boiling and no one is on fire, you’re allowed.”

His laugh ghosts against your cheek. “That a Stark family statute?”

You shrug, innocent, shameless. “It is now. We can draft it up after dessert.”

“Okay,” he says, like he’s agreeing to more than this moment, and his nose bumps yours, and the world narrows to the decision you’ve already made.

“Hey!” Sam calls, delighted and scandalized and ten years old. “If you’re gonna—”

You kiss him.

You do it quick, at first, like maybe if you keep it small it won’t topple the pillars that keep this whole life standing. Your mouth is soft. His is shocked, and then not shocked at all. He inhales like he forgot to breathe for months and just remembered how. His flesh hand finds your jaw, thumb curving there like he’s learning your face by heart. The metal one stays at your hip and you’re grateful for the anchor because your knees have just turned to something soft and useless.

You pull back enough to breathe, which is a crime. He chases you a fraction like he didn’t agree to this part. His eyes are wide, focused wholly and entirely on you like he hasn’t let himself do this in public for a long time. You think maybe he hasn’t let himself do this, period.

“Was that…okay?” he asks, wrecked and reverent.

“Ask me again and I’m making you dance with Tony,” you say, and he laughs, and then you’re kissing him again because now that you’ve started the only reasonable plan seems to be not stopping.

“Children!” Tony cries, flapping the spoon. “Impressionable children!”

“There are no children,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes, smiling small.

“Speak for yourself,” Sam says, because he can’t help it. “I am a baby.”

“Then get out of the kitchen, baby,” you manage, not bothering to open your eyes, which makes everyone groan and cheer at once.

The record spins. The sauce doesn’t burn because Steve, bless him, has the sense to turn the heat down with a wink that says he’s not telling if you aren’t. Wanda sighs and sways and rests her cheek against her hand, romantic and pleased. Pepper pretends to shield Tony’s eyes and then peeks on purpose. The knots cool on the counter, slick with butter and green with parsley, perfect.

Bucky kisses you like he’s memorizing the feeling so he can keep it for later, and maybe he is, but the bigger thing is this: he’s here. He’s in this kitchen, with these people, with you, and he let himself have something and the ceiling did not collapse. You kiss him like you’ve been ready, like the record was just a countdown and the needle finally found the groove.

When you separate this time it’s because you both need to grin, and it is physically impossible to grin and kiss properly without bumping teeth, and you both deserve better than that for your first real one.

“Hi,” he says again, dazed.

“Hi,” you say, equally doomed.

He leans his forehead to yours in that way he’s learning to do because he’s allowed to want proximity. “We should probably—”

“Eat dinner?” you suggest, because somebody has to say it and you’re a responsible adult, tragically. “Before Tony declares war.”

“Before I declare war,” Tony affirms, slapping two bowls down on the island like he’s the judge at the end of a cooking competition. His eyes, traitorously, are suspiciously shiny. “Pasta. Salad. Keep the PDA to a polite hum.”

“Define polite,” you say, and Bucky chokes on a laugh again, and you love him so much you have to look away to not tell him right now in front of everyone.

You take the bowl from Bucky, fingers brushing; he doesn’t let go immediately and neither do you. The whole room settles back into itself around you, the orbit altered by a fraction and therefore by everything. Sam hops down to bump his shoulder into Bucky’s, murmuring something that makes Bucky smile down at the floor like he doesn’t know where to put it all. Natasha passes you tongs without a word, eyes bright with a private approval you’ll probably get teased about later. Steve sets forks like he’s officiating.

The record keeps spinning. The next track is something old and honey-slow, something that promises there will be other nights and other songs and other chances to put your hands on Bucky Barnes and call it dancing.

You bump his hip as you pass him the bread. He bumps back. It feels like your body has learned a new language you were always meant to speak.

“After dinner,” he says under his breath, leaning in so only you can hear, and the spark that runs through you is pure, unambiguous current. “You’ll…teach me the rest?”

You kiss the corner of his mouth because you can, because you get to, because the world didn’t end when you took it. “That’s what the record’s for,” you whisper, and his smile is a sunrise again, and the whole room is gold.

[bananapurincore]

phainon putting his collar on you... haha who said that???

The return of my freaky anons...... I thought I was safe...... anyway

He'd probably give it to you as a gift, which you shrug off at first because. He's always giving you gifts so this is no different even if it does surprise you a bit, the design itself is rather minimalistic but the charm that dangles on it does have you and his initials engraved on the back which you think is sweet.

Another time you're talking so much you forgot to keep eating so he just starts feeding pieces in your mouth and you don't. Question it you just keep eating until there's nothing left he's like yay :) You did such a good job and you're like. Yeah! I did! ...Huh...

You don't think much of it until he starts using it as a means to drag you back to him when you try walking away after giving him a kiss, hooking his finger underneath the band and tugging just enough to briefly cut off your airflow and you're like ^#*#*#*@(@(??? At some point, you stop walking off from so he won't do that and he seems rather pleased with himself at the development.

Phainon's always been busy, but it feels like these days he's been missing more! So when you run over to him when he finally does get home, can you blame yourself? He says you've been "so eager" recently.... To which you think. Maybe. But haven't you always been this way? Waiting for him to get home to shower him with an onslaught of affection?

It reaches a tipping point when he suggests to you that he needs to keep you on a leash because when you two go out, you're always drifting away from him by accident and he needs to keep you close. So you're like haha that's funny yeah I do.

Except he wasn't joking and brought you one the next day that's like 5 ft long max that gives you zero space from him and he's shocked that you're confused. Isn't this what you wanted???