#( I WILL SUE YOU BACK... FOR... REASONS! ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 3 months ago

Text

bend an ear

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.

a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!

Peter just wants to go home.

It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city.

Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it.

So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while?

He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and—

“Babe—”

“Why are you following me?”

Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays.

“Because I want to talk!”

“God, do you even hear yourself?”

“You keep talking over me, so I really—”

“You don’t get to babe me right now!”

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is.

It’s you.

This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice.

Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend.

“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back.

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!”

“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?”

And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse?

“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.”

Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse.

Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.”

“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional.

“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?”

“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”

Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.”

He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—”

“I hate beer.”

“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.”

“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!”

This time he says your name, and you shake your head.

“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”

For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head.

“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.”

You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct.

Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock.

“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.”

Good one, Parker.

“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide.

“The one and only,” he nods.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.”

“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”

You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it.

“I’m not stupid,” you say.

“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.”

You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?”

“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.”

You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?”

“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.”

You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.”

Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.

“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.”

You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”

“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.”

Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”

“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”

You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say.

“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.”

You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.”

“I think I can let it slide.”

“Good.”

A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company.

“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.”

He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds.

“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!”

Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”

Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”

“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”

You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero.

“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?”

So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to.

“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?”

“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.”

He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”

You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.”

“And unhappy, it sounds like.”

“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…”

“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.”

You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.”

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is?

Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?”

“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”

Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?”

“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.”

“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?”

You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.”

He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover.

You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?”

“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.”

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.”

God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going.

“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”

He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario.

He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees.

You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down.

You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope.

No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he?

“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”

Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.

You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know.

You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground.

“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”

Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is.

How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role.

You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it.

But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.

You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret.

Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it.

So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly.

“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.”

“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.”

“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.”

A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses.

“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says.

“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.”

Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.”

He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you.

The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky.

Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you.

hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol

wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3

as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol

Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life.

Deal. Anything to get you an A

lol

asshole

Never

Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain

Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place:

I’ll try just for you

night boy genius

(How could he not love you?)

Night, girl wonder

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spider man x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #tasm x reader

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gyugraphy · 17 days ago

Text

between book pages and baked pies (r.r.)

summary : He came in on Thursdays. Always looking for new books to read. Always smiled like he didn’t quite belong anywhere. Then, you asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend for one night. And he said yes.

Then you found out he’s the Sentry —

and suddenly, pretending doesn’t feel so simple anymore.

pairing : robert 'bob' reynolds x reader / sentry x reader

content : basically just fluff, fakedating!au, fakeboyfriend!au

warnings : none

word count : 7k

Thursday, 10:43 am.

You glance up, and there he is.

You’ve seen him before. Always on Thursdays, always around the same time. Always with that same energy — like he doesn’t quite belong to this world, or maybe just doesn’t expect to be noticed in it.

He has messy hair, a too-worn jacket, and the kind of posture that says please don’t ask me anything, but I’m also not in a hurry to leave.

Today, for the first time, he meets your eyes.

You smile. “Back again. That’s three Thursdays in a row.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised you’ve been keeping count.

“…I like it here,” he says, voice quiet but not shy. Just gentle.

“Most people say that when they’re avoiding something,” you joke lightly, leaning your elbows on the counter. “Bad day?”

He shrugs. “It’s a day.”

Fair.

He heads toward the fantasy section, the same corner he always drifts to. You try not to stare — you really do — but it’s hard not to watch the way he slows down at the shelves like they’re familiar terrain.

After a few minutes, he returns with two paperbacks — both epic fantasy, both with weathered covers and dramatic titles like The Hollow Crown and Ash and Sovereign.

You ring them up, sneaking a glance. “You like the ones where the world almost ends?”

He gives a faint smile. “Sometimes I like when it doesn’t.”

You pause, curious. “You a writer?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just… a fan.”

“I get it,” you say, handing him the bag. “Books are a safer way to live dangerously.”

He smiles at that. A little more real.

Then, on impulse, you ask, “So, what do you do?”

He hesitates just a second longer than most people would.

“…Sometimes I help save the world,” he says, deadpan.

You blink. And then you laugh, because there’s something about the way he says it — so dry and sincere — that it’s obviously a joke. Or at least… you think it is.

“Wow,” you grin. “That’s bold. You a firefighter or a Marvel cosplayer?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Something like that.”

You hand him his receipt, eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, mysterious world-saver, if you ever want book recommendations, let me know. We’ve got a great section for heroes with identity crises.”

He nods, turning toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s almost gone when he pauses and looks back.

“What’s your name?” he asks you, and you tell him.

He nods once. “I’m Bob.”

Then he’s gone.

The bell chimes again — sharper this time. Final.

You stand there for a moment, watching the door swing closed behind him. Then you shake your head and go back to restocking the display.

Still, for some reason, you keep thinking about him.

Bob.

⋆˙⟡

Your phone lights up with the most dangerous contact in your list: Mom.

You stare at it for a second, debating whether to let it go to voicemail.

Then you sigh, hit accept, and brace yourself.

“Hi, sweetheart!” your mom’s voice practically sings as you answer. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to use a phone.”

You smile, mouth full of lukewarm noodles. “Hi, Mom. You called me yesterday.”

“I know, I just missed you. So sue me.”

There’s a beat where you brace yourself. And sure enough—

“So, listen,” she continues, far too casually. “Next Saturday we’re doing dinner at our place. Just the usual — your aunts, cousins, possibly Grandma if we can coax her out of her crosswords. Nothing formal, but, you know, nice.”

“Mmhmm.” You sip your drink, waiting.

“We were thinking 6 o’clock. And of course we’ll do something vegetarian for you—oh, and listen, your cousin Chelsea is bringing that new boyfriend. Super cute. Works in finance. Wears suits on weekends. Can you imagine?”

There it is.

“Anyway,” she adds, far too lightly, “I just thought I’d ask — are you seeing anyone these days? Anyone worth bringing?”

You snort. “Bringing where? Into the lion’s den of a family dinner?”

“Oh come on,” she laughs. “We’re not that bad.”

You give her a look she can’t see. “Last time Aunt Diane tried to set me up with her neighbor’s chiropractor, and Uncle Marty asked if I’d frozen my eggs.”

“She meant well. He didn’t, but—still.”

You roll your eyes. “No, Mom. I’m not bringing anyone.”

“You’re not?” Her voice dips into gentle disappointment. “Not even just as a friend? You have such a sweet personality. I feel like people must just gravitate to you.”

You hum noncommittally, casually glancing toward your bookshelf. Your eyes drift to the spot where you keep returns and holds — including two fantasy books still waiting for a certain quiet customer to pick up.

You think of Bob, his soft smile, the way he said “Sometimes I help save the world” like it wasn’t even strange.

But you say nothing.

“Anyway,” your mom chirps on. “No pressure. Just… you know. You’re not getting any less amazing with time.”

“That’s not how time works, Mom.”

“Semantics. Just let me know, okay? We’ll keep a seat open. Just in case.”

You sigh and mutter, “Okay.”

She’s already launching into a story about a raccoon in the neighbor’s shed by the time you close your eyes and groan into your throw pillow.

You definitely don’t have a date.

You definitely don’t need one.

…But your brain is already wondering what Bob looks like when he’s not rain-damp and bookstore quiet.

⋆˙⟡

Tuesday, 11:07 am.

The bell over the door rings, and — like clockwork — you glance up.

There he is.

Bob.

Same as always, but also… not. His jacket’s still weathered, but he looks a little more put-together today. Hair slightly neater. Like maybe he didn’t get caught in a wind tunnel on the way over. Less cryptid, more mysterious traveler passing through town.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just gives a quick scan of the room before heading straight for the back... for the fantasy section. His usual.

You try not to smile.

Try.

“Tuesday this time?” you call out from behind the counter, tone light. “Switching it up?”

Bob glances over, mouth tugging up slightly. “Had some time.”

You nod, watching as his hand drifts over the table display near the entrance — new paperbacks, some with gold foil titles and overdramatic taglines. He doesn’t stop there long. Just a brush of his fingers across the covers before moving on.

“You sure it’s not just the emotionally damaged swordsmen calling to you again?” you add, moving toward a nearby shelf with a stack of returns.

He raises a brow, pausing in front of a familiar book. “Maybe I like consistency.”

“Bold choice in this economy.”

That gets you a huff of amusement, soft and unexpected.

He picks up The Lantern War — you know the one. Mid-trilogy. Sad prince. Betrayals. You’ve read it twice and cried both times. He opens it, flipping through the first few pages with surprising care, like he’s searching for something he might have missed the last time he held it.

You lean against a nearby shelf, casually.

“You know,” you begin, tone half-teasing, “you don’t talk much, but you’ve got this whole mysterious loner with a tragic past thing going on.”

Bob looks up — startled, but not annoyed. Just a little caught off guard.

“People pay for that kind of vibe on dating apps,” you add quickly, before you lose your nerve.

He blinks.

You wince. “Sorry. That was weird. I’ve just… been talking to my mom too much lately. She’s on this campaign to get me to bring someone to a family dinner and now I think I’m starting to project ‘potential boyfriend material’ onto every semi-normal customer.”

Bob doesn’t laugh, exactly — but something close. A breath. A smile. Small and real.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, gently placing the book under his arm.

You nod. “It was meant to be one.”

The air shifts then. Not awkward — not yet — but quieter. You both stand there for a beat too long, not speaking. The store is still around you: soft music playing low, dust motes catching in the light near the windows, the occasional creak of the building settling. Cozy, lived-in quiet.

You watch him for a second longer than you should.

He always lingers when he’s here. Not like he’s killing time. Like he’s… catching his breath.

You don’t say it — not aloud, not now. But something clicks. The beginnings of an idea. Stupid, insane, utterly desperate.

Still.

As he approaches the counter, you glance at him sideways.

He wouldn’t. That’s insane. Would he?

He pays in cash, always cash, and nods politely.

“Thanks,” he says.

“See you Thursday?” you ask, voice light, playful.

He pauses, then shrugs. “Maybe.”

You watch him step back out into the sunlight, his silhouette framed by the door before it swings closed behind him. The bell chimes again. He disappears down the street, a figure in motion.

And you’re still watching the door when the next customer steps up and gently clears their throat.

Right. Work.

You turn back to the register, hands moving automatically — scanning books, making small talk — but your brain’s somewhere else.

⋆˙⟡

“Hi, honey!” she sings the second you answer. “Don’t panic — this is not a ‘guilt you into bringing a boyfriend’ call.”

You snort. “You literally said the word ‘boyfriend’ in the first sentence.”

“Okay, technically,” she says, unfazed, “but I’m just calling about the family dinner this Saturday.”

You sigh and lean against the counter. “I know, I know. 6 p.m., casserole, deeply invasive questions from Aunt Diane—”

“Oh, speaking of Aunt Diane,” she says sweetly, which should’ve been your warning, “she knows this great guy from her pickleball league—works in insurance, divorced once, only a little bitter. She wants to bring him to dinner for you to meet.

Your stomach sinks.

You stare at your fridge like it might offer an escape hatch.

“I—Mom, no.”

“Well, honey,” she says, trying for innocent, “you haven’t said you’re bringing anyone. And if you’re still single—”

“I’m not.”

Silence.

Your heart drops into your socks. You scramble.

“I mean. I am. Seeing someone. Kind of. It’s been, like, a month.”

A pause. Too long.

“You are?” she says slowly.

You wince. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring him because, you know, the whole interrogation-by-relatives thing. I didn’t want to scare him off. He’s… kind of shy.”

Your mom gasps like you just told her she’s finally getting a grandchild.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! What’s he like? Is he nice? Where did you meet? Does he like dogs?”

“Mom, calm down,” you say quickly, pacing now. “He’s just… quiet. And really kind. And, you know. Nice.”

You mentally kick yourself.

“Well, now you have to bring him,” she insists. “If he’s already survived a month with you, he’s clearly got staying power.”

You laugh sharply. “Gee, thanks.”

She chuckles. “I’m just saying — you never bring anyone. This is a big deal.”

You force a smile into your voice. “Let me talk to him first, okay? I’ll see if he’s up for it.”

“Promise me you’ll try.”

“…Promise.”

You hang up, staring at your reflection in the microwave door.

Mouth open. Brain screaming.

You just fake-dated someone in a conversation.

Now all you have to do is actually find someone to play the boyfriend you’ve apparently been dating for a month.

You think of Bob. The quiet guy who reads about broken heroes and once joked about saving the world.

And for some godforsaken reason…

…you think he might actually say yes.

⋆˙⟡

Thursday, 12:45 pm

It’s raining again.

Of course it is.

A slow, steady drizzle beads against the front windows, softening the city outside into watercolor shapes. Inside, the shop smells like paper and cedar polish, with a hint of peppermint from the tin you cracked open after lunch. A jazz cover of something vaguely familiar plays from the old speakers near the register, barely audible over the patter of rain and your quiet muttering.

“Two days late on the shipment, again, and if they swap my fantasy order with true crime one more time—” you grumble under your breath, balancing a stack of returns against your hip as you shuffle toward the front display. “Who even wants twelve copies of Stabbing for Dummies?”

You sigh, crouch to fit the bottom shelf, and toss a glance at the fogged-up door.

“I swear, if one more teenager asks where we keep the smut, I’m moving to the mountains. I’ll sell rocks. I’ll become a rock girl.”

The bell above the door chimes.

Right on cue.

You straighten just a little too fast and nearly drop a paperback. “Welcome in,” you call absently, trying to sound composed — but you already know.

It’s him.

You don’t need to look.

Still, you do — and there he is.

Bob stands just inside the doorway, rain misted in his hair, the shoulders of his dark green hoodie slightly damp beneath a black denim jacket. His jeans are worn in the knees. The laces of his boots are uneven. He looks like he walked through the rain on purpose, like the storm outside didn’t even try to stop him.

There’s a quietness to him that doesn’t feel awkward anymore. Just familiar.

“Back to your usual Thursday shift?” you ask, setting a book down and turning toward him fully now.

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “It felt wrong not to.”

There’s something steadier about him today. He still carries that bone-deep kind of tired — like his body’s been holding something heavy for too long — but his gaze doesn’t flick away as fast when your eyes meet. He lets the quiet settle for a beat before moving deeper into the store.

You catch yourself smoothing your shirt before following him.

“Let me guess,” you say as he veers toward the back. “Fantasy section?”

“Always.”

You trail a few paces behind, grabbing a book that’s been reshelved in the wrong genre. There’s no one else in the store right now. Just the two of you, and the occasional whisper of rain against the windows.

He stops in front of a display and picks up The Sword Beneath the Throne. Studies the cover like it holds some secret he hasn’t cracked yet.

You rest your elbow against a shelf. “That one’s going to wreck you emotionally,” you warn, teasing. “But, you know. In a noble sacrifice kind of way.”

Bob glances over. “Good to know.”

You hesitate — just for a second. Then you inhale, let the moment linger, and say: “Hey… can I ask you something kind of weird?”

His eyes shift to yours — cautious, but open.

“Sure.”

You clear your throat, suddenly aware of every sound in the store. “So… hypothetically,” you begin, with what you hope is a breezy tone, “if someone were being — let’s say — aggressively pressured by their entire family to bring a boyfriend to a dinner—like, a big one—”

“Okay,” he says slowly, still holding the book.

“And they may or may not have panicked and told said family they’d already been dating someone for a month… someone who does not, technically, exist—”

Bob’s brow arches slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Go on."

“Would it be completely unhinged to ask you to maybe… pretend to be that person? Just for a night. Three hours max. There’s pie.”

Silence.

Bob doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t recoil.

He just watches you.

And you, of course, rush in to fill the quiet.

“I know it’s weird. And probably creepy. And I swear I’m not dangerous. You don’t even really know me. But you’re the only person I know who could pull off being quiet and normal enough to not scare my mom or make my aunts think I’m secretly dating a war criminal.”

His expression shifts — thoughtful now, not unreadable. Still holding the book, but not looking at it anymore.

“And if it helps,” you add quickly, “I already told them you’re shy. So you wouldn’t even have to say much. Just… look human. Maybe compliment the stuffing. Smile once. Pretend I’m charming.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“Just for a night,” you say. “No pressure. No long con. Just mashed potatoes and survival.”

“…Because your mom threatened you with a pickleball player.”

You blink. “Wait. How do you—?”

“You talk while you shelve books,” he says simply, mouth quirking. “I pick things up.”

You gape at him for a beat. Then snort.

And then laugh. A real one. It escapes before you can stop it — bright and ridiculous and yours.

Bob… smiles.

It’s small. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing. But it’s there.

“So?” you say, biting your lip. “Would you consider it? I can’t offer much. Just pie. And probably embarrassing levels of gratitude.”

He sets the book down.

Looks at you.

A long moment passes.

“Okay,” he says.

You blink. “Wait — really?”

He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Why not.”

“You didn’t even ask what kind of pie.”

“I trust your judgment.”

You squint at him. “You’re either the nicest person alive, or wildly unhinged yourself.”

Bob shrugs. “Can’t it be both?”

Something in your chest tightens — in a good way.

“Dinner’s Saturday,” you say softly. “At my parents’. Here's... the address?” you added as you handed him a yellow post-it note with your parent's address in red ink, which was actually written not even ten minutes before.

You wrote it thinking that there's an 80% chance he'll accept it.

And he actually did.

He nods. “Should I wear something nice?”

“Honestly,” you say, “if you show up looking like less of a cryptid than usual, my family will be thrilled.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He turns to leave, hood pulled up lazily as he disappears into the rainy street — a figure blurred by drizzle and glass.

And you?

You stand behind the counter, staring after him.

Your hands are a little shaky. Not from nerves.

From relief. And something else.

Excitement, maybe.

Because somehow, against all logic and odds —

Bob said yes.

⋆˙⟡

Saturday, 5:49 pm

“Not too much sugar,” your mom says over your shoulder, peeking into the mixing bowl as if she doesn’t trust you with a spoon.

You hold the measuring cup up dramatically. “Mom, you’ve raised me. If I die of poor pie proportions, it’s on you.”

She snorts and hands you the nutmeg. “Don’t tempt me.”

You smile, despite yourself. The kitchen is warm in that nostalgic way — cluttered, golden light filtering in through the curtains, something soft playing from the old speaker by the fridge. You’re elbow-deep in pie filling, sleeves rolled up, and trying not to think about how insane this all is.

You’ve told everyone you’ve been dating someone for a month.

That he’s meeting your family.

That he’s sweet and shy and real.

And in about fifteen minutes, Bob — your fake boyfriend — will be at the door.

You’re 85% sure he’ll show up. Maybe 90.

…Okay, 75.

“Do you need help with the crust?” your mom asks, and for once, she sounds like she’s trying not to pry.

You glance at her. She’s avoiding eye contact. She definitely wants to pry.

“Nope,” you say, pressing the dough into the pan. “Unless this is a metaphor for my love life, in which case, yeah, I could use a full support team.”

She hums noncommittally and starts slicing apples, her back to you.

“So,” she says, “you never told me how you met him.”

You hesitate. “The guy I’m—bringing tonight?”

She nods. “Mhm.”

You stall by rinsing your hands.

“It’s kind of a quiet story,” you say carefully. “We kept running into each other. Same place, same time. It just… kind of happened.”

“Hm.” She tosses apple slices into the bowl. “And you like him?”

You look down at the dough beneath your fingers. Think about his awkward smile. The way he listens like it costs him something. The warmth in his voice when he said, “Thanks for inviting me.”

You nod. “I think I do.”

Your mom looks over, something soft in her face now.

“Well,” she says gently, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

You smile and slide the pie into the oven just as the doorbell rings.

Your heart stops.

Your mom turns toward the sound.

You wipe your hands on a towel and take a breath.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, “moment of truth.”

You walk to the door.

And open it...

You expected nerves.

You did not expect him to look like this.

Bob stands on your porch like he walked out of a cologne ad and got lost on the way to GQ. His dark button-up is rolled at the sleeves, fitted just enough to draw attention to muscles he normally hides under worn hoodies. His hair—usually floppy and rain-wrecked—is now styled neatly back, just messy enough to look effortless.

You blink. “H-hi.”

He smiles—bashful, but sure of himself. “Hi.”

Before you can gather your thoughts or your dignity, he leans in and kisses you on the cheek. It’s warm, brief, but confident. His hand grazes your waist like muscle memory.

“I hope I’m not too early,” he murmurs.

“No—uh—no, perfect. You’re perfect. I mean, the timing. The timing is perfect.”

You step back to let him in, praying no one heard that.

As he crosses the threshold, he glances around, eyes scanning photos on the walls, shelves stacked with family memories. You take his coat. His scent lingers — fresh and faintly minty.

“My mom’s in the kitchen. Brace yourself.”

He chuckles. “Noted.”

You walk him into the war zone of casserole dishes and cousin chaos.

Your mom spots you both from the dining room and gasps like she’s just been cast on a reality show. “There he is! You must be Bob!”

Bob blinks for a moment, surprised she already knows his name. You shoot her a look that says Mom, please, I am begging.

He recovers quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And polite!” she says, delighted, patting his arm like she’s already ordering him to call her ‘Mom’ by dessert.

Dinner unfolds in a blur. Plates are passed, stories fly around the table like darts, and somehow Bob navigates it like a pro. He even laughs at your uncle’s tired jokes. When your grandma comments on his posture, he adjusts with a quiet “Yes, ma’am” that makes her beam.

At one point, your youngest cousin, Milo, squints at him from across the table.

“You look really familiar,” Milo says, tilting his head.

You freeze mid-chew. Bob’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.

“I get that a lot,” Bob says calmly.

Milo frowns. “Like, weirdly familiar. Like—superhero familiar.”

“Milo,” your mom cuts in, “eat your green beans.”

Milo shrugs but keeps sneaking glances.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

And about halfway through dessert, something happens.

The TV is on behind your mom’s head, low volume. Just the news playing — no one’s really watching. Your dad’s closest to it, half turned in his chair, focused on his pie.

You’re listening to your aunt ramble about her new garden mulch when the news anchor’s voice shifts tone.

“—dramatic footage of the Thunderbolts’ mission this past Wednesday—”

Your brain barely registers it.

You glance at the screen.

Explosions. Screaming. Concrete cracking like bones.

A familiar flash of red and black—John Walker. Then Ghost phasing through debris.

And then—

Golden light. Blinding, unmistakable.

The Sentry.

A blurred shot becomes a close-up.

He’s floating mid-air. Hair wild, cape tattered, jaw clenched in focus. Glowing.

It’s not grainy enough to deny. The face is clear. The posture. The jawline.

You choke on your pie. Eyes widening.

Bob.

You snap your gaze toward him.

He doesn’t move, but his fork slowly lowers.

Your eyes dart to your dad. He’s starting to turn toward the screen.

Before he can react—click.

The TV cuts off.

Silence.

Your dad frowns. “Did the TV break again?”

Bob shrugs, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

Your relatives resume their conversations without a second thought. Bread is passed. Laughter resumes. No one’s the wiser.

Except for you.

And Milo, who is now staring at Bob with slack-jawed awe.

You place your fork down slowly. Your pulse is in your throat.

Bob meets your gaze across the table. Calm. Cautious.

You clear your throat.

“Hey,” you say sweetly, plastering on a smile. “Can you excuse us for a second? I just need to talk to my boyfriend for a minute.”

He rises without protest.

You grab his arm, steer him down the hallway... past photos of you in braces, past the coat rack, past everything normal, and into the dim, quiet hallway near the laundry room.

Then you turn, look up at him, and whisper—

“What the hell, Bob?”

You shut the door behind you.

Bob leans casually against the wall — too casually — like he isn’t literally the man you just saw hovering over a burning building on national television.

You cross your arms. “Okay. Start talking.”

He looks down at his hands, fingers laced. There’s a strange stillness to him, like he’s waiting for a storm he knows is coming.

“I didn’t lie,” he says quietly.

You stare. “Bob. I watched you on the news. You turned off my parents’ TV. With your mind.”

“I said I help people,” he replies, looking up at you now. Calm. Earnest. “Sometimes I help save the world.”

You gape. “I thought you meant you were a firefighter. Or a teacher! Or like, I don’t know, a really good therapist!”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Sorry. That probably would’ve been easier.”

“You’re—” You lower your voice, leaning in. “You’re The Sentry. You’re an actual Avenger. Or—Thunderbolt. Or—whatever the hell team you’re on.”

“Technically, I’m sort of on loan.”

You give him a look. “That's not the point.”

He’s quiet again. But not defensive. Not evasive. Just… waiting. Letting you process.

And you are processing.

All the little things you overlooked:

The quiet strength in how he moved.

The weird evasiveness.

The stormy energy he sometimes carried like he was trying to keep it bottled.

You exhale, the adrenaline finally catching up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, softer now.

“I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he says. “I liked the bookstore. I liked that you didn’t know. You talked to me like I was just… Bob.”

You blink. “Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“And you really read fantasy novels?”

He actually smiles. “Especially the sad ones.”

You hesitate. Your heart is still pounding, but your voice softens even more.

“You came to dinner,” you murmur. “You sat through my uncle’s knee replacement story. You complimented my grandma’s brooch.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Wasn’t hard. I meant it.”

You stare at him.

The man who eats lemon muffins on Thursdays.

The man who shyly kissed your cheek.

The man who casually shut off a television with his brain.

You rub a hand over your face. “I dragged The Sentry into a fake dating scheme because my mom thinks I’m undateable.”

His voice is gentle. “You didn’t drag me. I said yes.”

You glance up at him. “Why?”

His gaze softens. “Because you asked.”

You swallow.

He takes a step closer. His voice lowers, almost shy again. “If you want to call this off now, I’ll understand. I’ll tell them we broke up before dessert. I can cry if it helps.”

You laugh — a short, startled sound — but it breaks some of the tension.

You look up at him. “You’d really do that?”

“I’m a very convincing fake ex.”

You’re quiet for a moment. He’s still standing there — not defensive, not cocky — just Bob. The same Bob who buys fantasy novels and waits for you to recommend the good ones.

The same Bob who just blew your entire reality to pieces.

And yet…

You find yourself saying, “Let’s just get through dessert.”

His brows raise slightly. “You sure?”

You nod. “We can panic later.”

He smiles. A real one. Small. Grateful.

“Okay,” he says. “Back to the pie.”

You nod, open the hallway door, and walk back toward the dining room together — fake-dating The Sentry, one awkward spoonful of whipped cream at a time.

You return to the dining room with Bob beside you, and despite the mini-crisis that just played out in the hallway, somehow… everything continues like nothing happened.

The pie’s been sliced. Plates passed around. The table is filled with the comforting hum of your family talking over each other, laughing, sneaking bites of dessert before their coffee cools.

Bob slips into his seat beside you, and when your mom asks if he wants whipped cream, he nods and says, “Yes, ma’am,” with a small smile.

She beams.

You stare at him for a second longer than you should.

He’s calm. Almost too calm. Like he’s pretending to be human in a sitcom, and somehow nailing the part.

Milo won’t stop glancing over, like he’s replaying the Thunderbolts footage in his head. But thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut.

You press your knee against Bob’s under the table.

He glances at you.

You mouth: Thank you.

He just nods.

⋆˙⟡

When the dishes are finally cleared and your aunts start hunting for their coats, you help your mom carry plates to the kitchen. She’s humming. Actually humming.

You try not to let guilt claw at your chest.

After a few minutes, coats are zipped, goodbyes are exchanged, and your mom pats Bob’s arm like he’s already part of the family. Your dad claps him on the back and says, “You handled the chaos pretty well, son. That’s promising.”

You’re still not sure whether that’s a compliment or a threat.

Finally, it’s just the two of you at the door.

You walk Bob out onto the porch. The sky’s dark, but the porch light gives his face a warm glow. You wrap your arms around yourself, partly from the cool air, partly because you don’t know what to do with them anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, leaning against the railing. “I dragged you into that mess because I panicked and lied to my mom and I never expected you to actually say yes or look like that or—”

Bob steps forward and kisses you.

Soft. Sure. Warm.

It happens in the span of a heartbeat — his hand resting gently on your cheek, the kiss itself lingering just long enough to make you forget where you are.

When he pulls back, he whispers, “Sorry.”

You blink, stunned.

He jerks his thumb toward the window beside the front door.

You turn.

Your mom is standing there, mostly hidden behind the curtain — watching. Her expression is somewhere between victorious and smug.

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Bob chuckles. “She’s committed. I respect it.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile. “That was mean.”

“That was method acting,” he teases.

You hesitate, then reach out and fix the collar of his jacket. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” he says. “I meant what I said — I liked being asked.”

A beat.

“I still do.”

The air between you shifts — warmer now, quiet but honest.

You nod once, not sure what to say. Not sure what this is becoming.

He opens the gate and starts to walk down the path. Just before he disappears into the dark, he turns back.

“I’ll see you Tuesday?”

You smile. “Tuesday.”

And then he’s gone.

You close the door gently, heart fluttering like it’s trying to tell you something. You lean against the wood for a second, exhale, and whisper to no one:

“…Oh no.”

⋆˙⟡

Sunday, 7:36 am

It starts like any other day.

You stop at your usual corner café, order your iced coffee (half sweet, extra ice, just the way you like it), and wrap your hands around the plastic cup like it might ground you.

For a moment, the world feels normal.

You walk the next block with your earbuds in, the playlist soothing, the city humming gently around you. It isn’t until you pass the magazine stand by the subway entrance that something feels… off.

Your eyes drift lazily over the covers as you walk by.

And then you see it.

Front and center. Bold red font. A full-page photo.

“WHO IS THE SENTRY’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND?” (Shocking New Romance Revealed — Civilian Involved?)

You stop mid-step. Your breath catches.

Your own face stares back at you from under a blur of porch lights and lipstick smudged from a very real, very public kiss.

You nearly drop your coffee right there.

But it only gets worse.

Because as you turn the corner toward the bookstore — just a normal Tuesday morning — you don’t see the usual handful of early customers waiting for the shop to open.

You see a crowd.

No — not a crowd. A swarm.

Microphones. Cameras. People standing on tiptoes, phones raised high, shouting questions at… nothing, because the store isn’t even open yet.

Your stomach drops.

Your name gets shouted from somewhere in the noise.

And then, mercifully — your brain does the one logical thing.

It panics.

You spin around. Your foot hits the curb. Your coffee slips from your hand, hits the sidewalk, and explodes in a cold, sticky splash.

“Hey—hey! That’s her!” someone yells behind you.

You don’t look back.

You duck into the narrow alley between the bookstore and the laundromat, heart hammering, air slicing sharp into your lungs.

Your mind is racing with every terrible headline, every awkward question your mom is probably getting right now, and how very not normal your life has become.

And then—

“Hiii.”

You scream.

A figure drops from the fire escape like it’s nothing, landing in front of you with the elegance of a spy movie villain and the expression of someone who just finished a cinnamon roll.

Blonde. Tactical jacket. Combat boots. Sunglasses perched on her head like she accessorized mid-mission.

She smiles. “So. You’re the girlfriend?”

You stumble back a step, heart in your throat. “I—I’m—who are you?!”

“Yelena,” she says cheerfully, offering a hand like this is a brunch date. “Bob’s teammate. Sometimes assassin. Don’t worry, I’m nice-ish.”

You don’t take her hand. You just stare.

“I was sent to retrieve you,” she continues, already walking past you like she owns the alley. “Big mess. PR nightmare. Possibly global. Thought you might need help.”

“I—I’m fine,” you lie, inching toward the wall.

Yelena glances down at your coffee-covered shoes. “You’re not fine.”

You exhale shakily. “How is this real?”

She grins. “You kissed The Sentry on your porch. Now you’re in a tabloid warzone. Welcome to superhero dating.”

You press your palms to your face.

Behind you, the voices are getting louder.

Yelena tilts her head toward the street. “Wanna escape this circus?”

“…Yes.”

“Come on.” She tosses you a hoodie from her bag — black, oversized. “Put this on. You’re going to Thunderbolts HQ.”

“What?”

“Bob’s waiting,” she adds casually, “and he looks very stressed. It’s adorable.”

Your heart thumps harder.

You pull the hoodie over your head, the scent of leather and something faintly metallic catching in your nose. Yelena nods approvingly, then leads you toward a black SUV idling around the corner — quiet, sleek, and somehow completely unnoticed by the mob.

As you duck into the backseat, she climbs in beside you and shuts the door.

She tosses a protein bar in your lap.

“You’re going to need energy,” she says. “They’re gonna love you.”

The SUV pulls away.

The shouting fades behind you.

And your life? Well. It’s never going to be quiet again.

The SUV glides through a checkpoint, into an underground tunnel, then up a ramp. You think you see a guard tower disguised as a billboard. Or maybe you’re hallucinating. That’s possible too.

Yelena’s sitting casually beside you, texting someone, while you clutch your protein bar like it might shield you from public scrutiny and government agencies.

Finally, the vehicle stops. The door swings open.

Yelena hops out and waves you after her. “Don’t look nervous.”

“I am nervous.”

“Then pretend you’re not. That’s what we all do.”

You step out into a huge glass and steel atrium. Sleek floors. Tall ceilings. Giant screen with the Thunderbolts logo rotating in slow, dramatic fashion. Men in suits, agents in gear, someone zipping by on rollerblades like this is normal.

You? You’re in someone else’s hoodie, dried coffee on your pants, and your brain’s still processing “Bob is the Sentry.”

Yelena leads you through a corridor like she’s returning a library book. “Try not to look directly at Valentina unless you want to end up as the face of the team’s diversity initiative.”

“…What?”

“Just smile and nod.”

Yelena leads you down a bright hallway, past glass walls and security doors, through what feels like the inside of a top-secret airport crossed with an IKEA showroom. You’re still in someone else’s hoodie, your coffee’s long gone, and you haven’t quite recovered from the kiss-seen-round-the-world.

She swings open a door, and inside it’s surprisingly normal — couches, a kitchen, the sound of a blender whirring. A few Thunderbolts glance up.

Ghost gives you a quiet nod from her seat at the counter.

John Walker grins, already sharpening a teasing remark.

Bob stands awkwardly by the sink, like he just got caught sneaking a cookie.

“Well, damn,” Walker says, leaning against the counter. “I thought Bob was making you up. Or buying girlfriend stock photos online.”

“John,” Bob says flatly.

“I’m just saying, we’re happy for you, man. It’s cute. Weird, but cute.”

Ghost sips her tea. “He’s been checking his phone like a teenage girl since Saturday.”

Bob looks like he wants to phase through the wall. You try not to laugh — and fail. A little.

Then the doors behind you slide open, and Valentina Allegra de Fontaine enters like the final boss in heels.

She smiles, perfectly calm. “Glad you made it. Cute outfit. Hope you like government buildings.”

You blink. “Uh… thanks?”

Val flips open a sleek tablet and doesn’t look up. “So here’s the deal. We can’t exactly walk this story back without making it worse. You’re already part of the narrative. The kiss happened. The porch photos are out. Bob looked… well, shockingly competent.”

Bob mumbles, “Thanks?”

Val finally meets your eyes. “So. Option one: go home, brave the cameras, and let Reddit guess your social security number. Or option two: we give you a place to stay. Quiet. Safe. With a door that locks and, if you ask nicely, a reading lamp.”

You glance at Bob. “Would I… be staying with him?”

Bob visibly stiffens.

Val shrugs. “You’d have your own space. This isn’t The Bachelor. We’re not trying to force anything.”

Bob relaxes.

You think about it for a long moment. The tabloids. The porch. The look on his face when he saw you today.

“…Okay,” you say. “But I want a real lock. And maybe snacks.”

“Done,” Val says, already walking away. “Yelena, get her something from the vending machine. And no shrimp chips.”

Once the others drift off, you find yourself alone with Bob again — sort of. You’re standing near the couches, and he’s holding a mug like it’s a prop he forgot how to use.

You glance at him. “So.”

He looks up. “So.”

“You, uh… handled that well.”

“I was sweating the entire time.”

You smile. “Didn’t show.”

There’s a pause. The good kind.

“I’m sorry you got pulled into this,” he says.

“I’m not,” you admit, then quickly add, “I mean—not the whole national-news part. That sucked. But, you know. The bookstore. The pie. That stuff.”

He looks at you like you just handed him a book he didn’t know he needed.

He fidgets. “For the record, I didn’t just kiss you because your mom was watching," he says. You tilted your head.

Then, again, he softly says: “Do you think… once this blows over… maybe we could try the real thing?”

You consider it, heart full but calm.

“…We’ll see,” you say.

He grins.

So do you.

A/N: i have SO MANY prompts/scenes in my head for bob that i had to list it down on my notes (this is one of them). PS i wrote this when i was suffering from a writers block in the middle of writing the second part of Psyche. PSS i cant stop writing about bob (not that i want to) it's making me crazy

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kenyummy · 3 months ago

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✰ 05. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 05. your closed-off heart.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: avoidant attachment damian is canon to me okay. it's canon to me... </3 also pretty long chap idk how many words but it's a bunch

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

The sky has fallen to an ashen black by the time you've all settled down and watched a fun game show together; so different from the ones back home.

After those hours of catching up—you've made sure to be careful with your words and not mention anything about any alternate universes. You can't—not with that lingering stare behind you, after all.

Whether they realised your avoidance of the topic or simply didn't think to bring it up—you were glad the rest of your friends never even hinted at it once, either.

Now you were back, sitting on the couch under a low, flickering light and cuddled up beside Johnny and Franklin.

"Franklin..." Your voice is low. Said boy is cooped up to your side, snoring softly as he drools onto you. You avert your gaze toward Sue and Reed. "How's his... mutation going? It's pretty rough being so strong so young."

Johnny glowers at the sight of Franklin so attached to your left arm—even though he's just as close, if not closer to you than his nephew is. If he were sunken any farther into you, he'd practically be in your lap.

Sue sighs, pressing her palm against her face with an exasperated look. "After that whole incident with Annihilus, his power has been developing so drastically, we aren't sure on what may occur next. He's so... he is so strong. We asked the Professor about it, and his only advice was for when we believe we cannot properly help him develop, to send him to his school."

Reed slinks his hand into his wives', gripping tightly. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Franklin... is a good kid. I don't believe he will ever lost control of himself, not like the Professor is afraid he will. Regardless—he's doing fine, and that was the reason we took him with us."

The mood is sunken, a little bit quieter as you rake your nails over Frankin' scalp—gently. Such a power so young—you remember the first time you were told this young boy was creating pocket universes under his bed at three. Two years later, and he's developed the abilities comparable to that of a god.

To be so incredible is a blessing—but for a child like Franklin, it can feel like a curse often times. You would know, you think solemnly, palm falling over his cheek.

Ben sinks into the dented couch, leaning back with a knee crossed over his leg. He breaks the silence with ease and that lovely Yancy Street accent, "That, and we didn't wanna let Tony babysit again."

"Oh yeah," Johnny grimaces. "Last time he was left alone with Frankie, he made him a suit and he flew all the way to the Carribean!"

You slap a hand over your mouth, turning to Johnny and laughing, "I heard about that! Didn't you nearly get sunk by Namor and his Atlanteans?"

Johnny hisses and looks to the side—the tips of his ears alighting with a flicker. You reach up and pat out the flame, brushing his hair back as he hides his face from your view.

Judging by the smug, knowing look Sue shoots her younger brother, you assume he was pretty annoyed by your pampering.

Despite this, the mood has become lighter. You aren't worried about what may happen in the future, or what could possibly go wrong with the young child beside you.

"Don't even mention him, or any bad guy—" Johnny slumps down, head reeking back dramatically. "I'm going stir-crazy not being able to get out and fight 'em."

Ben gives him a pointed look, "brows" furrowing, "Yer sounding less stir-crazy and more batshit mental. Ya gotta get out more."

"Tell that to him!" The blonde juts his thumb towards Reed, who simply averts his eyes. "He's the one who said we can't be seen in this unknown place."

"Yeah, it's a shame, isn't it?" You cross your arms. "While you're all resting here, I have to go out and fight crime all day. Lucky me."

Johnny raises his hands in defence, "Yeah, you are lucky. I'd kill to get out and get some action. I'm tired of being cooped up in here all day like the world doesn't need me."

"Don't go getting a big head, Johnny." Sue frowns. "This world has survived fine without you. I'm sure it'll live even without you, as well."

Johnny and Sue start to bicker in the traditional sibling fashion—shooting the other glares and mocks, all the while Reed seems to be deep in thought. (And as always, Ben is simply enjoying the scene in front of him).

"Actually..." Reed speaks up—catching the attention of everybody in the room with ease. "Perhaps... it could be a good thing to go public. It would give us an easy way to collect materials we need if we could go out and use our powers freely."

"... Reed? You can't be serious—" Sue blinks in shock.

Ben slams his two rocky fists together, "Hell yeah! It's been a minute since I said my favourite line—"

"—It's clobberin' time, we know." Johnny shakes his head. Ben simply shoots the matchstick a glare.

"That aside; it'll help us make that..." Reed hums, glancing at you for a moment, "That very intricate device we'd been needing to create. The last one was created by the combined nature of me, Tony, and Hank—so making it alone may provide more difficult, but absolutely not impossible. Not much tech to work with, either... this might take a while..."

Sue places a hand on her husbands shoulder, and he seems to break out of the strange mumble he reduced his voice to. "Thank you, Susan. But yes—given we collect the right resources and I have time to work on this, we should be able to remake it."

"That's great!" You smile, grin brightening. You could go home! You could actually go home! Not sure when—but soon couldn't come soon enough. "You guys can fight alongside me, and now this! This is great news!"

"Eh ... I already told you Reed was making some of that crazy tech stuff, didn't I?" Johnny shrugs, resting his head to the side. "Besides—It's Reed. Why wouldn't be tinkering with some weird invention?"

"... Thank you for the vote of confidence, Johnny." Reed murmurs, eyes falling to the side. "If we want to make something as intricate as... that, from scratch, we'll definitely need the most brilliant minds helping."

"Ah... yeah. Too bad Tony isn't here, huh? Hank, too. They'd be a real help." You smile sadly, looking to the side.

"Actually, [name], I'd rather like you to look over some of the teleporters with me. Give your opinion on what I should do with what I have."

"R... really?" You look up at him with sparkly eyes. "You really...?"

He nods, smiling. You bite down on the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning madly—instead, you opt to rushing over and wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping up and down.

"Thank you! Yeah, I'd be—" You pull back, coughing with a flushed face. "I'd be totally honoured. Yeah. Um—I promise to not get any webs on them this time!"

"I'll take your word for it," Reed chuckles. Happiness practically bursts out of your chest at the recognition from the smartest man in the world.

Perhaps you were more than you gave yourself credit for—and way more than what that family gave you credit for.

You sit back down and Franklin crawls back into your lap, snoring softly. Johnny attaches himself to your side and keeps a warm arm snug around your shoulder, smiling down at you.

The warm fuzzy feeling pools down at the bottom of your stomach and each time you laugh, you feel your heart grow fonder.

You had never felt so at home in this strange place. These four—these five—this was your family, and you'd never feel otherwise.

Damien feels a tug in his chest. More than a tug, actually—it's like a rope has tied a noose around his ribs and is rattling them repeatedly.

He's biting down so hard on his lips and the inside of your cheek that blood seeps from between chapped lips. He chews them raw—not even noticing the pain.

He hadn't even realised when he pulled his katana out from its holster on his back. He hadn't realised when he gripped it so taut his knuckles turned a milky white. He hadn't even realised when his eyes zeroed in on the sight of you cuddling up with that dark-haired boy.

Allowing him close to you—clinging to your arm so pathetically and pressing his face against your stomach as if he'd done it a hundred times over and acting like you're his older sibling or something stupid like that—

Damian steadies his erratic breathing. Unscrunching his face, but he cannot seem to stop glaring daggers. Even when he makes eye contact with that man—Reed, he believes you referred to him as—he does not tear his sharp gaze away.

You stare so tenderly at the young boy (younger than Damian is. By a few years or so, most likely). You cradle his cheek in your hand with such love it makes your actual brother, your blood brother, feel sick to his stomach.

Raking your fingers through his hair like you'd never done with your siblings before. Holding him close like you wished to protect him from the world and all the horrors within it.

How could you possibly hope to protect this... Frankie, when you cannot even protect yourself? The scarring left from the bullet still lay on your shoulder, a ghostly reminder of how you became victim to the evil this city holds.

A reminder to Damian on how he must protect you now. As his duty.

In this cruel world, you have lost to it—and yet, you choose to coddle others? You choose to keep others safe and close to your heart, but never your family?

His heart is lit aflame with rage. His jaw is taut and clenched tightly—feeling his teeth grit beneath his tongue and his mind fizzle with boiling anger. He hadn't felt this irrational in so long. Not until...

He doesn't remember ever seeing you in a such a light. He doesn't remember seeing you.

But now he does—and now, he feels so much fuming ferocity. Watching you send the softest of smiles to him and allowing him to feel your soft, untainted touch.

(A touch not tainted by years of relentless crime fighting—a silky grasp that could only be given by that kind of regularity Damian had never known).

Much earlier, he had realised you were that vigilante he met so long ago. That spider-like fiend who seemed to have those never-endingly sticky webs.

This is why you'd been skipping classes so often, and why he never saw you around. That's why he hadn't seen those pitiful eyes be directed toward his two, barely there elder brothers, after each and every violent patrol.

That is why you have become so distant. So far away—Drake had described it. Damian didn't bother to listen because he didn't care enough to.

That doesn't matter. In the end, none of it matters. Not to him. It didn't change his image of you.

He hadn't known you long enough for it to shift in any way—nor had he ever tried to. Despite this, he is content. If this new version of you is all he will ever know, then so be it. This will be his you—the sincerity in your touch and the love in your eyes.

(Yet, never seen toward him).

He has little time to ponder and brood. Before he knows it—the glass door is sliding open and, on that balcony, he is no longer alone.

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Damian?"

He blinks. He is not used to hearing his name from your mouth in anything but a furious tone. Yet, despite this—it is anything bur the saccharine way you told that Franklin he's your favourite—

"Damian. Why did you follow me?" You demand, voice more firm than your question-like tone before.

You stand before him, arms crossed under your chest and a hard expression on your face. Stern. Like a real older sibling. He had never seen you make that kind of face before.

(For whatever odd reason, he feels small again. Like lowering his head and apologising for something he had not even done—you've never had that sort of effect before).

... And yet, despite all he's acted like in the past; in this present moment, he doesn't know what to say to you. Very uncharacteristical.

(For that Franklin, it came so easy. Like running up to you with those stupid googly eyes was the most regular thing to him. Damian doesn't believe he will ever be able to feel as normal as that).

Fortunately, he manages to scrounge up some words to say like it was a board game. "I... happened to catch you swinging here. In that ridiculous costume and to your even more ridiculous friends."

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his words. He notices it so wholly that it strikes deep into his chest. Why are you so dissatisfied with him? Why does it make him so unfathomably upset?

"One, my costume is cool. Two, my friends aren't ridiculous. Don't talk about them like that." Your tone is upset.

All these strong emotions hit him like a freight train and suddenly he doesn't know how to speak properly. Don't look at him like that. Why are you so kind to that other child, but you are so cruel toward him? It's unfair. Absolutely unfair.

He must've been quiet longer than he realised. Clutching the bottom of his cape tight into his blood-bathed grip, practically shaking. He must look so utterly pathetic for you to offer him menial pity.

(Just like you used to—except now it feels like a wave crashing against the shore, covering the burning lava stones in a cool tide).

"So, you know, then?" You glance downward at Damian after pinching your temple. He breaks his eye contact with the concrete and looks back to you. "That I'm that spider hero."

...

"Yes. After seeing your school bag webbed up, it was far too obvious."

You glance downwards once more. To the strap wrapped around his shoulder, connected to your bag. He tries to shuffle it discreetly behind him, but he knows you've spotted it when a smile crawls onto your lips.

Gritting his teeth—yet this time he does not feel that same blaring anger as before—he decides that hiding it was useless and opts to shove it into your arms roughly, before he can even think.

"The leather is crumpled. You need a new bag," He says, matter-of-factly. You grasp onto the leather with wide eyes; gaze shifting from it to him.

"... I know. It's been like this..." You aren't exactly sure on how long, exactly—but you're sure it's been... "For a while. I'm used to it."

Damian pauses, eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a sneer. He's practically offering, and yet you still deny? You pretend everything is fine and you are strong.

...

You lean down the slightest. "... Still. Thanks for considering me."

You almost can't believe you're thanking this younger brother for the bare minimum—but from what you've seen, that bare minimum isn't seen much in your household. (Especially towards you).

Despite this... you have always had a soft spot for kids. You ruffle his dark hair and he practically squawks, slapping your hands away like it burnt.

He recoils back, hissing, "Who do you think you are?! Don't patronise me!"

You chuckle and move back, brushing off your hands. He watches that action like a hawk. "... Are you going to tell them?"

"TT. About your little side hobby playing dress up?"

You want to point out how he does the exact same thing. But you don't, because you know it will lead to nothing good.

Damian sneers, turning his head to the side, "I don't care for what you do in your spare time. As long as I do not have to be there to save you every time."

"Fair enough. This can be our little secret, then." You nod. "... You can go now. I'm just going to suit up and sneak back in."

"Is that what you have been doing for the past several weeks?"

"Guilty as charged," you shrug, pressing on the necklace pendant sitting comfortably between your collarbones. "If nobody notices, then I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean—"

He watches in fascination as the minuscule robots crawl over your body and form into the familiar Spidey suit.

You tuck your hair in as the mask forms. "—Most of them are barely home to begin with, and it's not like Bruce has spare time to be worrying about this."

... "Don't you mean father?"

You stare at him weird. "What?"

"You called father Bruce." His eyes narrow furthur.

"Oh. Right." You must've become accustomed to not saying father. Uncle Ben was the only father you'd ever had, and it wasn't like you were going around calling him that, since you know—he was your uncle. "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Damien doesn't reply this time. He throws on the hood of his costume, turning his back toward your costumed form.

You walk back inside into the dimly-lit room, engulfing those people in warm hugs you'd never spared any of them before.

He leaps off the roof and swings away into the night, face unreadable; mind consumed with little crime and more thoughts of you.

Perhaps he was... wrong about you. Less helpless, but still just as weak. And a lot more confusing. Unfair. So much confliction.

Though, he feels his chest beat strangely warm when he tousles his hair back to its regular style.

Swinging in through the window in your room and with one click on your necklace, you land flat on your heels.

Peering around, you hum at your empty, dark room and change into a pair of pyjamas.

It's been a day or two since you'd eaten here. Usually you'd go around as Spidey and picking up some takeout as you swing back home, or go to Harry's house for some dinner (since Norman had taken a strong, un-evil liking to you in this world).

But today, you'd been too wrapped up to even think about dinner. You'd missed the familiarity of Sue's warm cooking but you hadn't even thought to ask while you were there. Damn.

It's way too late to go out and get something now. Crap. You really got ahead of yourself, didn't you?

You put on your pair of fuzzy slippers, and swing open your door. It's late, so most of them should be out on patrol.

You'll probably only run into Alfred, at best. You can live with those kinds of odds.

You walk down the stairway and towards the kitchen (it took you a bit—learning the ropes of this place was harder than it looked). Your steps sluggishly drawl across the floor as you yawn.

Being Spidey sure was tiring. Post-patrol naps were always the highlight of your week, but you could never do it on an empty stomach.

As quietly as possible, you begin to rummage around in the larger-than-life fridge. Fruit, condiments, almost all ingredients than actual food.

You groan. You hate rich people. Aunt May always used to just buy a bunch of pre-cooked meals whenever she was away—you'd become so accustomed to it.

Maybe there were leftovers? ... Do rich people even keep leftovers? You slouch down at the thought.

You open a few drawers just to find a pile of spinach of all things. Then fruity flavoured drinks. Some more vegetables. Lots of vegetables. A child's waking nightmare.

"There's a pack of pizza pockets in the third drawer in the second row."

You barely even react, hand already inching for the drawer. You open it, and find it. You hum.

Your sense acts up when you hear footsteps approaching—you glance over your shoulder to see a man you have not previously met before, but have seen.

That blob of red—that figure you saw before everything went black and when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder. It was him.

A white tuft of hair in the middle of his forehead and a jaded expression. A red helmet under his arm and a pizza pocket in the other hand.

It was undoubtedly him.

"Jason..." You try your hardest to not make it sound like a question.

His expression remains unchanged. "[name]. You... your shoulder is all healed up already."

You glance at your exposed shoulder. There is barely any visibly sign of a wound ever being there. Perks to a healing factor—well, you heal. Downsides to a healing factor—people start asking questions.

"It didn't hit me too deep... and Bruce got me the best hospital stuff, too." You put the pizza pockets on a plate then stuff it into the microwave. The beep resounds in the quiet as you lean back on the counter. "Guess I got lucky."

"Didn't feel so lucky when you were bleeding out in my arms, did you?" His eyes narrow and you think you may have said the wrong thing. "What the hell were you even doing out at that hour? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Oh, I was just dropped in from another universe and switched places with Wayne-ie here. No biggie.

Yeah, no way in any of the layers in hell. Facing Galactus head on feels like a safer task than telling him that. You shake your head, trying to formulate a proper excuse.

"I was hanging out with my friends. Lost track of time."

His eyes widen at your sheer audacity to say that—then, his brows furrow and he steps forward, "Don't give me that shit. You never go out past ten. Bruce won't let you. We drilled it into your head you'd die out there. And look—you nearly did. Don't you dare sit here and lie to me, [name], because I swear to God—"

Your jaw clenches and you have to hold your hands behind your body—pressed against hard granite—to stop yourself from pushing him back.

You hiss, low and tense, "What do you know? You'd never stay long enough to find out."

You remember flipping through that diary. The words getting scratchier and the paper getting more crumpled as you went on.

"You'd never stayed longer than a few days. You'd never even looked at me even then."

As you became older, you became hateful.

"You could see Dick. You could hate Tim. And despite everything, you could bring yourself to like him. You even tolerated Damian."

But you also became sad. Increasingly so. So miserable, trapped in that newborn skin you'd never truly seemed to break out of.

"I didn't care that you killed people. I didn't care that you never stayed for long. I didn't care that you hated Bruce."

So lost, so desperate for that touch you'd received so long ago; you never really grown up, had you?

"I didn't care that you'd never stay for him. For Dick. For any of the others."

So bitter. It's no wonder you'd never talked to them. It's no wonder—

"But damn it, Jason—"

"I really thought that you could've stayed for me."

—that he's staring at you in such horror.

None of this came from your heart. This entire speech was scripted on a piece of paper—by a version of you who felt so much pain and hate for those who abandoned you so easily.

But... looking at his expression now—you think it's something he needed to hear. Something that couldn't be left unsaid any longer. All the feelings pent up in them (in you, one could say) and the words they were to afraid to speak aloud. The words you were not afraid to say.

His lips parted, eyes wide as he doesn't reply. How can he? What could he ever, possibly say?

That he was doing this for your own good? That he never wanted you to see the man he had become? To never want to sully that image of that older brother who played tag with you when you were younger?

How does he tell you about the bullet he put through the skull of the Penguin goons with smoking guns he'd found minutes after he saw you bleeding out in a dirty alleyway? He couldn't possibly tell you about that.

How could he ever tell you that this was all for you—when you were hurting so badly?

(Hurting without him? Had you missed him all these years, so terribly? The thought brings some sort of twisted satisfaction. Sick reassurance. That, despite everything, you still loved him).

How could Jason Todd ever show you that he cares without destroying everything he was before? The answer was simple to him—he can't. He thought you knew. He thought—

...

Now, everything doesn't feel so simple. His sunken eyes search all over your face in frantic motions. Your eyes are so blank, and you don't even look to be feeling anything.

Are you tired? Of this? Of him? Just what did that bullet do to you?

The beeping of the microwave catches both of your attention before he has a chance to say something he will likely regret.

You turn your head to the side, and slip away from where he had cornered you against the granite. "Pizza pocket's done."

You glance his way, and he feels pathetic. Absolutley, spectacularly pathetic. "... Want some?"

You sit in incredibly uncomfortable silence, chewing on the food. At least it was good. Familiar.

Clearly there was a lot to discuss between the both of you. ... Jason and this other you, at least.

(Or was it you, the one who was shot? You could never truly tell).

There's so much to say, so little time. Jason could never stay, and definitely not around you. All these years—this world's you thought he hated them. Despised them.

Now, his expression feels like the complete opposite. Longing.

You shove the rest of the pizza pocket into your mouth, wiping off the stray greasy cheese off the corners of your lips.

"I meant what I said earlier." You clarify, as if he needed it. "And I don't appreciate you only getting on my ass after all this time, only when something bad happens. You don't get to do that. That's not how this works."

You gesture between the two of you and his heart feels like its been stabbed with the sharpest of knives.

Then, it twists.

You were always his favourite. The sweetest. The little kid he'd once held so dearly and near his heart. Until that heart stopped and turned into the deepest black, poisoned and compromised.

How could he ever risk poisoning you, too?

He wanted to keep you safe, and somewhere, somehow—he came to the conclusion that the only way you'd br safe is if you were away from him. Kept at a distance. Staying at arm's length.

Now, he isn't sure he was ever thinking of how safe you'd be. Not when he'd seen you, light-headed and bleeding. Not when you were practically dying in his arms and he couldn't do shit except kill those stupid fucking goons; because what is he good for if not revenge?

"I miss the old days," you say. But there's a distinct lack of emotion in your voice. As if it wasn't even you who was saying this. "But to hang onto them forever—when will we ever move on?"

...

He doesn't know. He doesn't think he can. Those are the only memories he has of you. Of himself.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling his heart pound and stomach feeling sick. This sort of uncanny, soul-consuming feeling—it only ever happened whenever he would look at you.

Eyes blurry and vision failing him, he wants to go. To run. But at the same time, he wants to keep you close. Make sure nothing will ever happen again. Make sure you never feel that pain again.

His head is going to split. He doesn't know what to do.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hands sink into his hair, and his jaw is clenched impossibly tight.

"I just..." His voice is quieter than he wanted it to be. Shakier. Almost timid. He feels like a boy again. That same child you'd stare at so reverently. He doesn't know when he was beginning to forget that. "I just wanted to keep you safe. That's all I ever wanted."

You're almost tired of this. Pissed off. Is that all they say? Is that really all they say to tell you why they'd kept you so far away? The distance was all-consuming. You'd noticed it in the first week you lived here. You couldn't even begin to imagine that kind of "love" all your life.

"Then, you were doing it all wrong." You say, simply. It sounds like you know. Like you have experience. Like a wise old wizard who'd "seen it all before". "I'm not incapable (truly, you are not) and my life is my own. Keeping me safe isn't trying to keep everything the same, like it is as it was."

He lifts his head from his hands when your chair pushes behind you, screeching across wooden boards.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like that. But... you don't get it. You don't know..." You swallow. "You don't know enough about me now to judge whether I need protecting or not. You never did."

... You're right. He never did. He still doesn't. Jason never watched you grow up. He never got the chance to see you go through your awkward teen years. Get your first boyfriend. Scare the shit out of him. He didn't get to hang out with you and get ice-cream after school.

He never got the chance to do anything of these things. Not with you. Never with the one most dear to him, and his small, dark heart.

But that could change. Starting now, he could change. He would. He could. He will. For you.

He stares, eyes blankening. Then, they fill with something dark. A nervous shiver runs down your spine and your sense starts tingling in the back of your mind.

He speaks, low and steady. The shakiness is gone and you're not sure what went on in his head—but he sounds so sure now. So certain.

"Then, I will."

It's not a threat or a claim—but a withheld promise. The heaviness of it weighs down on you, and you aren't sure whether you should feel safe or scared.

He gets out of his chair and walks over to you. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, blood running cold as he stalks closer. That huge imposing frame that (probably) used to hold some semblance of comfort toward you; now terrified you to the bone.

His big hand rests atop your head, and ruffles your hair. "Starting now, I'll get to know you again. Then, everything can go back to normal."

... Did he even listen to a word you said?

He sends you a smile as he leaves the top of your head a tangled mess, slipping on his helmet and walking away.

You're left alone, heart pumping wildly in your chest and your brain throbbing with that buzz. Every sense and nerve on full alert—you sink down into that chair and pull your knees to your chest.

You think you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew.

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prlssprfctn · 4 months ago

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I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

#Alfred: poor bastards have no idea that I am a real favourite #jason todd #red hood #dcu comics #dc universe #dcu #batman #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne

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silkentine · 6 months ago

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Wha--?! Silk finally finished her fem Zoro design after (checks notes) literally 6 months since she made the canvas in procreate?

I'll break down design thoughts and share some fun bonus pics under the cut:

I LOVE long hair on Zoro, I think that was the first change I wanted to implement. Zoro in canon actually has a really interesting relationship with gender dynamics which (if for some reason you're reading this and you haven't watched One Piece) can seem out of left field for the "dumb brute" character. His rivalry with and reverence for Kuina suggests he doesn't adhere to the idea that women are weaker than men. Later on, however, during his confrontation with Monet and Tashigi during Punk Hazard, his hesitation to slash her down reveals that he's subconsciously over-protective of women because he thinks they're inherently weaker. I actually don't have any problem with this character trait, I think it makes him feel more real as a person and he obviously gets shit-talked enough about it in the story itself. But how did I want to reflect these beliefs if Zoro had been born a woman? Easy: internalized misogyny and applying value to herself via her appearance.

My version of Zoro grew up wanting to fight with swords but her only chance of entering the dojo was to work under the proprietress, Lady Shimotsuki to maintain the property, cook meals for the male students, and eventually be a good wife to the current heir, Kuina. She learns that, to get what she wants, she must be the ideal woman, even if she stays up all night training swordsmanship with Kuina when she isn't supposed to. He treats her love for swordplay seriously and treats her like an equal, which sparks a bond between them and eventually leads to Zoro's goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman after his sudden, accidental death.

After years of intense training (now that Lady Shimotsuki admits that she'll need a new heir and Zoro is the closest thing she has) Zoro's finally old enough to leave and begin her journey. She starts letting go of the idea that she has to look pulled together to be taken seriously because she can just kill anyone who looks down on her. Her clothing falls into disrepair, she wears outfits that help her move in combat, and she starts tossing her hair up into messy, knotted buns under her bandana. Even so, she keeps her hair long like rolling hills of grass. (At least during pre-timeskip. She lops off her hair to prove to Mihawk that she's serious about being trained.)

I've put her in a thin sweater that she stitches (poorly) back together after her first interaction with Mihawk. (I kept one sleeve because I was inspired by the santoryuu Nami that Oda drew that one time.) I also wanted to girl-ify the ubiquitous haramaki so I picked leg warmers for her because I think they're sufficiently "dated" enough to be kinda analogous with his old man belly warmer. I also love gyaru fashion, sue me.

Here is a screenshot of her as a blonde:

And here is a sketch of her post-timeskip where she's fully embraced her butch nature:

Hubba hubba, am I right?

Check out my tag "girl piece original design" to see more of my genderbending art! Next post, I'll put all my East Blue Crew designs together! I can't believe it's taken this long but I AM SO HAPPPPPYYYYY

#one piece #one piece fanart #girl piece #roronoa zoro #zoro #fem zoro #shimotsuki kuina #shimotsuki koushirou #genderbend #character design #post timeskip #pre timeskip #girl piece original design

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brayneworms · 7 months ago

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no, you hang up! | shota aizawa

kinktober day three: phone sex

word count. 2.2k

content. phone sex, reader and aizawa are coworkers, mutual masturbation, referenced age gap (once and it's minor + doesn't contribute to their relationship dynamic), dirty talk, no genitals for reader mentioned, gender-neutral reader, teasing (reader calls him names but it's all fairly playful), pre-relationship.

♪ agora hills — doja cat

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

You know it's him before you even look.

Your room is blue-dark, cold; the central heating must have turned off hours ago, still on to warm you to sleep even beneath two comforters. The recent winters were no joke—you walked around town at the moment with dry, blistering lips and dull skin and watery eyes. Even now, as you raise your head from the comfort of your sheets to the arid air, gooseflesh breaks over your skin.

Something pulses; it's what woke you in the first place. Some noise, some shift in the quiet. Outside it's still dark, not yet late enough for the light to start turning greyish and buoyant. It takes a muddled, groggy few seconds as the static in your head starts to clear that you realise it's your phone.

You grope blindly for it; it's only vibrating, but you're a tepid sleeper at the minute, and it's more than enough to rouse you from whatever fitful slumber you'd managed to fall into. You have to be careful not to forget and turn on your side, put pressure on the sling that binds your arm as you reach under the sheets for your phone as it rings, rings, rings out.

You slap a hand across the plastic case, lift it with a wince at the cold blue light that shines out like fingernails down a chalkboard. But yeah—when you read the name AIZAWA across the top of the screen in informal white capitals, you can't honestly say you're surprised.

You stab the green button on what's probably the eighth or ninth ring. "Yeah?"

There's a moment where he doesn't say anything. Where the line crackles the way the ozone layer does before the first strike of lightning. "...Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," you say again, returning to your back. Your bound arm gives a twinge of protest.

"Sorry," he murmurs, in that dry tone of his, the one that rarely manages not to sound clipped and bored. "I guess I didn't realise how late it is."

You pull the phone away, glancing for the first time at the time in the right-hand corner. 02.11am. He did have a nasty habit of letting the night slip away from him—and his regular bouts of insomnia mean the lateness of the hour doesn't always impress upon him as it does for most people—but you suspect there may be more to it than that. There's a hesitance, a reluctance in his voice.

"It's okay," you say finally. "Have to pee anyway."

The static rises as he huffs down the line. "How's the arm?"

"Feels like roadkill," you mumble, which doesn't make a lot of sense. But sue you, you're tired and the painkillers wore off in your sleep. "Why're you calling?"

Another crackle, a soft shift, like an out-of-tune radio adjusting frequency. "No... particular reason."

As the fatigue starts to clear from your heavy brain, you try to picture it. Shouta Aizawa—evidently not patrolling tonight, given the lack of cityscape din in the background of the call. It's quiet; you can maybe hear the low purr of a ceiling fan. Earlier, he'd shifted, and you'd heard the rustling of sheets. So, he's in bed. Lying there. Alone. Calling you.

He's pretty transparent. But to his credit, you don't think he's trying to be conspicuous. It's not incredibly in his nature. And it's not in yours to call him out on it, either, which he knows. It's why he does it.

Does, not like—like this is a regular thing, or anything. There have been one or two what you like to refer to as unrelated incidents over the eight-year course of your working relationship. A kiss at a New Year's party that lingered a moment too long, the time he took you home after a night at the bar with the other U.A. staff and you couldn't be in the staffroom alone with him for about a fortnight afterwards.

"Just missing the sound of my voice?" you ask, trying not to sound too coy. You don't want to make him skittish, and anyway you have a feeling he hates when you try to play up your (in your opinion) minor age difference.

Another rustle, quieter, shorter. "...Something like that," he murmurs. His voice is soft, despite the timbre of it reaching down to some pit in his chest.

"So should I talk?" you press.

"Sure," he replies.

"About what?"

"Anything." He swallows. "Whatever... whatever you'd like to talk about."

You roll your tongue over your lower lip, suck it for a moment whilst you think. "I miss work," you start. Boring, mundane—testing the waters. "Being stuck at home sucks. And all my friends are my coworkers, so you're all at work every day. 'S pretty lonely."

"I see." There's a hint of strain in his voice, one that makes a dim chord strike somewhere low and pitiful inside you. You cross your legs over each other. "You know we'd visit if we had the time."

"Yeah, I know. I bought myself plants to give myself a reason to get out of bed," you say, casting a glance over at them as they rest on your windowsill. Their leaves wink and shiver in the current of cold breeze let in from the crack in your window. "I have to get up twice to water them. And then when I'm up, I think, I might as well get something to eat, exercise. Shower."

The last work is deliberately provocative, like pressing on a ripe bruise to see when it starts to hurt. Your reward is the faintest hitch of Aizawa's breath.

"I talk to Hizashi every day," you continue, trying to keep your own voice even. The silence on the other end of the phone sounds deafening, your heartbeat starting to get uncomfortably forceful in your chest. "He texts a lot, about silly things. Keeping me up to date on stuff at the school. It's not the same as being there, but it's sweet that he tries." You pause. "I wish I could see everyone, though. Hey—can I see you?"

You let the question hang. Lining up a hunting rifle to a buck's head, letting it decide to stay or flee. Then,

"Hang on." It comes through gruff and short, but it makes your stomach twist all the same. A moment later, your phone hums with a notification. It hangs, a grey banner at the top of your screen. From Aizawa, with a photo attachment.

Your mouth goes dry as you stretch your thumb to tap it. It's a flash photo of a barely-lit room. You can see dark blue sheets and a grey comforter, and two legs in slouchy grey sweats, cocked apart, shoved halfway down his thighs. But in the crux of the photo—

"Jesus," you blurt before you can stop yourself. You hear Aizawa huff a noise on the other end of the phone, could be laughter, could be something else. It’s not like your entirely inexperienced with Aizawa’s cock, but that was a while ago and there’s a big difference between a drunken sticky fumbling in the dark and seeing it properly, in low warm light, heavy and hard with his hand wrapped around it. His fingers, thick and pale, you can’t help but want them on you. Circled around your ankle, maybe, pulling you apart for him with that quiet, unassuming strength of his.

“Is that a good or bad reaction?” he asks, and the note of strain is thicker than ever. He sounds strangled. “Should I start worrying—about my job position?”

“Probably,” you answer. “But—no. How long’ve you been touching yourself?”

You hear his breath hitch again at the casual crudeness of your words. “How long’ve you been on the phone?”

A hot red flash zips through you. Before your head has given your body permission, you’ve laid the phone down flat on your chest, speakers buzzing through your shirt as you slip a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. You go straight for what feels good, finding yourself already embarrassingly ready, shuddering as your fingers brush the most sensitive parts of yourself.

“You’re such a creep,” you groan, head back against the pillow. Aizawa makes a quick, cut noise in the back of his throat. “One week without staring down my shirt in the staff room and you resort to this?”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, sighing shakily. “I don’t stare.”

He does fucking stare, it’s just quite subtle and it took you a while to notice.

“Yeah, right.” Your fingers curl and search, press and glide. You’re hot and wet, for him, for the first glimpse of lust since your leave of absence began. “Bet you’d do anything for a taste.”

“...Maybe,” he stammers, breathing hard and quick against the phone. Now you can hear a soft stream of sounds coming through, a shlck-shlck-shlck that makes your blood hot and your brain fuzzy. “Maybe I’ve thought about it. Once or twice.”

“Dirty old man,” you say, half-babbling, and he groans low in his throat. You wish you could see him, God you can picture it—head thrown back, thick dark hair splayed against the rumpled pillows like a funeral shroud, sleep shirt ruched up to show the soft pale plane of his stomach dusted with dark spiralling hairs. You’d follow the pattern down to where the hair was thickest, push your hand through to where he was hard and hot as a brand for you. You didn’t get much time to play with him before, restless and lazy and horny off the cheapest champagnes you could order at the bar; he’d been inside you before too long and back out far too soon.

“I’m n-not…” Hearing his resolve start to crack and fracture is the hottest thing in the world. Your own fingers work faster, jamming at the spots that make your legs gooey and your stomach start to tauten. “Isn’t my fault you look like that.”

Your giggle is breathless, half a moan. “Took that right out of the old perverts’ handbook,” you mutter. “Don’t break a hip on your way over here.”

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunts. “Damn it—shouldn’t have called—”

“I’m glad you did,” you say. Sweat is starting to collect in your armpits and the back of your neck. “Been so bored. This is the first time I’ve felt anything in weeks.”

His breath is ragged. “What do you feel?” he asks hoarsely.

“Hang on.” The photo you send is conservative compared to his; just a shot of your hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts. But you hear his stifled whimper, low in his throat, crackling with desperation.

“God,” he hisses. “You have no idea what I’d do to you.”

“I have—some idea,” you mumble.

“No, not like before,” he growls. “I was too drunk to do much of anything. What a waste. I’d never let you go if I had you now. I’d make you cum three times before I even thought about fucking you. My mouth, my hands, my thigh, anything.”

You imagine the scratch of his stubble on your inner thigh, or your own legs clamped around the thick muscle of his thigh, and nearly white out. You’re not in control, not of the way your hips cant desperately against your hand or the desperate moan his words pull from you, turning to stifle it into the pillow.

“I want you inside me so bad,” you find yourself babbling, hot with embarrassment over the desperation in your voice. You sound close to tears. “Jesus—your hands, I’m always thinking about it. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He makes a keening, desperate noise, like a starving animal going for food. “Show me.”

You barely hesitate, ripping your shorts and underwear all the way off, and it’s only a few more desperate strokes of your fingers until you feel them flood over, your whole body shuddering and legs twitching. Your chest heaves and you blink up at the ceiling, withdrawing your hand from between your legs. Very awkwardly, you manage balance your phone enough in your slung hand to take a photo, the flash illuminating the mess between your thighs, the gleam of your own spend on your fingers. Before you can let embarrassment get a hold of you prematurely, you send the picture to Aizawa.

The result in instantaneous. He pulls a breath through his teeth. “God—fuck, look at you. So messy. God, I’m—” A choked-off moan, the breathiest noise you’ve ever heard from him as he cums. You lie there, warm all over, your skin singing as you listen to him fall apart on the other side of the phone. The speakers tickle your skin as you scrub a hand down your face.

After, you listen to his harsh panting breath. Then there’s a pocket of silence, the sort neither of you know how to break.

Finally, you cave. “...Feel better?”

“Don’t,” he mumbles. “This was… highly inappropriate.”

“Agreed.”

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“Probably not.”

There’s a pause. “...Is it fine? That I did?”

A smile touches your mouth. “Yeah, it is.”

He huffs. You picture him rubbing at his eyes, drawing the skin inward to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Well, then… yes. I do feel better.”

“Get off work early sometime,” you murmur. “I get so bored around here. Could use the company.”

You’re not sure why, but you think he’s smiling. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

taglist: @deltamel (+ask to join!!)

#🫀.scribes #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #bnha smut #aizawa smut #shota aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shota aizawa smut #shouta aizawa smut #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia smut #bnha x gender neutral reader #aizawa x gender neutral reader

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st3f13ily · 3 months ago

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Shopping for the Baby

Gojo insists on buying baby sunglasses and a tiny blindfold "for training purposes."

Masterlist

You were tired. Your feet hurt. Your back ached. And you were already regretting letting Gojo Satoru—your overgrown man-child of a husband—anywhere near a baby store unsupervised.

Because somehow, in less than ten minutes, he had filled an entire cart with items that absolutely no baby needed.

"Satoru." you said slowly, staring at the ridiculously tiny pair of designer sunglasses he was proudly holding up. "What is that?"

He beamed. "Training gear."

Your eye twitched. "That’s not training gear. That’s a miniature pair of Gucci shades."

"Exactly!" he said, gently placing them on the baby mannequin's face. "Look at that. Instant swag. Our kid's gonna come out cooler than every adult in this store."

You crossed your arms, staring at the now swagged-out mannequin baby. "…They don't even have a neck yet, Satoru."

"They will," he said seriously. "And when they do, boom—drip activated."

You buried your face in your hands. "Why did I let you come with me?"

But Satoru wasn't done. No, he reached into the cart again and pulled out what looked suspiciously like— "Is that a baby-sized blindfold?!"

"Technically it’s a sleep mask," he said casually, like that made it better. "But I’ll make a few alterations. For training purposes."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Training for what? Peekaboo combat?"

Gojo gasped, offended. "You laugh now, but sensory deprivation is serious stuff! We gotta start them early."

"They’re not even born yet!"

"All the more reason to be prepared," he said, now seriously considering a baby-sized trench coat. "We don’t know if they’ll inherit my Six Eyes. What if they come out glowing?"

You gave him a flat look. "If either of them comes out glowing, I’m going to sue you."

He grinned. "You can sue me in kisses."

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly left your skull.

Still, despite the nonsense, your heart warmed just a little watching him, bright-eyed, buzzing with energy, holding up each outfit and accessory like it was the most important thing in the world. He was already imagining all the ways he'd protect them, spoil them, embarrass them.

And as much as you groaned at the absurdity of it all, you couldn't help but smile when he turned to you, holding up a tiny onesie that said: "Daddy's Strongest Little Baby"

"…Okay," you murmured. "That one's actually kind of cute."

Gojo lit up like a Christmas tree. "HA! I knew you’d crack!"

You sighed, slipping your arm around his waist. "You're lucky you're pretty."

"I’m lucky you love me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You leaned into him, hand resting on your growing belly. "They’re going to be so spoiled."

He smiled down at you, his voice softer this time. "Only by me."

And as ridiculous as the sunglasses and baby blindfold were…

You couldn’t wait to meet the little chaos he was already so in love with.

"Now let's go home, Megumi and Tsumiki are waiting."

@lixisoul99

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alchemistc · 1 month ago

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Based on my own post from earlier this evening because I can't stop thinking about it.

vanilla

He doesn't mean to see it. He swears. It's just - Tommy's laptop is right there and Buck's is all the way in the office and if he doesn't look up the lifespan of a Cecropia moth right now he's going to forget about it for a month only to remember in the middle of something vitally more important than watching Planet Earth reruns.

So he twists the thing around from its spot on the side table, boots it back up, types in Tommy's password (pA$$word3, because no one would ever guess that he'd be both so lazy and so creative in his laziness), and watches Firefox boot itself up. It's an older laptop, and Tommy doesn't take great care of it - case and point, he didn't even close out of his tabs, they're all still there, and - well. Shit.

That's the most ridiculous dildo he's ever seen.

Biggest, too.

Jesus.

Buck immediately forgets 100% of what he was doing.

And - and looking up Tommy's history is absolutely a line crossed - there's no reason for him to fucking spiral just because there's a bright purple dragon something on the screen with a base as wide as Buck's thigh. There's no reason why he should -

He clicks the search history and regrets it pretty immediately.

That kills two hours.

He has three more until Tommy's off shift, and now everything is worse. Because.

Okay so.

Like.

They have a pretty healthy sex life, Buck thinks. A year into Tommy and Buck Part Two and they still can't keep their hands off each other. And - so, like, sue him for preferring all the boring stuff he never really got to enjoy long term - the way he knows Tommy goes a little crazy when they're lying on their sides and Buck can just slip right in and press his lips to Tommy's shoulder, tuck his hand under Tommy's where he's got it on his chest, curl their fingers together and just breath into each thrust. Sue him for liking it when they're face to face and Tommy's looking up at him with the pads of his fingers tracing the shell of Buck's ear and he can see the love love love in his eyes, see the way his tongue curls out Buck's name like a prayer. Sue him for his fantasies always drifting to that sunny afternoon in their bed, Buck on his belly and Tommy everywhere around him, over him, inside of him, humming useless nothings into Buck's ear while the sweat from their skin eased the chafe of being pressed together from pelvis to collarbone.

Buck picks up his phone. Watches the familiar name ring out one, two, three - answered on the fourth ring.

"Am I not kinky enough, do you think?" Buck asks, and gets a drawn out moment of silence.

"Nope," Ravi says, and the call drops.

And who else is he gonna call, really? Hen and Chim? (Hard no, they nipped that in the bud back when Buck and Tommy were still in Part One) Maddie? Another line too far, but this one he doesn't feel like crossing today. Eddie? If he'd even pick up?

Buck dials out again.

Ravi picks up on the second ring. "Buck, I love you man, but I get a front row seat to your little love fest at least once a week, four hours a night. I am not equipped or willing to help you with your sex life."

Fair. That's fair. Boundaries are important. Ravi does an excellent job of setting his up and announcing where they are.

"It's just I found something in Tommy's browser that -."

"Absolutely not. I'll block your number for twenty-four hours."

"Right. Cool. Sure thing." Buck breathes.

"Talk to Tommy, if you're freaking out about it." Ravi caves, just a bit. "Every time. I say this every time, and it always works, doesn't it?"

True. On both accounts. When did Ravi become his go to guy?

(When he started picking up the phone whenever Buck called. When he came to Buck with his own shit and didn't apologize for it.)

"Yeah. You're right. I'm gonna talk to him."

"We're still on for Friday, right?"

Buck has to search his memory to figure out what he's referencing. Tommy's taking Ravi to the farmers market over in Venice Beach that Buck refuses to go to on principle because Sherri's Treats aren't even homemade. She gets the baked goods from Costco and decorates them with store brand icing.

"Talk to Tommy," Buck throws back, just to be a brat, and Ravi sighs.

"Touche."

He's still freaking out when the call ends three minutes later, and he doesn't want to have to pull this trigger.

Except. Like. It's still there. Right on Tommy's screen. Watching him.

The phone rings six times.

He's contemplating how ridiculous it is to leave a voicemail when Lucy answers with a groggy "'lo?"

"Am I not kinky enough?" Buck asks, and gets the start of a cackle and then a long, slow pause.

She's gonna hang up on him. She's absolutely going to -

"It's ten-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday, Buckley."

And it sure is.

God, this would never have happened if he hadn't started an update on his phone mid-episode.

"Walk me through it," she continues, all business, all of a sudden, and so Buck tells her, grateful for her hums and uhuh's as she starts her day. Buck talks over the sound of her brushing her teeth, and pouring her coffee, and absolutely doesn't mention that he thinks she should probably have better sleeping patterns while he spirals about Tommy being unsatisfied with the sex they have.

"Gonna break bro code here a little to tell you you have literally nothing to worry about there. Seriously. You're getting gold stars every night, I promise you."

"He's been looking up gimp suits and gags, Lucy!"

She's quiet on the other end, for a moment.

Then she starts laughing.

Again.

Which is a great feeling for Buck. He loves it when Lucy laughs at him.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. Honey those aren't for you."

Well, now he's kinda mad at the implication that Tommy would -

"Not for Tommy, either," she interrupts, like she knows where that spiral leads. "I forgot what time of year it was. This is new for you."

"What's new for me?"

He can picture the sly grin on her face as she pours something into a bowl - milk maybe. Then cereal.

God, what a psycho.

"Tommy and an army buddy of his have had this escalating prank war going on for like...seven, eight years? I don't know, I wasn't here at the start of it, but I guess it started as the most heterosexual man you've ever met trying to be a good ally to his newly out buddy and sending a set of butt plugs to the only address of Tommy's he had available."

Weird. But not the weirdest thing he's ever heard. "Which was?"

"Oh, Harbor. Yeah. Got it his first week there. So now every year on the anniversary they try to send each other shit at work that should technically be grounds for a sexual harassment claim from their coworkers. Last year Tommy got a fully custom furry suit. Dude probably dropped thirty grand on that thing."

He shouldn't ask. He definitely shouldn't -

"It was a horse. Because of his big fat -."

"I get the picture, thanks."

"So yeah. It's coming up on time for them to push a boundary a little too far and actually have someone complain about it, this time. They won't stop until one of them gets a write up."

It's kinda funny. Kinda sweet, too, in that really weird way military men are with each other. Irrationally, Buck kinda wants to slew foot the guy for being an unintentionally massive flirt.

Straight dudes are the literal worst at allyship, in the weirdest ways possible.

"He's out of state, so don't go getting territorial, Buckley."

Never gonna live that down.

"But seriously though? Back to the original point. Which is you freaking out that Tommy is unsatisfied in your sex life. Number one: talk to him. You guys are the actual worst. Always gotta have a second opinion before you bite the bullet and do the normal thing. Number two: I know too much. And I know you have nothing to worry about. Number three: when he gets home I want you to record his reaction when you turn the laptop screen on him like a spurned wife and send it to me. I'm having a bad day. I could use the entertainment."

"You just woke up."

"And had to talk an old coworker down from a ledge about how satisfying his sex life is with a current coworker. Bareback, no lube, just wake up and go."

"I think this also counts as sexual harassment."

"You started this conversation with 'am I kinky enough' so I'm not super concerned."

By the time he gets off the phone with Lucy he's very firmly on solid ground. And also wondering exactly how much Tommy actually talks about their sex life when he's not around. Tommy keeps things pretty close to the vest. He can't imagine he's going around bragging about that time he started crying when Buck hit his prostate right as he licked into his mouth and slid a hand up his arm to link their fingers together.

Maybe in less detail.

Something about seeing God, maybe. That seems more like his style.

---

Tommy has a routine, when he gets home from work. Keys hung up, jacket on the coat rack, duffle tucked into one of the cubbies of his makeshift mud room. Shoes under the bench, two minutes of head scritches for Goose as she meows her way down the hall to greet the only man she'll ever love.

(Buck's super cool about the fact that Tommy's breakup cat hates him. Totally chill.)

When Goose has had her fill and darted off to go bounce off the walls of the office, Tommy likes to amble in to whatever room Buck is in and drape himself across Buck's back for a moment, mouth pressed to the knob of Buck's spine, hands roaming for a moment before he manages a greeting.

He's making risotto for dinner when he hears the lock click in the front door.

He's ignoring Lucy's text reminding him to get a reaction shot.

He listens to Tommy talk back to Goose like he understands every "mrow" listens for the shuffle of socked feet down the hall, listens to him pad across the kitchen tiles, braces himself for the dead weight of Tommy against his back.

Tommy's got a hand halfway up his shirt when he mumbles into Buck's ear. "So I hear we have something to talk about."

"Ravi snitched."

"Ravi still thinks I'm the sensible one, of the two of us."

Buck snorts. Tips his head back against Tommy's shoulder and basks in the moment while Tommy buries his nose behind Buck's ear.

"Before I say anything else, I know you said I can use your laptop whenever I want but you should know I definitely snooped where I shouldn't and jumped to some wild conclusions. Which Lucy has already cleared up on your behalf, because apparently we're both too chicken shit to have a conversation without using a lifeline."

Tommy stills. "I didn't close out my browser session last time, did I?"

"You did not."

"And Lucy told you about the horse costume Dom sent me last year."

"She sure did. She very specifically called it a furry suit, though."

Tommy blows out an exasperated breath against his neck. "And you were freaking out because...?"

"I thought maybe you were bored with the sex we have."

That gets Tommy going. He pulls free just to get enough leverage to spin Buck to face him, hands on his hips and eyes catching Buck's like if he doesn't see Buck's eyes in the next five seconds he'll do something crazy, and Buck doesn't really know how he got so lucky but he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if it's a furry.

"Evan. Please understand when I say this I'm not exaggerating. Our sex is life altering. I want to have slow, quiet, vanilla sex with you until the day I die."

"Which won't be for like another fifty years."

Tommy hums. "I'm gonna be popping Blue Chew when I'm ninety-five and have two bum hips."

"Oh, so I have to do all the work?"

"Why do you think I dated younger?"

Buck has to kiss him about it. And then he has to pull back and duck his head to remind Tommy of the part he blazed right past. "Full disclosure, when I said I snooped I meant I went into your search history."

Tommy's chuckle shakes them both. "I figured. You go back far enough to find the single porn link in amidst all the shitty plastic used actuators for sale on eBay?"

"I'm not a masochist, Tommy." Figures he'd get so frustrated looking for a part to fix the rattling in the Jeeps dash he'd want to rub one out. Usually takes him more than a single video, though. Probably he'd decided he'd feel too guilty to actually get off until he had the part ordered.

Tommy shifts his weight a bit. Wedges a knee in between Buck's legs. His eyes get that sparkle to them that means he finds Buck to be an adorable menace. "How married to the risotto are you?" he asks, hands shifting from Buck's hips to behind his thighs.

"Not - not terribly." It had been a distraction from thinking about Tommy's army buddy, mostly. The recipe still isn't perfected and even though Tommy's complimented it every time, Buck can tell it's missing something and Tommy is just letting him figure it out on his own.

"Maybe we could order in and I can show you how satisfied I am with your service."

"We - that's definitely an option. On the table."

"How about this very sturdy counter, instead?"

They haven't done it somewhere not-the-bed in months.

Their knees aren't gonna thank them for it.

Buck has to attempt to ignore Tommy mouthing at his neck to remember if there are enough ice packs in the freezer for the both of them, right now.

"Yeah - yep, let's do that instead."

Tommy gets both hands under his ass and lifts.

He doesn't quite swoon over the move, anymore, but it still makes him more than a little giddy.

"Wait, did you decide on the dildo over the gimp suit, because if you're escalating at the same rate as your friend I think -."

"Can we talk about Dom after I get my satisfaction scores in, please?"

"Shutting up now."

"I don't believe that for a second," Tommy says, and then shuts him up with his mouth anyway, just for good measure.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #if you hadn't noticed i'm apparently still peeved with the OG crew #but lucy and ravi are fun to play with

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randompiecesofwriting · 7 days ago

Text

Your Side of the Bed

Summary: Robby finds himself in an arrangement of sharing the reader’s bed. Sleeping side by side in the most literal of senses. It was simply a way they could be there for one another, offer comfort on hard days. And yet he found himself wanting more.

Paring: Michael “Robinavitch” x reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: NO SMUT I don’t think it’s even joked about here lol so there’s no smut in here! Brief mention of suicide prevention measures in a joke. Reader gets a small cut and is freaked out by medical procedures.

A/N: Really this was born out of me just wanting to write some Robby fluff. I think I’m slowing down on my writing frenzy y’all so please don’t expect my previous schedule of nearly every other day story releases I’m sorry! All in all as always I just wrote what I thought I would want to read so I hope y’all enjoy it and as always let me know what you think!

You hadn’t expected the night to end the way it did when you left your job that evening.

And honestly there was no reason you should’ve, afterall you hardly knew the man.

Sure you’ve met Robby a few times before. Interacted with him enough to know what he did for a living but beyond basic elevator small talk you’ve never really spoken to the man.

So when you spotted him standing outside of his apartment, keys in hand, just staring down at them dejectedly you didn’t really have a plan when you opened your mouth. You just knew you recognized that look on his face, the way his hands shook, the way he stayed rooted in place even as the elevator dinged as you got out, and you wanted to help.

“Hey Robby” His head snapped up at the sound of his name, the way his eyes went wide at your voice telling you he truly hadn’t noticed your approach “just getting back?”

“Yeah” he sighed out the word, telling you more than you thought he really meant to, his gaze going back to his keys, reluctance on his face as his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Have you eaten yet?” The words basically tumbled out of you, the offer though made spontaneously was no less sincere “I’m just getting back too and was going to make something quick if you want to come in” and you could see the hesitance quickly building, the denial on every part of him but his lips “I was thinking pasta and I struggle to make anything less than four servings”

He seemed to pause at the joke, to take a second to reconsider. “It’s late I don’t want to impose”

You shook off the worry easily, moving past the man to your own door faking confidence he would follow “I promise you aren’t, besides I’ve kinda had a shit day so being alone doesn’t sound like a lot of fun right now”

It wasn’t a complete lie to be fair. Your day hadn’t been the best but more than anything you knew this man shouldn’t be alone right now and he wasn’t going to take help unless he could offer some in return.

“I should shower first” The implied acceptance had you smiling as he turned back to his door, you could practically see him hype himself up to go in.

“You can use mine” You offered, forcing a level of nonchalance you didn’t feel into your tone “no pressure obviously the dinner invitation stands either way but since you’re going to be over anyways” you let the end of your sentence dangle purposefully as you shrugged “plus I don’t mean to brag but the landlord just fixed my plumbing so I have the best water pressure in the building”

Your attempt at a joke had him snorting as he cast one final look at his door before wordlessly turning away from it and heading in your direction, following you back to your place “If that’s true the landlord and I will be having words”

Trying to tamp down the odd mix of anxiety and excitement at having Robby listen to you, you kept your gaze ahead, focusing a bit too hard on getting your key into the lock as he stood behind you patiently “I had to threaten to sue and it still took months so good luck with that one, you’ll need it”

Opening your door you toed off your shoes and put them to the side in your entryway prompting him to do the same while you started turning on lights “Feel free to set your bag anywhere, kitchen tables covered in my work stuff so that may be your best bet” you instructed him as you set your own work bag down at one of the chairs at the table “in the meantime make yourself at home I’ll grab you a towel and some clothes you can use”

You rushed through the process of grabbing an extra pair of clothes you thought would fit him and a towel, knowing the longer you left him alone in your living room the more likely he was to back out entirely. Something that was quickly proved correct as you joined him with the stack back out in the living room, hesitation and awkwardness practically carved into his bones as he stood rigidly in the center of the room.

“These should fit but obviously let me know if you need anything else” you ignored the trepidation on his face as you handed him the stack, Robby blindly grabbing it as he already started to backtrack.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Please I want to” you interrupted him, walking back towards the kitchen forcing him to hold onto the stack as you got out a pot “besides I need someone to get wine drunk with. Can’t do it on my own, I think that’s when they call it alcoholism”

Still he stared at you silently, you could practically see him trying to think of a way to politely extract himself.

“Unless you don’t drink of course in which case I’ve got soda or water or-“

“No no” he chuckled though it sounded slightly strained, patting to top of the stack you had given softly “wine’s good”

“Good I’ll open the bottle then” you smiled warmly at him, gesturing with a nod back towards the hallway behind him “bathroom’s down on the left I’ll be out here if you need anything”

Still he just stared at you for a brief moment, silence stretching with words unsaid, before he finally accepted it and nodded, giving you one last thanks before he made his way to go shower, leaving you to start cooking and distract yourself from the death spiral of regret and anxiety your brain was trying to force you down.

You heard the shower start up just as you put the pot on the stove to boil, you’d honestly planned on doing as little as possible when it came to getting food in you tonight after work but with Robby here you figured you could at least put in a minimal amount of effort. All things considered though boxed pasta and jarred sauce was as far as you were willing to go tonight.

Deciding last minute to add at least a salad to the side you were chopping up vegetables by the time that Robby joined you once again, looking tired but clean and a little lighter at least.

“You weren’t kidding about the water pressure” he noted as he sat on the other side of the bar that separated living room from kitchen, watching you continue to chop.

“I know right” you grinned at him “I don’t know what they did but I’m considering letting all my other unanswered maintenance requests go as a thank you”

He chuckled at that, looking back out at your apartment appraisingly “do you need me to do anything cause I-“

“Sit down doc” you chided him harmlessly “have a glass of wine you look like you’ve had a long shift”

He took the glass you slid his way with a nod, a small huff escaping him as he shook his head “what about you what’s got you coming home this late?”

A part of you wondered if you should commend his effort to try and fix your shifty night in lieu of his own or condemn his clear avoidance of the conversation turning to him. For now you chose to do neither and instead just answer “parent teacher conferences”

He hummed at that, watching you carefully as you threw the salad together and checked on the noodles “they go that badly?”

“They didn’t but that’s kind of the problem” you shrugged as you stirred the boiling water.

He raised a brow at that, no question coming to his lips just a silent ask to continue.

“It’s always the parents of the kids I’m not worried about who show up” you shrugged, leaning your elbows on the counter in front of him as you spoke “The straight A students, or at least the students who are clearly putting in the effort and trying”

“Meaning the students who’s parent’s you want to speak to don’t come” he answered for you in understanding.

“Exactly” you nodded, grabbing out a colander to drain the pasta as you continued “Which I get it parents can be busy or can just not make the conference hours but given all the emails I’ve sent over the course of this semester that have gone unanswered…”

You trailed off with a shrug, dishing up two portions of pasta and salad without a thought and placing one in front of Robby before putting yours in front of the seat next to him.

He nodded in thanks, starting to eat as you did the same, a small silence passing over the two of you that felt infinitely more comfortable than the one shared earlier in the evening, before he broke it “do you know what you’re going to do about it yet?”

You nodded in answer, twirling your fork absentmindedly in your pasta as you thought “Yeah it’ll be another round of emails, maybe some printed notes sent home with kids offering to meet at other times, I’ll see if I can at least get some of them on a phone call or something”

He hummed in thought, studying you for a moment before his eyes cut back down to his plate “you’re a good teacher”

You snorted at that, furrowing your brow at the man beside you in response “what makes you say that”

“You care” he shrugged like it’s obvious “you’re going out of your way to try and set these kids up for success. That’s what a good teacher would do”

“Feels like the bare minimum” you chuckled slightly “it’s my job to make sure they leave my classroom set up for whatever comes ahead”

“The fact that you so clearly believe that proves my point” he smiled back at you “it’d be a lot easier to write it off, to say you tried and give up but you keep pushing, keep advocating for these kids. You’re a good teacher”

And truly you didn’t have anything to say to that, the words dying on your tongue as you looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his eyes. Instead you simply offered him a small smile that he mirrored back.

“What about you how was your day” the question was out of your mouth before you could think better of it, the action of asking him in return feeling too natural.

You could see him shut down at the question, could see his walls going up as his gaze cut back to his plate “Fine. It was fine”

And maybe you should’ve left it there but you were already in too deep to feel comfortable with letting it go “you’re a good doctor, you know that right?”

His gaze cut back up to you quickly with a furrowed brow, a shocked huff leaving him at your words “have I treated you before?”

“No” you assured him with a snort “but no matter what you claim I can see that you’re not fine” you watched him tense at your words, would’ve found it almost funny in any other circumstance “I just mean a good doctor wouldn’t have a day get to him like that. You clearly care about your patients. Like actually care not just pretend to care until you can shuffle them along to the next person, that’s what a good doctor would do”

He chuckled slightly at your words, a lopsided small smile tugging at his lips as he looked you over “Feels like the bare minimum””

“You throw my words back at me and my response will be the same as yours” you chided him good naturedly, relishing the sound of his laugh you got in response as he shook his head.

“touché”

You smiled at the concession, taking note of both of your empty plates and looking back out at your living room before making a decision “do you want to watch a movie?”

He raised a brow at you but you watched the corners of his mouth tick up in response making you smile back “Obviously you can tell me if you’re tired and would rather go to bed but I like a movie at the end of the day to wind down” you shrugged in response.

“Only if you let me do the dishes”

You tried desperately not to let it show how much his easy acceptance shocked you “Robby you can come over and do my dishes anytime”

He laughed easily at that as he took both of your plates and made his way over to the sink, collecting the various dishes you’d used to cook from around the kitchen.

“I hope you know this means I will be subjecting you to my objectively terrible taste in movies”

“I think I’ll live” and you tried to ignore exactly how it made you feel to see this man smirking at you from your kitchen as he handwashed your dishes. Instead you choose to make your way over to the couch and start looking at your options.

And that was how you found yourself seated comfortably next the neighbor you’d had maybe five conversations with before, watching a movie much too late into the night. And thus how you found yourself waking up the next morning to the light streaming in through your living room windows and a comfortable chest beneath your cheek, with an admittedly painful twinge in your neck but feeling more well rested than you had in months.

You didn’t see Robby for a few days after that. The morning after had been awkward enough you counted it as a blessing.

There’d been a brief moment of serenity, admittedly, right before you fully woke up where all you could notice was how warm you felt, how comfortable, how secure. You remember burying yourself further into the comfort, giving a soft wiggle as you pressed your face further into what you had assumed was your pillow, until you heard a chuckle.

Rather you had felt the chuckle first, could feel it ruminate up Robby’s chest beneath your head before it broke to the surface. You felt what you quickly surmised to be an arm thrown over your shoulder and wrapped around you pull you in tighter, hardly enough to notice but enough to send butterflies through your stomach, before you finally opened your eyes.

Robby had already been staring down at you, his eyes wide in clear surprise but still the corners of his mouth ticked up, you wondered if he noticed. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you looked back up at him, neither of you moving for a moment, almost afraid to burst the bubble before you spoke “good morning”

His eyes got almost comically wider as his gaze cut to the nearest clock, a verification of the time seeming to fully solidify exactly what position the two of you were in for him as he quickly retracted his hands, open palms coming up by his head as if to placate you in the situation as a million apologies spilled from his lips.

You had just barely pulled yourself off of him before he was on his feet and grabbing his bag, all but running out of the door before you’d even finished stretching.

So naturally the first time you would see him in days would be when you were drunk off your ass after a night out with friends.

You all but stumbled out of the elevator, heels as always were a terrible choice for a night out but you couldn’t help but love the way your legs looked in them. So focused were you on keeping upright as you exited the elevator that you completely missed Robby standing in front of his door.

Looking up from your feet finally however you noticed the man frozen in place, keys in hand, lips slightly parted as his gaze made a slow climb from your feet up to your face. You couldn’t have stopped the grin from growing on your face if you had tried “Dr. Robinavitch we have got to stop meeting like this”

You speaking seemed to have snapped him out of whatever daze he was in, a startled huff escaping him as his posture relaxed “Well you look like you had a good night”

“I had a great night” you affirmed, taking a wobbly step forward that had him surging forward to brace you by the forearm, a slight chuckle escaping him as he helped you steady yourself.

“And how many drinks did we have tonight?”

“Not enough” you shook your head, griping his hand in yours happily as you took another step “ohhh we should do shots”

He laughed much more freely at that, shaking his head in response “we absolutely should not do shots we should do carbs. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Fuck I love carbs” you hummed letting him lead you back to his place without a thought, leaning up against the wall while he put his keys in the door “French fries, we should do French fries”

“I can manage French fries” he smiled at you, pushing open the door before extending a hand to you, helping you into his place with a hand on your hip.

You leaned into him happily as you more pawed at the buckle on your shoe than actually tried to get it off, this going on for just long enough Robby was getting ready to help you with it when it finally slipped off your ankle and you fled the shoes where they dropped, making your way to his kitchen and going right for his freezer.

“Make yourself at home” Robby teased as he carefully picked up your shoes and set them off to the side alongside his, making his way next to you in the kitchen to start preheating the oven as you dug around in his freezer for the fries.

“yes you got the good ones” you cheered as you unearthed the bag, handing it to him without a thought as you immediately dipping into his fridge “we should do cheese on top”

Smiling in amusement Robby took the fries without a word and got out a baking sheet, dumping a good amount onto it before fielding the block of cheese you tossed his way without even looking to see where he was.

“Now you don’t have salsa but you do have tomatoes and onions and I can make that work” finally you shut the door to the fridge and turned to face him with the required ingredients clutched in your hands.

“Salsa?” he asked with a raised brow, putting the fries in the preheated oven.

“We can’t have loaded fries without salsa” you answered as if it were obvious, eyes skating around his kitchen looking for something “now where do you keep your knives”

“Absolutely not” he chided immediately, making his way across the kitchen over to you and grabbing the produce from your arms.

“No I swear I can do it” you tried to assure him even as you let him push you out of the kitchen.

“Swear all you want but I’m chopping the vegetables”

“You chop the vegetables I’ll chop the fruit?” you asked hopefully, giving him your best charming smile that Robby couldn’t help but mirror.

“Nice try now will you please sit down at let me do it” he shook his head as he led you around the bar to the stool on the other side, hands on your waist to steady you as you stepped up into the chair and plopped yourself down.

“But I could help!” though you thankfully stayed put you still tried to get involved, swinging your legs energetically in the air as you watched Robby start to dice “I could be like that person who hands you the scalpel”

He furrowed his brow at you with a smirk, looking up at you from his slightly bent position as he worked “person who hands me the scalpel?”

“Yeah you know in the tv shows. You go scalpel and hold you hand up like this” you demonstrated the proper movement to him, choosing to ignore his grin as you talked “and someone puts it in your hand without saying anything that could be me”

“You do know I’m not a surgeon right?”

“All I’m hearing is you don’t have a scalpel person and it could be me”

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he gathered up all of your fry toppings “why don’t you sober up first then we’ll talk about your career options”

With a disgruntled huff you rolled your eyes, resting your head in your palm as you watched Robby finish off your loaded fries, dutifully instructing him on how much of each ingredient was required before happily digging into the plate he set in front of you, a myriad of content hums coming from you as you ate making Robby smile.

“You know I like this way better” you pointed out without looking at him, taking the time to pick the perfectly loaded fry.

“Like this better than what?”

“Better than you being weird” if you noticed the way the room went cold around Robby at your words you didn’t let it show, instead snacking happily as you stole a glance at him from the side of your eye.

“I’m weird?”

“You acted weird” you corrected him with a shrug “after we woke up on my couch you basically ran away from me”

A tense silence followed but you watched him unabashedly, waiting patiently for a response Robby wasn’t sure he wanted to give “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable” again the words came out of you so easily, a part of Robby wished he could be drunk for this conversation too “in fact I was really comfortable until you moved”

A huff left him at that, a small smile growing on his face despite his inner turmoil “Really?”

You nodded in response, finishing off the last of your food and wiping off your fingers on a napkin, pushing the plate off to the side and finally turning your full attention to him “I mean the couch wasn’t the best but you make a comfortable pillow”

He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that, an anxious hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he laughed it off “well I’m glad I could be of service”

“I don’t think I realized how bad I had been sleeping lately until that night” you revealed softly, the carbs and the late hour clearly kicking in as you seemed to sober slightly “stress of parent teacher night ya know? But I slept really well that night”

“I know what you mean” the words slipped out of him before he could think any better of it, the way they put a smile on your face making it hard for him to regret them though.

You studied him for a moment, a comfortable silence blanketing the two of you before you broke it softly “you wouldn’t admit it but you were having a bad day. Did I make it better?”

Now it was his turn to examine you, to watch the lazy way you kicked your feet out from the chair, the way your hair fell half hazardly around your face as you tilted your head slightly at him, the soft curve of your lips as you smiled absentmindedly at him “yeah. Yeah you did”

“Good” and now you were beaming at him, spreading a warmth through his chest he wasn’t prepared for “we should do it again sometime”

“Pass out on your couch?”

“I’d prefer the bed but beggers choosers” you shrugged through the idiom with a chuckle “but no I meant be there for one another. It’s nice to have someone there, even if it’s just to exist next to them in silence”

“yeah it is” the admission again left him without much thought, a smile growing on him as he watched you perk up slightly at the response “for now though you need to get to bed and work on sleeping this off, you good to head home now?”

You nodded happily at the question, pushing yourself off the stool with practiced ease as you did so “Just need to grab my purse and I’ll be good”

He frowned at that “what purse?”

“Black tiny bag” you described it to him, looking around his apartment lazily “got my keys in it”

“You didn’t come in with a purse”

“no” you shook off the statement without a thought “I remember packing it before I left, got all my stuff in it”

“No I mean you didn’t come into my place with a purse” he explained slowly, watching as the news seemed to hit you, your shoulders dropping in defeat “You didn’t have it with you when you got off the elevator”

With a heavy sigh you cursed under your breath, the palms of your hands coming up to dig harshly into your eyes as you swore softly, the last of your fun drunkenness abandoning you fully.

With a huff Robby couldn’t help but smile at the move, gesturing back to his room with a nod “Go take a shower I’ll call the bar you were at and see if they have it”

With a grumble you nodded “thank you”

“Don’t worry about it” he shook you off as he pulled out his phone “bottom left drawer of my dresser should have clothes you can wear, take whatever you want”

Nodding you slowly pulled yourself off towards his room, tossing the name of the bar you were at over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Calling confirmed the bar did in fact have your purse and were willing to hold onto it until the morning so Robby made sure to inform Jack he would be running a little late the next day so he had time to go with you to pick it up. By the time he had finished his calls and cleaned up the kitchen you had joined him back out in the living room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with dripping hair in sweatpants that were just slightly too long and a shirt you had no business looking that good in.

“I’m sorry I could’ve helped clean”

He shook you off again with a swipe of his hand, practically forcing his eyes away from you as he surveyed the space around him “don’t worry about it there wasn’t much to do” he assured you, offering you the glass of water he had gotten you earlier “drink all of that first but go ahead and go to bed, we can go pick up your purse tomorrow”

With a nod you took the glass with a small thank you, “will you-uh-“ you stuttered on the words, fidgeting slightly on the spot making Robby frown “do you think we can share the bed?”

His furrowed brow raised as he realized what you were getting at, already shaking his head “Oh don’t worry about it I was already going to insist you take the bed anyways, I’ll sleep on the couch”

You chuckled nervously at that, taping your fingers on the side of the glass as you shook your head in response “no I mean. Just it was really nice last time we-ya know-shared the couch. Would it be okay if we did it again?”

Robby was at a loss for words at the question, his entire mind going blank on the spot as you fidgeted beneath his gaze.

“The answer can of course be no” you quickly cut in with a small laugh “I just haven’t slept as well since so I figured”

“Yeah” the word all but slipped out of him without his head clearing it, Robby finding in the moment that he didn’t really want to walk it back anyways “yeah we can share the bed”

Finally your fidgeting broke as you smiled in relief, relaxing on the spot as you nodded “okay good”

“You go on ahead I’ll meet you in there” he instructed softly with a smile “just gotta lock up first”

Giving him a nod you heeded his instructions, slipping underneath his covers on one side of the bed and laying still, listening to Robby’s nighttime routine as he locked the door and brushed his teeth.

When he finally made it back to the bedroom you could practically feel the hesitance rolling off of him as he stood beside the bed for a moment, not moving an inch as he debated just taking the couch anyways, before he carefully peeled back one corner of the blanket and slowly lowered himself, careful not to jostle the bed too much in case you were sleeping, careful not to get too close to what he considered ‘your side’.

You, however, were having none of that. The minute he seemed to settle you turned around and moved yourself beside him, placing your head directly onto his shoulder with a soft hum.

A startled inhale sounded from Robby as you did so, the muscles in his arm all tensing beneath you the second you made contact.

“I warned you, you make a comfortable pillow” you whispered out into the room attempting to cut the tension in the air. Something you seemed to at least partially accomplish as he huffed out a laugh in response, his arm remaining tense nonetheless “unless you’re uncomfortable cause we don’t have to-“

“no no” he interrupted you softly before you could get too far, his voice slightly hoarse causing him to pause as he cleared it quietly before continuing “could you just lift your head for a second”

Complying quickly Robby slipped his arm beneath your head and wrapped it around you wordlessly, prompting you to drop your head back down onto his chest and wrap your arm around him in response, one leg naturally tangling with his as you buried yourself fully into Robby’s side with a content hum that made him chuckle.

Your mind stayed fixed on the soft patterns he was tracing on your arm with his finger, wondering if he was even aware he was doing it. “Thanks for saving me tonight Robby”

Another appreciative laugh escaped him, your head bobbing slightly as his chest rumbled with it “’saving’ is a strong word there, I just gave you a place to crash, basic human decency”

And you thought about arguing the point, pushing back on his refusal to properly accept your thanks, point out that he was doing a lot more than the ‘basic’ nice thing. But if you knew Robby, and you were starting to think maybe you did, that would just make things worse, would just push him further away, so you let it go, for now at least “and supplied the French fries. You can’t forget the French fries”

“You’re right I did save you didn’t I? Think they’ll knight me?”

“Pretty sure that only applies in England” you hummed back, enjoying the quietness of the moment, the simplicity of it, the lack of any expectation “maybe a key to the city?”

“Not nearly as cool”

“No. No it isn’t. We’ll get you something to make up for it” your next words left you in a sleepy whisper, your eyes already closed, your brain not conscious enough to fully recognize the weight of your words as they slipped out “you deserve nice things Robby”

His fingers stilled at the words, no sound escaping him as he went silent, staring at the ceiling above the bed, all while you finally succumbed to sleep.

Things changed after that.

It wasn’t quite as you hoped, you still went days without seeing one another but whenever you had a bad day you had someone to go to, someone you knew would be there for you without question, without comment if that’s what you preferred, and you knew Robby felt the same.

There was no dramatic change, you didn’t automatically start spending every night together but still you found your excuses to cuddle up every now and then.

Something that apparently wasn’t going unnoticed, at least on Robby’s end.

“You seem lighter lately. Happy almost” Dana’s comment came out of nowhere at the end of a fairly standard Thursday shift. As usual with the charge nurse there was no preamble, no beating around the push, no coddling of feelings, she went right to the issue. For the first time Robby found that he really wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry?”

“No it’s good. It’s creeping out the med students, our number of charting errors have been cut in half” She smirked at him, a smile that foretold trouble he did not want to deal with.

“Ah then you’re welcome”

“So you gonna tell me about her?”

And there it was, the metaphorical shoe “her?”

“The woman who’s been making you happy” Each statement was said with such a level of confidence, of finality, it felt absurd to try and push back.

“There is no woman” And yet still he must.

“There has to be a woman”

An incredulous laugh left him at that as he finally lifted his gaze fully from the chart in front of him to look at her. “Is it so impossible to think I’m just feeling better lately” he knew how weak the argument would be before it even left his lips “Maybe I found inner peace”

And based on the glare Dana sent back at him she thought so too “Either there’s a woman or I’m asking Gloria to up suicide prevention measures on the roof”

“Ask her to hire more nurses while you’re at it”

Surely there had to be something else to do in the emergency department than badger him “Does she work here?”

Surely she had to accept his flat out denial eventually “There is no woman”

“There’s a woman” The two of them both tensed slightly at the emergence of a new voice, Purlah’s sudden arrival catching them both off guard.

Dana, however, recovered quickly with a wolfish grin “What do you know”

“I know a lot of things you’ll have to be specific” Purlah leaned on her forearms against the nurse’s desk as she settled eagerly into the conversation. Now was his time to escape.

“About the woman”

“The woman up front? Is there something to know?” The last question was directed to him as the two woman fixed him with their gaze, halting him mid tip-toe.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about” Robby groaned softly, rubbing a tired hand over his face as he grabbed the first tablet he could see “now if you excuse me I think at least one of us should be doing thier job right now”

“Wait but the woman up front” Purlah stopped him before he could leave “She’s asking for you, says her name is Y/N Y/L/N”

A strange mix of panic and dejection filled Robby at the revelation, both feelings only growing as he watched Dana break out into a wolfish grin over Purlah’s shoulder as she watched his face drop before finally conceding “Yeah send her back”

Purlah nodded and took off and Robby knew news of your existence would be spread to every medical professional on the floor within the hour. So much for flat out denial.

“So there is a woman”

He refused to look at Dana as he switched out tablets “I promise it’s not what you think”

“Believe me I’m trying very hard not to think about it” she snorted, gaze pulling to the door to the ED as it opened and you scurried in behind Purlah, head ducked low and eyes planted firmly on the ground as you held a familiar looking kitchen towel to your hand “She’s cute”

“Not a word” Robby tossed the empty threat over his shoulder as he made his way to the room you were being placed in, choosing to ignore the cackle Dana let loose as he did so, instead putting all of his focus on your clearly panicked figure that sat up on the bed before him.

“Hey I’m really sorry”

“Don’t be sorry” he brushed you off easily, docking the tablet and pulling on a pair of gloves with practiced ease “What’s going on”

“I cut myself honestly a while ago and it hasn’t stopped bleeding” you held the towel wrapped hand out in front of you, offering it to him, speaking much faster than you normally did.

“Alright let’s take a look” he tried to slow down purposefully, to speak lowly and quietly, to put as much calm into his tone as he could.

“Again I’m so sorry to bother you at work and ask for you specifically I didn’t-“ Still you took off at double speed, not even making eye contact with him as you spoke.

“Hey you’re okay you should always come in with stuff like this” he cut you off with a reassurance, hand coming out to squeeze your knee in a small offer of comfort.

“Yeah I know I just feel like I used you to bypass the whole line and you guys probably have a whole system in place-“

“You’re rambling what’s going on” he cut you off again, a small frown as he watched you squirm on the spot, gaze never staying in one spot for long enough to be natural.

“I don’t really do hospitals well” you admitted shyly, the corners of Robby’s mouth ticking up slightly at your words as he shrugged.

“That’s okay me neither”

For the first time your eyes finally met him as you sent him a cold glare “you’re not helping”

He tried desperately to fight back his smile “Okay I’m sorry but listen, small cut, just a few stitches, we’ll have you out of here in no time”

“Right sure, few stitches” he let you all but talk to yourself as he gathered the suture supplies, tuning back in when he heard you voice raise slightly as you addressed him “I’m assuming that requires a needle”

“If you’d prefer I can hold the skin together myself until it starts to heal but I’ll warn you my hourly rate is incredibly expensive”

Another death glare was sent his way, he choked back a chuckle.

“Jokes’re really not helping got it.” He changed tactics with a warm smile, planting himself onto a backless stool a breath away from you, giving your knee a soft knock with his own “I’ve done a million of these it’ll be over before you know it”

Still you looked at him skeptically, a look that told him you were seriously considering his offer of simply holding your skin together himself.

“Hey you’re the one that told me I was a good doctor not that long ago, let me prove you right”

That finally got to you, a dramatic huff leaving you as you deflated slightly on the spot, a defeated “fine” slipping through your teeth Robby couldn’t help but chuckle at as he got the lidocaine ready.

“That’s the spirit. Now local anesthetic, small pinch and a burn” The words came out quickly, more one amalgamation of sound than individual words, his brain already starting to go through the motions when he paused “Imma need you to stop tensing, it’s just going to make it worse”

“Yeah I know I’m sorry” you sighed out the words, giving your shoulders a little shake to try and relax.

“You’re still tensing”

“I can’t help it I’m freaking out” the words exploded out of you as you tried to pull your hand back, Robby grabbing you by the wrist softly to try and direct you back into place.

“Hey hey look at me” he approached calming you down like dealing with a wild animal, entirely soft words and slow movement “sweetheart please I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”

With a huff you let him have you hand back, staring back at him blankly with an expression that told him the second he let go of you you were out the door.

“I’m going to pretend this hesitation doesn’t hurt”

With a roll of your eyes you sighed again, forcing a deep breath as you shook out the tension in your shoulders once more before refocusing your gaze, locking eyes with him and nodding softly “yeah I trust you”

Before you could even think of doing anything else he inserted the needle and depressed the plunger, pulling back quick enough to escape the way you dramatically snatched your hand back from him “Fuck did you just stab me with a needle without looking”

“I told you I’ve done a few of these” he shrugged with a smirk, already moving on to prepare the next step.

“Did you do each of them blind too?”

“The needle was already lined up” he motioned for you to give him your hand back, unable to keep the smile off his face as you glared at him.

“No I’m not listening I want a new doctor”

“What if I promised to look when I actually do the stitches”

“That should be a given?” The words came out in an incredulous shriek that had Robby fully laughing

"I'll give you a lollipop when we’re done”

You narrowed your eyes at him at the offer, hand on your injured wrist tightening slightly before you suddenly thrust it back at him with a huff “If I have a scar I’m suing”

“Deal” he conceded easily, threading his needle and inserting it before you could call it off again, the cut requiring just two quick stitches Robb had you done in minutes “See that wasn’t too bad”

Only when he had finished bandaging did you pull back your arm again, cradling it protectively into your chest as you sent him another glare “I want you to know I’m leaving this hospital with emotional pain as well as the physical pain I was already in”

“Oh that’s my specialty” Robby snorted as he started to clean up “Call it a two for one special”

“I’m demanding a red lollipop in recompense”

Robby looked surprisingly sheepish at that, hands tucked deep into his pockets as he swayed back on his heels “ah so about that we don’t actually have lollipops here. More of a family medicine thing”

You let the silence stretch uncomfortably as you glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest for an effect that pulled a small snort out of him.

“I can offer you a crisp five dollar bill for the vending machine though”

“And you lie to patients” you mused with an shake of your head and a condescending tsk “I’m adding this to my pile of evidence for the malpractice suit”

“My first name’s Michael just so you can make sure to get the right person on that”

You paused at that, cocking your head to the side slightly as you asked “is it really?”

“Yeah” he chuckled softly “you didn’t know that?”

“Always thought your parents just had a thing for alliteration” You shrugged it off with a smile, watching the corners of his tick up in response “seriously though thank you for this. I know I’m not the easiest patient”

“You didn’t get bodily fluids on me or try to hit me so that’s a win in my book”

“Damn so the bar’s low”

“Everytime I think we hit rock bottom someone shows up with a pickaxe to prove we can go deeper”

You let out an almost hollow chuckle, a sound more to fill the awkward silence following a statement you guessed held more truth than you could know.

“About what you said earlier” he hedged the words in, seemed almost hesitant to let them fall.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth for the duration of this visit”

He chuckled appreciatively at the break in tension, running his knuckles up and down across the palm of his other hand as he looked at you for a moment before physically shaking himself out of it “no I mean if you’re ever back here again, for any reason, tell the nurses to come find me okay? Don’t worry about messing up our system I promise it’s a myth anyways, just come find me”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him at that, the promise falling softly from your lips “I will”

“Good” he answered just a softly with a nod “now how are you getting home”

“Ah I walked” you answered sheepishly “Tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible”

He shook his head at that but didn’t say anything to condemn it, reaching into his pockets to pull out his wallet “I get off in 45, here”

You furrowed your brow as he tried to thrust a few folded bills into your hand “oh you don’t have to”

“Please it was cruel of me to dangle candy in front of you without following through” he was brushing off your denial quickly, grabbing your hand to force the money into your fingers when you refused to grab it “Get yourself something from the vending machine and wait in the breakroom I’ll take you home”

“Its not that far” you tried again

“Let me anyways” and you could see the silent question in his eyes, the plea, it was a look not dissimilar to the one he wore when he showed up at your door late at night.

“Which way’s the breakroom”

He responded with a soft smile, making his way behind you and leading you forward with a hand at the small of your back, stopping just outside the door to point to a room across the way. “Just through there, I’ll come find you when I’m done”

With a nod you started to make your way to the room, not making it more than a step before he was calling back to you.

“Also if a blonde woman introduces herself as Dana you run in the opposite direction”

“You realize that just makes me want to talk to her more right?”

“It was worth a shot”

For perhaps the first time in his life Robby was ready to leave work on time, some may even say he was eager to do so. And if the smirk on her face was anything to go by Dana was certainly one of these people.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your watch in the past five minutes”

Robby chose to ignore her teasing tone, bouncing on his feet lightly as he eyed the board with dread “My shift did end five minutes ago”

She snorted at that, shaking her head as she watched him avoid her gaze “I wasn’t aware you knew what time your shift ended”

Robby sent her a cutting glare “I don’t suppose you’re going to get on Jack’s case like this too for being five minutes late when he’s always twenty early”

She sent him a dangerous smirk and a shrug “Don’t have to Jack’s here already”

Robby furrowed his brow at that, casting his gaze over the bustling ED in search of the attending “He is? Since when?”

“Bout twenty minutes ago” there was a forced casualness to her tone that made him dread whatever she was going to say next “I sent him to the breakroom for coffee, weird he hasn’t come back yet”

Another sharp glare was sent her way she couldn’t help but grin under “You’re too invested in my personal life”

“What personal life” she snorted “thought you said ‘it’s not what you think’”

“I’m leaving” he declared with a nock on the desk “you should too”

“You going to offer to walk me home too” she called after him as he made his way to the bank of lockers, enjoying the pointed way he ignored the comment.

Grabbing his things quickly he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the breakroom, barging through the door without a thought to see you and Jack sitting side by side, the corners of his mouth tipped up in as close to a smile as Jack got while your soft laugh rang through the air, your injured hand without any of the dressings he had so carefully applied half an hour ago cradled softly in one of his.

“Hey Robby” Your greeting snapped him out of his staring contest with your hands, his gaze meeting yours across the room as you offered him a soft smile.

“Hey” he greeted back, watching Jack slowly, deliberately, retract his hand from yours “is everything alright with your stitches?”

“Yeah they’re good” you affirmed happily “Jack just wanted to take a look at them”

Jack, not Dr. Abbot or even just Abbot, Jack.

“Can’t remember the last time you did stitches, gotta make sure you don’t horribly scar the poor girl” if the smirk on Jack’s face was anything to go by the man knew exactly what he was doing.

“And the verdict is?”

“I’ve seen worse”

He snorted humorous-lessly “high praise coming from a combat medic”

Jack sent him another smirk before turning back to you “let me get you another set of dressings and you’re good to go”

“I got it” Robby cut in before Jack could get up, not enjoying the amusement that danced in the man’s eyes as his gaze cut back to Robby still standing in the entryway.

“I don’t mind-“

“I said I got it” Robby forced a polite smile to his face, one he knew didn’t reach his eyes, a fact that only made Jack’s smirk deepen “Besides I heard you have a case of explosive diarrhea to take care of in south 7”

Jack chuckled as he leaned slightly closer to you, stage whispering while he kept his gaze on Robby “I think I’m in trouble”

You giggled back at him knocking your shoulder against his playfully as you stage whispered back “you better go before you get me in trouble too”

Standing up slowly Jack made his way out of the breakroom finally, sending Robby off with a mirth filled smile and a slightly too aggressive set of pats on the shoulder, finally leaving you and him alone in the breakroom.

“In my defense you told me to avoid Dana, nothing in there about Jack”

With a huff he shook his head, dropping his back next to you “My mistake clearly. Now lets get you some new bandages and get out of here before she has a chance to sink he claws into you”

“Ah you’re about thirty minutes too late for that” you giggled at the way he sighed dramatically at that, sitting down next to you to start applying a new set of bandages to your hand. “I like your coworkers though, they’re nice”

He chuckled at that with a shake of his head “nice is not the word I would go with there, try lacking any semblance of boundaries”

“The best of friends are” you shrugged with a grin, Robby unable to help himself from mimicking it as he finished off your bandage.

Finally free to leave the hospital the two of you made your way out, Robby doing his absolute best to avoid the gaze of everyone as he led you through the packed waiting room. Only when he was safely outside with you did he finally breathe easy.

The silence between the two of you as you walked stretched, blanketed the surrounding area, he couldn’t help but focus on it and yet it didn’t feel oppressive, didn’t feel awkward, he didn’t feel the need to try and break it.

This was the moment everything changed, there was a charge in the air you could feel, a weight to the moment that was palpable.

Robby looked down at you wordlessly, eyes dancing over your face as he just studied you for a moment, the corners of his mouth tipping up as you offered him a soft smile.

“Let me take you out” a simple offer, said on a shrug, followed by an endearing clarification “like on a date”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a cathartic clash, wasn’t a dramatic outpouring of emotion. It was quiet, casual, understated. A facsimile of that first time you spoke in the hallway. A simple hand held out, palm up. An offer for the taking.

“I’d like that”

You hadn’t known all that would result from that chance meeting late at night in the hallway. Hadn’t known all of the comfortable silences, awkward moments, and heartfelt conversations that would be shared in the weeks to come. And honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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clockwayswrites · 9 months ago

Text

A Bird and a Menace of Bats - Part 17

masterpost

“We could always look up where he lives,” Tim suggested.

Bruce gave his son a tired look, turning slowly that he was sure not to jostle the sleeping man on his shoulder. “No, we can’t.”

“Sure you can. WE has to have it on file.”

“That would be a gross misuse of my postilion and an invasion of privacy,” Bruce said. “As in something Danny could very well sue for as us taking him home has nothing to do with his work and why we would have his address on file.”

“What about his driver’s license?” Duke suggested.

“He doesn’t have one, or at least not on him,” Dick said. He had Danny’s jacket pulled open and was carefully feeling inside for pockets.

Next to him, Jason was going through the card pocket on the back of Danny’s cellphone case.

“He does have a rewards card for Lacey’s though, so good taste there.”

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his face. “Dick, stop looking for a wallet. Jason, put all the cards back where you found them, please, and no hacking the phone.”

“You’re no fun anymore,” Jason said in a mocking whine.

Stephanie stifled a snicker.

“Stephanie, stop stalking him on social media and Babara, stop using what she’s found to try and triangulate where he is from,” Bruce said.

“Jason’s right,” Stephanie said as she slumped dramatically back into the seat, “you’re no fun anymore.”

“Yes, how boring of me,” Bruce drawled, “not invading the privacy of a man so unwell that he fell asleep in a noisy limo full of near strangers.”

Cass leaned forward at that.

Bruce quickly shifted gears to try and reassure her. “He’ll be alright, Cass.”

“Breathing is shallow. Heart?”

Bruce nodded. “He said there was an accident when he was a child that affected his heart and pulse. It was very slow and weak early after he stood up from his seat and had to sit back down. But he also said that it wasn’t unexpected and that he’s been to his doctor recently.”

“He did take this week off.”

“Tim.”

“What?” Tim said defensively. “He befriended my sister, I had to check him out.”

At least that was a reasonable excuse in case Danny was hearing any of this.

“If he’s doing badly, he shouldn’t be home alone, right?” Stephanie asked far too innocently.

“Not that we even know where he lives without waking him. Shouldn’t we let him rest?” Tim added.

“I shall start to the Manor then,” Alfred said, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion so suddenly that was that.

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Bruce sighed heavily.

It rather said something about the family that they were both efficient and graceful in getting an unconscious body out of the car. Bruce, with Dick’s help, passed Danny to Jason who held him out of the way as the rest of the family climbed out. Bruce was surprised to have Danny passed to him the moment Jason was able, but Bruce was quickly distracted.

“Right?” Jason asked.

“Hn.”

“Hn? Hn what?” Steph asked, popping up at Bruce’s elbow.

“The guy’s too light,” Jason answered. “It’s like he’s got bird bones.”

Tim stifled a snicker. Bruce, once again, sighed.

“Tim, take Steph and go help Alfred make sure the room is ready,” Bruce instructed. “Dick, help wrangle. Cass, darling, go rest. Jason, manage the doors for me, please.”

There was a coarse of agreement and the children were off. Bruce and Jason followed more sedately to be gentle on Bruce’s sleeping cargo.

“Jokes aside, he’s too light,” Jason said, keeping his quiet words between them. “This might be more than just a weak pulse.”

What Jason didn’t say is that they knew it was more than just a weak pulse—or at least it had been that night. It was concerning to think what lingering effects the transformation might be having on Danny. Especially concerning because…

“Cass is already attached,” Jason said, as if finishing Bruce’s own thoughts.

“I know.”

“And now the others are curious. Well, more curious.”

“I don’t suppose I could pay you to keep them in line?”

Jason snorted. “Even you couldn’t afford that, old man.”

“I was afraid not,” Bruce said as he fought back a smile.

Despite Jason’s refusal, Bruce knew that his son would keep his eyes others. Jason wouldn’t likely stop them, but he would keep an eye on them. Danny was still enough of an unknown that Bruce couldn’t help but be wary of the man’s presence in the middle of the family.

At least the guest wing was on the other side of the Manor from the family wing. The spaced eased the anxiety, a little. Alfred was just finishing shoeing Stephanie and Tim from the guest room as they approached and Jason peeled off to take his leave with them. Bruce entered the room with Danny on his own.

And apparently it was going to stay that way as Alfred said, “I trust you to see our guest settled,” and closed the door.

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh one more time.

At least Alfred had already folded down the sheets.

Bruce laid Danny down and started with the dress shoes, mostly to delay having to decide just how much clothing was appropriate to strip a near stranger of. After all, Danny didn’t know that he had slept curled up with the whole family once before. Bruce was also aware that he had less propriety than most people, given his unusual night life.

By the time the shoes were off and set aside, Bruce decided that the bare minimum would likely be most comfortable for Danny in the morning. The tie and belt went onto the seat of the nearby arm chair while the suit jacket was draped over the back. Danny’s phone was set on the nightstand. Alfred, of course, already had clothing set out for Danny to change into in the morning, should he wish. Bruce left it at that and covered Danny lightly with the sheets before he took his leave.

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #Danny/bruce #birdritch

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inkdrinkerworld · 20 days ago

Note

ooo and maybe "are you awake yet?" "no." "oh, okay sorry." with bob floyd he’s my babygirl <3 (no pressure for either of these ofc x)

Mal I know this was from the last sleepover list but I couldn’t pass up on writing something for Bobby!

Bob has a habit of never being able to sleep in. It's a Navy thing he's sure, needing to be up at 0500 hours every day to start the day with basic fitness training, logging into doing his checks for the day and then going to fly by 0730.

He can't sleep in ever.

It's why he's up now, but this is a much nicer reason to be awake at 0600. You're lying beside him, still asleep, with your face squished into your pillow.

Bob could watch you sleep for the rest of his life- he plans to honestly. But right now, he wants your company, and he wants to see your eyes.

He starts kindly enough with his wake-up protocol. "Darling," he whispers against your cheek, one of his hands falling on your neck and stroking the skin there softly.

"I miss you, wake up so I can see your face." he smears a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, a short path all the way to your ear.

You groan when you feel him press a kiss just under your ear, shifting slightly so your body is closer to him.

"Are you awake, darling?" he whispers, and you hum.

"No," it's all garbled and sleep laden that Bob can't help but lay another kiss on you.

"Oh okay, m'sorry love, but I miss your face." you shift so you're on your back and he can see your face more clearly, but you don't open your eyes.

Bob chuckles at the dramatics of it all- even half asleep you still manage it.

"I wanna see your eyes, darling." it's a little whiny but the man had been gone for a year, so sue him if he wanted a little bit of your attention at 0620 on a Sunday.

"Bobby," you whine, peeling your eyes open to find his baby blues already on you. "I love you, but I'm so tired."

He leans up on his elbow and presses a kiss to your lips. "Just missed your eyes." He cups your face, stroking your cheek as you shut your eyes again.

"Two more hours, Bobby then I'll be fully awake." you roll over, pressing your face into his chest. Bob's hand falls to the back of your head, scratching at the base of your neck as your breathing evens out.

He can wait another two hours; he'll have to because in no time he can hear your soft snores and smiles.

#bob floyd #bobfloyd #bob floyd oneshot #bob floyd one shot #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd drabble #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd blurb #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x black reader #bob floyd c yn #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #fawn's sleepover weekend

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nineteenninety-six · 2 months ago

Text

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Chocolate Bars and Injuries [3]

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

AN: This is a fluff filler chapter but I do love this lil family so sue me. I want to post these more frequently but I can't write as fast as I used to lol. I need some angst ideas for these two and Robby ideas if any of you have any <3

TW: Parental death, usual medical inaccuracies. drunk driving. mentions of death by drunk driving. mentions of Jack's amputation.

Synopsis: Your's and Jack's relationship progress and you meet a few people at The Pitt properly.

TAG LIST: @darksparklesficrecs @flyinglama @lonelyloomis @antisocialfiore @impossibleblizzardstudentposts

PART ONE PART TWO

Jack’s presence in your life has brought immense happiness. The past few months were consumed by mourning your parents and learning to parent Caspian, leaving little time for self-reflection. However, Jack has transformed everything.

Now, you’re a few months into your relationship, and it’s a new experience for both of you. Things were going slow, Jack's schedule being the biggest reason but also he had never dated someone with a young child and you were trying to navigate it together. Jack cringes whenever you introduce yourselves as girlfriend or boyfriend, feeling too old for the term, preferring the term ‘partner.’ But you don’t mind; you love calling him your boyfriend.

The chime of the doorbell echoed throughout the house signifying Jack's arrival and you skipped over to open it, immediately smiling at the man on the other side

"You're spoiling him y'know" You say as you spy the toy store bag amongst the many Jack holds.

"You gonna tell me to stop?" Jack asks as he steps in the house, passing you the flowers he held. Jack waits until the flowers are firmly in your grasp before he pulls you into a kiss, deepening the kiss as he tries to figure out the flavour of your lip gloss.

"What is that, strawberry?" Jack's brows were furrowed as pulls away.

"Grape!" You grin, pecking him once more before you step away.

You sniff the flowers as you walk into the kitchen as Jack follows you automatically, the routine ingrained amongst all the others he held, "No, but what's your plan for when he grows old and out of Hot Wheels?"

Jack retrieves the vase from where it rests and fills it up with water as you trimmed the stems. This was another part of the routine that the two of you had formed, built- off of weeks of dates and flower gifting.

"I don't know... does the kid like fishing?"

"Fishing?" You laugh, "When was the last time you went fishing? Besides the kid is five, what he likes changes every week."

"I went a few years ago with Robby and Frank." Jack tells you, holding the vase out for you.

Your fingers rest over his on the vase as you peer up at him, "And how did that go?"

"Two days one night camped out in one tent next to a lake in the height of summer and all we managed to catch were fish only big enough to feed a starving feral cat" Jack grimaced," You can imagine how well it went."

You laugh at his expression before you turn back to finish up with the flowers, "Well maybe it's best we stay away from fishing but you know, he has been talking about going camping recently. I was thinking about doing it in the backyard."

"Now camping I know alot about. I can take him camping. I can do the whole nine yards... smores, campfire Stargazing and campfire stories"

Jack's hands grasp your hips, giving them a squeeze before he turns you around, an almost hesitant look on his face, "Or is that too much? I don't want to overstep."

"You're not overstepping. I think Cas will really enjoy that." You stretch your arms to wrap around Jack's neck, "Obviously me and Cas are a package deal, it's the both of us or none of us but... are you really sure you want to do this? If you want to get really serious with me, you get serious with Cas and I don't want my relationship with you to be separate from my life with Cas, you all have to tie in together."

"Hey" Jack pulls you into a gentle brief kiss, "I know that. I really like Cas and spending time with him. I also really like you and dating you, I know all of this and it doesn't change a thing."

You beam at him before you pull him into a deep kiss that lasts until your phone chimes reminding you that you had to collect him from his regular weekend Karate lessons.

"Just to let you know, Cas will be showing off all his Karate moves tonight." You say as you leave the house, heading to your car, Jack following behind you.

"I am a more than willing practice dummy. I have a few moves of my own that I learnt when I was serving..." Jack quips, squeezing his body into the passenger seat, "Why can't we take my truck?"

"First of all, you're not using any combat moves on a five year old and secondly, you don't have a car seat for him" You remind him. "C'mon doctor Abbot it's child safety 101."

Jack huffs a laugh but he makes a reminder on his phone for his next free day to do research on the best car seats for children Cas' age to have in his truck.

With Cas down for his afternoon nap, immensely helped by his Karate class, you decided to watch a film with Jack and so you delegated the task of finding a film to watch to Jack whilst you did snacks and drinks. So you were in the kitchen making popcorn while he explored your living room, staring at the many family portraits hanging around and looking through the immense music and film collection accumulated by your parents.

"You've got Heat, Top Gun, The Shining… I remember watching these when I was young. Plus the music collection over there... this is amazing." Jack said in amazement as he continued to flick through the collection.

You laugh at him as you place the drinks and popcorn down on the coffee table, soda for you, beer from one of the many bags he brought with him, for him.

"Yeah my parents collected them. There's more in the loft but they've got a massive collection spanning decades. They used to go to garage sales, flea markets—you name it." You smile as you think about your parents, "Those were my parent's favourites from their childhood so I guess that tracks, you're like the same age as them."

Jack's face goes through many emotions as he looks at you with wide eyes, "I didn't mean to bring them up."

"You mean you don't like being reminded that you're the same age as my parents?" You tease, "Don't worry I don't have daddy issues— well not like that."

"I don't want to bring up something you're uncomfortable with." Jack says.

"It's not illegal. You can ask about them." You take a seat, Jack quickly joining you, "Don't get me wrong it's a sore subject but my therapist always likes to remind me that not everything is captured on camera or film and if we don't share our memories, we forget them and I have about twenty five years more of them than Cas has."

"Yeah, therapists are great at reminding you to take your head out of your ass." Jack mutters, remembering the reality checks his therapist gives him.

Jack hesitated for a moment before speaking again, asking, “How did they pass?”

You tuck yourself into Jack's side, bracing yourself to talk about something that you've only spoken about to your therapist," Drunk driver. Ran a red light and T-boned them."

"Shit..." Jack swore as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and squeezed it, comforting you.

"Cas was in the car with them." Your words were quiet but Jack could hear the underlying grief, "My dad died at the scene, mom died in surgery. Cas was in PICU for a week. I was so close to losing my entire family that night."

There's a pause where you take a mouthful of your drink, creating a break, pacing yourself before you reveal a part of you that weighed heavily upon you everyday.

"A part of me still expects them to walk through those doors and then everything will go back to how it was. A part of me still feels like a teenager, always looking towards their parents for guidance but I'm grown now. I'm scared about letting Cas down, about failing him. I became a guardian— a parent overnight and I feel so out of my depth." You sniffle, emotions beginning to creep up, "It's why I haven't gone through any of their stuff yet. It's why I'm still sleeping in my childhood bedroom and why I haven't had a single sip of alcohol since."

Jack wraps his arms around you as you sobbed into his chest, it was obvious this was heavily weighing on you. Sure you spoke with a therapist but you hadn't let yourself really vent and cry having put all of your energy towards Cas. You cry until you fall asleep in his arms and he nods off shortly after, movie long forgotten. He's awoken by Caspian an unknown amount of time later, the kid crawling underneath his other arm and shaking him as he calls out his name.

"What's up kid?" Jack asks, blinking off the nap brain he had.

Caspian holds up his empty water bottle, "Water please"

"Sure." Jack nods before he untangles himself from you, making sure you dont wake up before he picks Caspian up, easily settling the child on his hip.

Jack had gotten comfortable with Caspian over the last few months and Jack had never imagined himself bonding with a young child the way he had with Caspian but Jack loved the little set-up he had with you and Caspian. He had never married or had children, his past and preference towards working the night shift usually turning people off but he believed he had something special with you and by extension Caspian.

Jack sits Caspian on the kitchen island before he opens the fridge looking for the water jug when your croaky voice speaks up from the doorway.

"Just use the tap, it's filtered for drinking." You say as you approach Caspian, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Huh... bougie" Jack mutters as he fills the water bottle.

"I know right" You laugh,"I never had any of this stuff when I grew up or lived alone, so I'm indulging in the gadgets my parents splurged on."

"Have you thought about moving?" Jack asks.

"Yeah, sometimes" You answer as you putter around the kitchen making Caspian's snack plate,"It's complicated though. This house is great, it's paid off, it has plenty of space and it's in a good location with Cas' school and my job but this place is filled with the ghosts of my parents and a part of me wants a fresh start especially if I have my own children..."

"Don't read too much into that last part" You quickly say, realising what you had just said.

Jack waits until Caspian is distracted eating in the other room before he says,"... Do you want kids?"

You shrug, "Before all of this yeah but now... I'm not sure. Cas is my top priority now."

"You'll have to prioritise yourself too at some point."

You shrug once again, something that Jack has now come to realise was a way for you to not answer a question, it was a non answer before you diverted the conversation.

"What about you? Do you want kids?" You ask.

Jack keeps eye contact with you as he shrugs, watching the smile on your face as you realise he was mimicking you with sharp eyes, "I didn't think I would be a good father and according to Dana, I'm a bit of a dark and grumpy bastard that turns off most women."

"Not me though"

"Yeah not you"

"Wonder what that says about me"

"I don't" Jack crowds into your space, brushing his lips against yours, "I like you exactly as you are."

"You're such a charmer" You mumble before you tug him into a kiss.

"Alright kid, your sister told me you wanted to show off what you learnt in class today" Jack said as he kneeled down so he rested on one knee, groaning underneath his breath knowing that his body will regret it in the morning.

Caspian perked up, immediately jumping up from the couch to get into position in the middle of the living room rug.

You watched from your place in the kitchen, thankful for the open plan layout so that you can see everything as you cooked. Jack had tried to convince you to order in but you had to remind him that every date you have been on had consisted of dinner dates and you wanted to treat him to a home cooked meal, especially since this was the first time he's actually spent time at your house, having usually just stopping by to pick you up.

"Ready?!" Caspian asks, ready to show off.

Jack nods, a small smile tugging on his lips. "Yep, c'mon!"

Caspian gives his own nod and he takes a couple of steps before he throws himself into Jack, the impact knocking him backwards onto his back, breath leaving him roughly.

"Oof!"

"Cas!" You gasp, running over to them, trying your hardest not to laugh but oh man the scene was so funny. "That was not a karate move!"

You lean over Jack, fingers drifting over his head fearing that he may have cracked his head open, "You okay doc? You able to self-diagnose?"

Jack's eyes crinkle as he erupts into laughter, his whole body vibrating as he does so, "Help an old man up?"

Jack reaches an arm up and you swiftly grab it to help him up, missing the devious smirk on his lips as he tugs hard, pulling you on top of him with a muffled huff. There's a beat of silence before you burst into laughter as well, giggling at the absurdity of it all and not wanting to be left out, Caspian jumps on top of you, squashing you in between the both of them.

"This is ridiculous" You giggle, "I'm supposed to be cooking dinner, not doing whatever the hell this is."

"Stay, this is fun!" Caspian speaks, his words coming out mushed as he spoke into your back.

"This is very fun," You agree as you push yourself off of Jack, Caspian's weight not affecting you as you stood, "Unfortunately dinner will be burnt if I don't go back to the kitchen."

This time Jack doesn't drag you down when you grab his hand to pull him to his feet before you turn back to Caspian and tickle his belly, "And I know what monster you turn into when you don't eat so I shouldn't let it get burned should I?"

At Caspian's admitting nod, you return to the kitchen but not before you warn both of them that if they do any more 'karate' moves then neither of them are getting dessert.

It's nearing two am when you finally peel yourself away from Jack's side and the couch where you had been glued to for the past who-knows how many hours finally watching the films that Jack found earlier. Caspian was on the other end of the couch, curled up underneath a blanket after falling asleep midway through the first film and you couldn't be bothered to take him to bed so you left him there.

You let out a soft moan of pleasure as you stretched your tense muscles. Sleep was tugging at you and all you wanted was to crawl into bed.

"What do you want me to do?" Jack's words are murmured as he stands behind you, warm hands resting on your hips.

"Let me lock up and then you can take him upstairs"

Jack nods and gives your hips a squeeze watching as you leave to turn off the lights and lock the doors before you return to him.

Once Caspian is tucked in bed and snoozing away, you close his bedroom door, leaving it open just a smidge for when he wakes up in the morning and you pull Jack to the landing.

You glance up at Jack , "You know you're staying the night right?"

Jack did not know that.

Jack wasn't going to drive home, he had seen and treated too many people who were the victims of drunk driving but he was planning on taking a taxi home.

"I was going to call a taxi…" Jack admitted.

"Not anymore you're not," You roll your eyes before pausing and looking back at him, "You don't have any problems with sleeping in my parent's bedroom do you?"

Jack eyes her, trying not to reveal his shock, "Your what?"

You grin, winking at him, "I'm just joking, we have a guest room."

Jack's shoulders untense, "Not funny."

"You can use some of my dads clothes to sleep in, unless you have spare ones in your little go-bag."

"Tactical rucksack" Jack corrects

"Right, right of course" You giggle, "I apologise."

You take him to the guest room, waving him in, "It hasn't been used in a while but it's clean and there's a bathroom next door. I'll be back with clothes and towels for you."

Jack quickly peels off his trousers once you've left, kicking them off as he sits on the bed and takes off his prosthetic, massaging his leg with practised ease, soothing the usual ache that lingered when he wore it all day.

He hadn’t mentioned his leg or what had happened, and it wasn’t entirely deliberate to keep it a secret. However, he was clueless about how to bring it up naturally. He knew you well enough to understand that you wouldn’t pressure him for answers or perceive him differently. Nevertheless, the lingering anxiety in his mind kept his thoughts racing with ‘what ifs’.

Jack was so engrossed in his thoughts that he missed the knock on the door. He only looked up when you let out a surprised yelp. He watched as your eyes trailed down his body, momentarily pausing at his crotch. The image of him in tight boxer briefs was seared into your mind before they continued down his body to his legs. As you realised what you were looking at, you knew you had intruded on a private moment, you quickly slammed your eyes shut, arms thrust in front of you holding the towel and clothes and squeaked out an apology.

Jack grabs the items out of your hand silently and you immediately scurry out of the room, apologising once more before you shut the door behind you.

"Well that takes care of that" Jack laughs incredulously.

You threw yourself onto your bed with a groan, feeling embarrassed about your impulsive action. You should have knocked until you heard him speak, but instead, you barged right in and then fled like a child.

As you changed into your pajamas, you realised how little you truly knew about Jack. You knew he had served in the military and had friends at the hospital, but you hadn’t actually met any of them. Jack was a complex individual, and you hadn’t even scratched the surface of his layers.

A knock at the door startles you, and you take a deep breath, knowing that it could only be one person.

Jack stood on the other side of the door, hair still damp from his shower, his curls refreshed and smelling of the shampoo whilst he stood in a simple t-shirt and joggers.

"Hey," Jack's eyes flicker over you, searching for a sign of disgust or anything.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to barge in on you," You instantly apologise, "Especially not when…"

Your words trail off, not knowing the right words to say.

"Can I come in?" Jack asks and you immediately nod, shuffling him towards your bed.

"I realised I hadn't told you anything about me, not really. So where do I start?" Jack sighs as he sits up against your headboard, "I'm an old man with a long list of stories."

"You're not old," You say as you easily climb in bed beside him. You couldn't help it, it was like your body craved being next to him, "You talk about whatever you want and I'll just listen."

And so Jack did, he told you about his life story, not all of it but you had definitely peeled back a few layers of the man. You hear about his enlistment and attending medical school and then he briefly talks about the incident that resulted in losing his foot, it still being a topic that he finds hard to discuss. Then he talks about coming to Pittsburgh and meeting Robby and why he likes to work the nightshift.

"Will I ever get to meet Robby or any of your other friends?" You ask once he's finished speaking.

Jack looks down at you with a half frown, half smile, voice teasing "You've already met Robby."

You roll your eyes, "No I didn't. I saw him at Tanner's party, that doesn't count."

"Huh, really…"

"What's stopping me from visiting during the day shift hmm?"

"I'll tell security to ban you, I'll hand your mugshot out as well."

You muffle your laughter into your palm, "I'll tell Frank to let me in, they'll trust him right, since he's a doctor"

"He's still a resident, I outrank him." Jack leans down to press a kiss to your lips. "Nice try though."

"You going to go back to the guest room?" You ask, curling up to Jack's side.

Jack's words are whispered, "Do you want me to?"

"No" You whisper back.

Jack pulls away causing you to groan in disappointment but you take the opportunity to slip underneath the duvet. Your eyes never left his form as he bent off to take his prosthesis off with ease that takes years of experience.

You curl back into Jack's side once he joins you underneath the duvet, melting into his warmth. Jack switches off the bedside light and your limbs twisting around each other as you relax into the bed. You want to thank Jack for opening up but you are quickly lulled into sleep, mind going blank as Jack wrapped his body around yours.

You eventually meet Jack’s hospital colleagues, but not on his terms.

Jack stayed at yours like he usually did on his day off but this time it was slightly different since his truck had been in the shop for a week. On Friday morning after he got off of shift he went home and did his usual routine and then you picked him up after work and took him to yours. He had Saturday off, spent it with you and Caspian, slept over, and then had lunch with you and Caspian on Sunday before you dropped him off for his Sunday evening shift. However, when he left the car, his wallet fell out of his pocket and dropped onto the seat, unnoticed by either of you.

You didn’t realise until the next morning on Monday when you pulled up at work after dropping Caspian at school. Since you wouldn’t see Jack until the end of the week, you decided to drop it off on your lunch break. So, you left him a message saying you’d leave it at the front desk of the hospital’s ED.

The waiting room was loud and crowded when you entered, filling with people bleeding, limping, coughing and sneezing as they waited for to be finally called back to be treated. You tapped your foot as you waited in line, Jack's wallet clenched tightly in your hand.

You flinch when a hand grabs your arm and you look back to see a doctor that looks vaguely familiar.

"Hey, I remember you," The woman says, casting a cursory look up and down your body, "Are you okay?"

You frown as you face the woman, still unable to place where you recognised her. "Yeah I'm fine…I'm sorry I don't know…"

"I'm Dr McKay. Cassie. I was at Tanner's birthday party with my son."

"Ah." You nod, finally remembering, "Yeah sorry I'm fine, I've just got Jack's- sorry, Dr Abbot's wallet. I was just leaving it here so he can pick it up on his next shift."

Dr McKay's expression changes as her brows rise on her head and her eyes widen as she slowly nods her head, "Why don't I take you through and you can just leave it at the charge station."

"Why can't I just leave it with you?" You question but you let her guide you through the doors through to the ED.

"You could but if I let this opportunity fall through I'll never be forgiven." Dr McKay tells you as you walk towards a hub of activity, presumably the charge station.

"Hey Dana, Robby!" Dr McKay calls out catching the attention of a blonde nurse and dark haired doctor. You recognise them from Tanner's birthday as well, which of course makes sense considering Frank's job.

You introduce yourself and Robby instantly recognises you and introduces himself and Dana.

"I'd hate to interrupt your work, I just planned to leave it at reception," You say as you flash the wallet, "I told him I'd leave it there anyway…"

A smirk grew on Dana's face once she caught sight of the familiar wallet and Robby's smile stretched so wide his cheeks bunched up. They were loving this and they couldn't wait until Jack clocked in for the evening shift.

"You are so not interrupting." Robby's words were interrupted by his laughter.

Your own smile dances on your lips when you realise why they were so giddy, "Don't be too mean to him."

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity here," McKay interjects, "Abbot almost never slips."

You pass the wallet over to Robby who slips it into his pocket so that Jack will have to go up to him personally to get it back.

"Is a grumpy Jack the best person to work with?" You ask with a laugh.

"It's why he works the night shift," Dana chimes in, "Usually less people than the day shift during the week."

"He was plenty nice to me" You shrug.

"That's because you're a pretty woman." McKay snickers, Dana nodding along.

"Ooh-kay. I have to get back to work but it was nice meeting you all, officially." You wave at them before you turn and leave, bumping into Frank but you only have enough time to simply say 'Hello' before you're disappearing through the doors.

Frank watches you go with a raised eyebrow before he turns back to the group at the charge station, "What's that all about?"

"Did you know she's with Abbot?" Dana asks.

Frank nods, not knowing what the big deal was, "Yeah for at least a couple of months or at least that's what Abby said."

"Huh…" Robby nods, "Interesting."

Jack grumbles as he leaves the frontdesk empty handed, heading towards the charge station hoping that his wallet was there instead, he just hoped the usual suspects were busy with patients. He deliberately arrived an hour earlier in hopes of collecting his wallet without being ambushed.

The charge station was empty and Jack quickly made his way over and began to search through the desk, pushing files and tablets aside as he searched for his wallet. He was midway through pushing a computer to the side when somebody clears their throat behind him, causing him to straighten slowly and turn around.

"Looking for something?" Robby asks, holding up the wallet in question.

Dana was next to him, failing miserably to conceal her smirk, "She's pretty. When were you planning on introducing her to us?"

Jack grumbled once again, stomping over and snatching the wallet from Robby and putting it in his bag.

"I wasn't."

"Not that it matters anyway," Robby laughs, before deciding to torment Jack even further, "We got enough info anyway."

"Langdon!" Jack immediately snaps his head over to the clueless doctor who looked up from his tablet with wide eyes, "What the hell is your problem?"

Langdon frowns in confusion, "What did I do?"

"Talking about shit that doesn't concern you." Jack snaps, "Whatever your wife tells you, you keep it to yourself."

Langdon continues to look at him wide eyed and confused, "What are you talking about?"

Finally Robby cuts in, sparing his resident from anymore abuse from the night shift attending.

"Frank didn't say anything, Jack. Stop bullying the poor man."

Jack turns Robby, "Were you just fucking with me?"

Robby laughs, "Yeah pretty much but she seemed nice."

Jack's tense shoulders relax slightly, "She is nice."

"Pretty too." Dana adds.

"Uh-huh." Jack doesn't try to entertain the conversation even further. They knew enough already.

"You have to let us meet her properly, you know!" Robby called out as Jack walked out of the ED, heading to the lift so he could have some peace on the rooftop before his shift started.

Jack simply threw a middle finger up behind him as he walked through the doors.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt #imagines #dr abbott x reader

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clovercap · 1 month ago

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note: hellooo! this is my first post on this blog and i hope you enjoy ˊᗜˋ i want to make this a series so pls let me know what you think, send me asks, and reblog and like if you enjoyed it!! thank you so much for reading ˘³˘

pairing: bsf!rafe and bsf!y/n

summary: rafe may or may not have feelings for y/n, and there's a confession of sorts

warnings: this is 18+. drug mentions and alcohol use.

“Did you know that Sarah broke up with Topper?” You say, your eyes darting to Rafe through the mirror. He’s laying on your bed, holding his phone over his face as he did…whatever it was he did on his phone. It certainly wasn’t answering texts, because you swear he’d leave you on delivered for years if you didn’t call him.

His gaze meets your through the mirror, as you continue fiddling with your necklace. He drops his phone on the bed and sits up on his elbows, his face knitting in confusion.

“Wait—what?”

You nod, your lips curling inwards as you occasionally meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Yeah, she told me last night. Said he got pissed at her for not wanting to give it up.” You scoff.

“Okay, first of all, I don’t wanna hear that shit about my sister—”

You roll your eyes, turning to face him. “Okay, I literally just said she didn’t have sex—”

“No. No, no, no, no,” Rafe’s voice raises slightly.

He’s not actually upset, you know that, but to anyone else it would certainly seem like it.

“No,” he continues, and you can’t help but crack a smile at his disdain. “Don’t say that again, please. And second of all, why would Topper do that? Doesn’t seem like him.”

You purse your lips and Rafe sits up on your bed, his legs hanging off the edge. Of course he would rather find fault in his sister rather than his friend. Any chance he had at putting Sarah down, he would do so. Ward’s influence was heavy, and his disappointment in Rafe even heavier. You would be blind to not recognize the obvious favoritism that Ward shows his daughter.

You sigh. “It is totally something Topper would do. He’s gotten mad about it like a million times, ‘cause he’s desperate for—”

You cut yourself off, not wanting to mention Sarah’s sex life. Again. “Listen, I’m not saying he’s this horrible person, Rafe, but that’s fucked up of him.”

Rafe just presses his lips inward. “You might be right, but I don’t—I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. It’s grossing me out.”

You roll your eyes again, turning back to the mirror to take yourself in. “Fine,” You look back at Rafe. “How do I look?”

“Fine.” He says, disinterested eyes flickering over your form.

That was the most you’d get from him. A ‘fine’ in Rafe’s world was a ‘great’ in yours. You smile and start putting on your shoes.

“Why is Kelce even having this party again?”

“Because,” You drag the word out slipping on your sneaker. “His parents are out of town and it’s summer. You’re asking like you need a reason to party.” You tease, standing straight.

His lips quirk up ever so slightly. He hates how you know him so well, but he can’t help the way his heart skips everytime you show it.

“True,” Rafe shrugs. He stands and slips on his own shoes. “Shots before we go?”

You laugh and walk to your closet, pulling out the bottle of tequila you keep hidden in the corner. You uncap it and take a swig, your face twisting at the harsh burn spreading down your throat. He takes it from your hand as you wipe the corner of your mouth, your body involuntarily shuddering.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his own, barely reacting as he passes it back to you.

“You’re such a lightweight.” He grins, watching as you hide the bottle back in your closet.

“Maybe because I’m not 200 pounds, over six feet tall, and a man.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, Ruthie can down five times more shots than you can. It’s not just about size.” He teases, following you out of your house.

“Sue me for saving money, I guess.” You huff as the two of you walk down the street, the setting sun casting a glow on the pavement.

You try not to think about how Rafe knows that about Ruthie. She was in your friend group after all, but you and Rafe had spoken about your shared distaste for her. You shook your head. If Rafe simply talking about another girl got under your skin, you knew you had to mentally prepare yourself for tonight, when he was bound to flirt with or even hook up with some random tourist or kook.

You knew why you were jealous. Your affection for Rafe had grown into something much less freindly over the years you’ve known him. But you’d never say anything. He was your best-friend. One of the most stable relationships you’ve ever had, and Rafe was notoriously unstable, so that was saying something. He was your rock, and you couldn’t imagine loosing him because of some stupid feelings.

The walk to Kelce’s was fast, but the increasing absence of the sun was giving you goosebumps. Before you realize what’s happening, Rafe’s right next to you, his arm around your shoulders, and his hand rubs the top of your arm. “Cold?” He asks.

It’s things like this that confuse you. His affection was rarely given out, but recently, he’s been doing things like… whatever this was.

“Kind of,” You lean into him. “I think I just need to drink more.”

You can tell he’s grinning, even though you aren’t looking up at him. “I think so too. We should get fucked up tonight.”

You nod in agreement. “Oh, we will.”

When you get to Kelce’s house, he drops his arm, and a feeling of emptiness wells up in your chest before you push it down. You walk in, and he’s behind you for only a second before someone pulls him away.

You’re used to that, so your eyes dart around for someone you know, but before you can find anyone, Rafe’s back at your side again.

“Sorry,” He says, leaning down just enough so you can hear him over the pounding music and chatter. “Dan thought I had shit with me tonight.”

You look up at him. “You don’t?”

You try not to act too suprised, but you know he can read it all over your face. It was true, he usually did have coke, and sold it (and did it) at parties like this, but not tonight. It was also somewhat shocking considering that just the other day Ward had ripped into him, again, about getting his life together, being irresponsible; the usual flaws he found in his son.

Rafe had rarely divulged any details, as per ususal, but you could tell it was bad. Especiallly considering he had called you at 10 P.M. and just took you for a drive in his car. Not to talk about it, or go anywhere in particular, but to just be with you. He did that sometimes.

“No, I don’t.” He says simply, jaw clenching.

He didn’t feel like talking about it, but he knew you would want him to. Sure, you wouldn’t say anything. But you would look at him a certain way that told him you wanted to know more. He hated how it usually worked, and he ended up saying something to you he didn’t plan on telling anyone.

It was strange, how you were able to get him to talk with just a look. It was also strange to him that you cared enough to want to know. Well, he knew why you cared. You were best-friends. Recently though, he’s been feeling…strange, around you. There was just something about you that made him think about you all the time. But he doesn’t know what that means, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to find out.

You smile slightly. “Let’s get a drink.”

He sighs in relief as he follows you to the kitchen, grateful you changed the subject. Truthfully, he didn’t want to be coked-up tonight. It always made his chest do that weird achy thing when you saw him like that.

You resign yourself to one more shot and a seltzer for the night. Partially because you were anxious that if you were around him while you were excessively drunk, you might say something about how you’ve been feeling, and you coudn’t have that.

Rafe, however, was throwing back shots and shotgunning beers like there was no tommorow. Maybe it was because of him and Ward’s conversation, maybe it was because he just wanted to party. Or maybe it’s because everytime you get a little too close to him his palms start sweating. He’s not totally sure.

The party rages on, and Rafe sticks by your side most of the night, talking to other people, or playing pong, but he disappears a few hours in and you find yourself with some girls from school. They’re all talking about Sarah and Topper’s breakup, but your mind wanders to earlier that night when Rafe and you played a game of pong.

Some guy had come up after the two of you had won and asked you to play. While you were politely declining, Rafe’s hand found its way around your waist. Like you were his. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the delusions you allowed yourself to create when he did those things.

You eventually got bored, and left the group of girls, meandering around the party to find where Rafe had gone. You do a lap, and he’s nowhere to be seen, so you walk out on the front porch for some air, only to find him sitting on the porch swing.

“Hey,” You smile, walking up and sitting next to him. “Why’re you out here?’

He looks over at you, and his eyes are glazed over, a signature look that tells you for certain; he’s plastered. He grins lazily as you sit down.

“Needed some air.” He says, staring at you.

You tilt your head, and as you're about to ask why, he speaks up. “I looked for you.”

“I was by the staircase, like, the whole time.” You can’t help but crack a smile at his obliviousness.

“Oh,” He nods, eyes flickering in recognition. “I missed you.”

You let his words wash over you, and you suddenly feel hot.

“I missed you too. But I’m here now.” You smile softly. He smiles back, and looks out at the neighborhood.

“You’re here,” He nods, like he needs to repeat it to know for sure. Then he looks back at you, with something in his eyes.

“Whenever I need you, you’re there, and I always need you," He scoffs like he wishes he didn't. "You’re like—it’s like I can breathe when you’re around, you know? And when you aren’t here, I just like…” He trails off, but makes a clutching motion at his chest. “It all comes back.”

I can breathe when you’re around.

You almost stop breathing at his words. They hit you like a train, and you feel like the Earth had stopped spinnning on it’s axis. He always needs you? How the fuck were you supposed to repond to that?

“Well, I guess I can never leave then.” You say, forcing yourself to smile like it was a joke. Because he can’t be serious. Can he?

He just looks at you, and rubs his chest with his knuckles, like it’s physically hurting him. But then he drops his hand back into his lap, and he smiles, tilting his head slightly, like he had just processed your words.

He had just laid himself bare in front of you, and you suddenly felt a wave a guilt wash over you. You couldn’t be what he needs. You can’t even be honest with him about how you feel.

You furrow your brows and look towards the street for a moment, trying to gather yourself. He wasn’t asking for help. No, he was just…telling you how he felt. You knew that. But it scared you, the weight of his words. How could you ever be enough for him? How could you be what he needs?

You take a deep breathe and school your face into something soft, and look back at him. He’s still looking at you, but he’s miles away.

“That’s…” You trail off, grabbing his hand. “I’ll always be here for you. Seriously. I need you, too.”

He looks down at your intertwined fingers and squeezes your hand. He doesn’t say anything in response, and he loosens his grip. You pull your sweaty hand back into your lap as you both look towards the flickering street lamps.

“Yo!”

Your heads turn in unison to the front door, where Kelce had just burst out of.

“You guys need to see this shit, Top’s gonna drink the bitch cup.” He grins, panting.

“Fuck, yeah.” Rafe stands, a bit wobbly and laughs, following Kelce inside, leaving you on the porch without a glance back at you.

Like he hadn’t just flipped your world around.

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