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fatecantstopme · 10 months ago

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Lustful Agony

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen, aka my favorite trope.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, an insane amount of smut, dubcon (cuz sex pollen), unprotected sex (p in v), oral (F receiving), masturbation (F).

"Would you please be careful?" you snapped.

Your partner froze and offered you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, doc. I wasn't paying attention."

"I noticed," you huffed. "There are any number of things in here that could kill us, so tread lightly."

"Maybe I should wait here."

You glanced in his direction and nodded. "You know what? Good idea. Stay there and don't touch anything."

You continued on through the dusty lab, hoping to find at least one working computer, but after 20 minutes, it seemed hopeless. Every computer had been destroyed and most of the paper files had been shredded or burned. All that remained was hundreds of glass vials filled with various liquids and gases that did gods-only-knew what.

"I'm starting to think this might be a burn and run," you called back to Bucky--still standing where you'd left him on the other side of the lab.

"If we blow this place, is there gonna be a toxic cloud?"

You shot an annoyed look in his direction. "I said 'burn', James, not 'blow'. We're not blowing up a lab filled with unknown chemicals and biological agents."

"Right, yeah." He looked at the ground, feeling slightly embarrassed. He always seemed to make a fool of himself in front of you and he hated it. He never wanted to be the fool, especially around you.

Your well-trained eyes scanned the room again before falling on a secured biological containment chamber. You knew that would be the best option for storing items for burning. All you'd need to do was get all the bio vials into the chamber and light it up.

You crossed the room to the chamber, feeling Bucky's eyes following you. He hated being in a position where he felt like he couldn't protect you, but he was out of his element here. As the resident hazardous materials expert, this was your area of brilliance.

You grumbled in annoyance when you noticed the lock on the containment chamber was activated. You were familiar with this particular model, and if you were lucky, these Hydra assholes hadn't been smart enough to bother changing the code. You input the pin, silently crossing your fingers, a smile spreading across your face when you heard the distinct sound of the mechanism unlocking.

You lifted the hood slowly, hoping to find the chamber empty. You had a momentary thought that you and Bucky should be wearing appropriate PPE, but the thought occurred to you too late.

A sound of surprise escaped your lips as a puff of sweet-smelling pink dust blew into your face from inside the cabinet. The tactical suit and gloves you were wearing did nothing to protect your respiratory system from the unknown substance.

The dust seemed to dissolve almost instantly, fading into nothingness before you could even alert Bucky to the hazard. He, of course, had heard your surprised gasp, thanks to his super soldier hearing.

"Doc? Everything okay?" he called worriedly.

"Not sure," you replied. "I, uh, I got hit in the face with some pink dust...and I'm willing to bet it's not fairy dust."

Bucky's blood ran cold. "Pink dust?"

"Yeah, smelled like some kind of super sweet candy--or those sugary wine coolers I drank in college."

Any color that remained in Bucky's face quickly drained. "Look at me."

His tone was so firm, it frightened you. Bucky normally joked around with you, but you could hear the fear in his voice and it scared you more than anything else.

You turned to face him and his expression confirmed your fears. "Do you know what it is?"

Bucky nodded. "I think so, but we won't know for sure for at least 30 minutes, possibly longer."

"Am I going to die?" your voice was so soft--so small--that even he almost didn't hear it.

"Not if I can help it."

When your eyes met his piercing blue orbs, he could see the terror reflected in them. He wanted to go to you, help you, but he knew he couldn't--not if you still had even the slightest trace of the dust on you.

"You need to rinse off before we get out of here," Bucky said calmly. "If it's what I think it is, then I can't get that stuff anywhere near me."

"Why? What'll happen?"

Bucky's gaze didn't quite meet yours. "I will tear you apart and not even realize it."

His words cut you like a knife. You knew deep in your soul Bucky would never hurt you, but if this substance could turn him into a wild animal, you wondered what the hell it was going to do to you.

You'd spotted a decontamination area when you'd first entered the lab, so you slowly made your way there, careful to avoid getting anywhere near Bucky.

Bucky radioed in to Sam to give him an update on the situation. You heard him describing what had happened and asking for another team to be sent in to destroy the facility.

You stood under the spray of the shower head and let the water pummel your skin. The pressure was almost painful, but you knew it was necessary to ensure the substance was no longer on your skin. You'd inhaled it, so you were screwed, but there was no reason for Bucky to be too.

After several minutes, you felt comfortable saying you were clean. You just wanted to get the hell out of this lab and back home.

You voiced as much to Bucky, but he shook his head slowly. "You're not gonna make it all the way home, (Y/N)."

You didn't like Bucky's use of your first name in this context...he always called you 'doc', and the change made you feel like death was around the corner.

Your face must have given away your fear because he continued. "I just mean you won't make it home before the symptoms start. Once they do, you won't want to be around anyone."

"So what do we do?"

"Safe house. It's our only option."

You groaned inwardly. You had zero desire to stay in that drafty little cabin another night, but you trusted Bucky's instincts, so you simply nodded.

Bucky was quick to usher you back to the quinjet, filling you in on his conversation with Sam. "He'll send in another team in full Level A hazmat gear. They'll take care of the place."

"Okay."

"You alright, doc? How you feelin'?"

"I feel fine so far. Just moderately terrified."

"Don't be. You're gonna be fine."

You wanted to believe him--really you did--but there was something in his voice that made you question if he even believed it.

By the time the jet touched down by the cabin, 25 minutes had passed since the moment of infection. Bucky still hadn't told you what you were dealing with and it was driving you insane.

You followed Bucky into the cabin and watched him drop his bag on the floor. He turned to look at you, eyes clearly sizing you up, checking to see if you were okay.

"Just tell me," you whispered--somewhere between a plea and a demand.

He sighed deeply. "How do you feel?"

You closed your eyes and took mental stock of your body, seeking anything out of the ordinary. "I feel hot, but that could just be the anxiety."

"How hot?"

"I don't know, like feverish, I guess."

Bucky groaned and the sound sent a wave of need through your body--a need that shocked you to your very core. This was absolutely not the time for your stupid crush to rear its head.

"Please don't hit me, okay? I'm just gonna touch your hand."

"Why would I hit you?" you asked a second before his flesh hand met yours. The feeling was pleasant and it warmed you from the inside out, until he removed his hand. You inhaled sharply as an intense pain you couldn't describe shot through you.

Bucky jerked his hand away, his worst fears confirmed. "I know what it is."

"Please," you whimpered.

"It's a biological agent Hydra developed when their attempts to make a useable super soldier serum failed. It was designed to induce a euphoric sexual state that would result in agony and possible death if penetrative sex was not performed and an orgasm was not achieved."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Hydra believed they could create super soldiers the old fashion way--by breeding them. Sprinkle some of the magic dust on a super soldier and he'd fuck his way through a room full of women without a single care for their well-being. They called it 'sex pollen'."

Your breathing was labored as pain began to spread through your body. You tried desperately to ignore it and focus on Bucky's words. "What happened?"

Bucky couldn't look at you as he responded softly, "None of the women survived the mating process."

You realized now what he'd meant back at the lab. You didn't really want to know, but you found yourself asking the question anyway, "Did they do it to you?"

Bucky closed his eyes, desperately trying to push the dark memories back down. "Yeah. They did."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, banishing the memories. "It doesn't matter. What matters now is how we handle this."

"If the sex pollen had that kind of effect on a super soldier, what's it gonna do to me?"

"I imagine it's going to be significantly worse for you if you don't...umm--if you don't reach climax."

"So I have to orgasm? Seriously?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Before you could respond, you doubled over in pain, an agonized groan escaping your parted lips.

Bucky rushed to you without thinking and laid his hands on your arms. You let out a pained whine and he pulled away, suddenly remembering what was happening.

"It feels like my skin is on fire," you cried.

"I know, doll. I know."

It was killing Bucky not to be able to help you. He was your protector in every situation, but he couldn't protect you from this. He knew exactly what kind of hell you were in for and it nearly broke him.

The waves of pain subsided and you were able to pull yourself upright. "Well this is fun," you mumbled.

"It's gonna get worse, (Y/N). Much, much worse."

"That's comforting, Buck. Thank you."

He gave you a sad look. "You can't do this alone."

"What do you mean?"

"The pollen was designed to force the creation of life...the only way to alleviate the pain is to give the pollen what it wants."

Your brain had become too muddled to understand what he was saying. "Plain English, Buck. Please."

"You, uh, you have to have sex."

"So you're saying I can't just masturbate this away?"

Bucky shook his head. "You have to have sex and your partner has to umm--ejaculate inside you."

Another wave of pain raked its claws through your skin, but you managed to stay upright this time. "What happens if I don't?"

You saw the look of sadness on Bucky's face and you knew you wouldn't like his answer. "You'll die."

"Well, fuck." You winced, reaching out to grab the back of the couch for stability. The pain was only increasing and you knew it was a matter of time before you couldn't take it any longer. "How sure are you that I'll die?"

"I mean, I don't know any regular humans that survived contact with the pollen. They were used as test subjects during its creation."

"I swear, Hydra gets more disgusting every time I learn something new."

Bucky was dying to help you. Seeing you in pain was agonizing for him and he knew his pain paled in comparison to yours. He would do anything for you--all you need do was ask.

"I'm gonna try waiting it out," you said firmly.

"What?" Bucky said, shock evident in his tone.

"I'm sure as hell not gonna force you to fuck me, Bucky. So I'm gonna wait it out."

"(Y/N), you're not forcing me to do anything. I'm offering to help. I don't want you to die."

You shook your head. "I'd rather die than force you into this."

"I'm offering--"

"Don't," you snapped. "No matter what you say, I'm going to feel like I'm forcing you to do something and I can't deal with that. So please, let me try to handle this alone."

Bucky knew for a fact he could overpower you with ease, especially when you were in such a state. He could make the pain stop and you would be glad for it in the moment. But he couldn't do it. He would never ever hurt you like that, even if it meant watching you die. It just wasn't something he was capable of.

"Okay, doll."

You could tell he didn't want to agree, but you were glad he wasn't arguing. All you wanted to do was tear your clothes off and try to find some sort of relief. The fire burning under your skin was intensifying by the second.

"I'm gonna take a cold shower and lock myself in the bedroom. Please stay out here."

Bucky simply nodded. He wanted to sit on this couch and listen to the sounds of your pain about as much as he wanted to get shot in the face. But he respected you too much to ignore your wishes.

You dragged yourself into the bathroom and stripped down to nothing before climbing into the cold shower. The frigid water seemed to help at first, but you discovered the effects were short-lived.

You leaned your head against the cold tile and let out a pained sob. You wanted the pain to stop so badly, but you didn't want to involve Bucky. You couldn't. Bucky was your closest friend and partner. His was the relationship you valued most in life and you wouldn't risk it for anything. It didn't matter you were in love with him. It didn't matter you'd wanted him from the moment you'd laid eyes on him. What mattered is you knew he didn't feel the same.

Bucky had a new girl in his bed several times a week. You were pretty sure you'd never seen the same girl twice in the three years you'd known him. Each one was a tall, blonde, model-thin, gorgeous woman. You didn't check a single one of those boxes. You didn't think Bucky was shallow, he just had a type. He was one of the hottest men you'd ever seen, so it only made sense for him to be with the hottest women.

You didn't think you were ugly, by any means. You just weren't his type. You were shorter, very curvy, girl-next-door average. You'd accepted it long ago and vowed to never tell him how you felt for fear of jeopardizing your friendship. Your current situation was as close as you could get to your biggest fear and you weren't willing to risk it. You loved him too much to lose him entirely. Even if he insisted he was willing to help, you knew he would come to regret it. Things would be awkward between you and eventually your friendship would come to an end.

"Not worth the risk," you muttered to yourself.

The cooling effects of the shower had long since worn off, so you turned off the water and grabbed a towel. As you wrapped it around your body, you found it was too small to cover everything and the scratchy material was painful against your overly sensitive skin.

You dropped the towel to the ground and opened the door a crack. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"Um, the towel hurts my skin, so um...please don't look while I walk to the bedroom."

Bucky inhaled deeply, calming himself. Sure, he wasn't impacted by the pollen, but the fact that your naked body was a few feet away from him certainly did.

"I'll close my eyes."

You tentatively opened the door and peeked out. You could see Bucky sitting on the couch, eyes closed as promised. You quickly rushed from the bathroom to the open bedroom door, shutting it behind you. In your haste to get out of sight, you neglected to lock the door.

You nearly collapsed onto the bed, the need to feel some relief the only thing on your mind. Normally, you would have been embarrassed to even consider touching yourself when Bucky was so close by, but this was an extreme circumstance. You mentally told yourself you needed to be quiet at the very least, given his excellent hearing.

You tried to get as comfortable as you could, but it was impossible. The only parts of your body that didn't ache were the ones you were actively touching. You slipped your dominant hand between your legs and felt another wave of embarrassment hit when you felt just how wet you were.

The moment your fingers brushed between your folds, you let out a loud moan. You slapped your hand across your mouth and hoped Bucky mistook the sound for one of pain.

Bucky was breathing heavily as he sat on the couch less than 10 feet from the bedroom door. He could hear every tiny little sound you made, even as you desperately tried to stay quiet.

He knew he shouldn't be turned on by those sounds--not when you were experiencing something so awful--but he couldn't help it. He'd dreamed of hearing you moan for him a hundred times before. It took all his will-power to not bust down that door and give you what you needed.

You let out a particularly obscene moan and Bucky had to stifle his own. His cock strained against his pants and he hated himself for being turned on. He tried to tell himself it wasn't his fault--he'd wanted you for years--but he couldn't shake the feeling of shame.

Ten minutes went by and the sounds coming from the bedroom continued. Bucky gripped the back of the couch with all his strength, determined to not give himself even a modicum of pleasure from this.

Another five minutes passed and he heard you let out a pained sob. His heart skipped a beat and he listened closely for any more noise. He heard the distinct sounds of you crying and his resolve broke. He immediately went to your door and knocked.

"Doll? You okay?"

"It hurts so much," you whimpered.

He leaned his forehead against the door. "I know, sweetheart. Please let me help you. Please."

He could hear you writhing around on the bed, whimpers of pain reaching his ears and making him tear up.

"I can't--it didn't work," you cried. "I'm so hot--it hurts."

"Please, baby," Bucky begged. He placed his hand on the doorknob, dying to turn it and get to you.

"Bucky," you whimpered.

The pain in that one simple word made his decision for him. He turned the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He opened the door a crack, but kept his eyes away from the bed.

"Let me help you," he pleaded again.

Your eyes roamed his gorgeous figure and you let out a choked sob. Nothing else mattered in that moment--all you could think about was him.

"Make it stop," you begged him.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, meeting yours in a desperately hungry look. He didn't say a word, didn't even allow his brain to process the deeper meaning of what he was about to do. You'd asked him to help you--to stop the pain--so that was exactly what he was going to do.

He stripped out of his tactical suit as fast as possible, leaving himself in his boxer briefs, cock straining to be set free.

You reached out a hand to him and he went to you without a thought. He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you as his eyes scanned your face.

"Are you sure about this, doll?" he asked softly.

"I need you," you whimpered back.

Those three little words shattered the sliver of resolve he'd had left. His lips met yours in a hungry, devouring kiss--all teeth and tongue. His hands latched onto your soft curves, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

Everywhere he touched felt like ice against your burning skin. The sensation both incredible and painful all at once. Whatever bit of shyness or insecurity you had was wiped away by the sheer intensity of it all.

Bucky's lips attacked your neck, your jaw, your collarbone--nipping and sucking bruising marks into your skin. While it felt good, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Need more."

Bucky nudged his knee between your legs to spread them wider for him. "I know, baby. I know."

He quickly descended down to your aching core, blowing hot air against it in a teasing manner. You whined and scratched at his scalp, reminding him this was not the time for teasing.

He flicked his tongue between your pussy lips, seeking out your clit immediately. The second his tongue brushed against it, you cried out in pleasure--the first real feeling of relief you'd had since you'd been infected.

Bucky smiled to himself as he settled in to properly feast on your pussy, reveling in the essence of you against his tongue, invading all of his senses.

You gripped his hair in one hand and the sheet in the other, gyrating wildly as Bucky ate you with abandon. The pleasure was blinding, but you could still feel the undercurrent of raging fire flowing through your veins.

Bucky seemed to instinctively know exactly what you enjoyed, following your body like he had a roadmap to your pleasure points. He sent you over the edge with ease three times before finally coming up for air.

You reached for him, still hungry for more. "Bucky."

"I'm here, baby." He kissed you deeply, hands gripping your hips tightly. He wanted to take his time with you, but he knew he couldn't--you needed more from him and you needed it now.

He was quick to discard his underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your aching hole and you both moaned.

"Please, please, please, please..." you begged.

Bucky knew what you needed and he wasted no time sheathing himself inside of you. You cried out in pain as his cock stretched you more than you'd ever experienced before. The pain quickly subsided into pleasure and the pollen seemed to sense its purpose was near.

You felt a surge of need and you begged him to fuck you. "I need it, please, Bucky."

"I've got you, sweetheart." He began to thrust gently, trying his best not to hurt you. The sensations began to overwhelm him as much as they were overwhelming you, prompting him to move faster--losing himself in the feeling of you.

"Fuck, baby. You take my cock so well."

Your pussy fluttered in response, a soft whine escaping your lips.

"Best pussy I've ever had. So tight and wet for me. Made for me, weren't you?"

You nodded rapidly, not really registering what he was saying.

"How many times you think I can make you cum, baby? Six? Seven? Think the pollen can get you there?"

Your eyes widened at his words. Unsure if that was possible even with pollen.

Bucky grinned down at you. "I think I can get seven. Bet this pussy will give me whatever I want, won't she? Gonna make my girl scream my name all night long."

You felt the coil in your belly snap as another orgasm rushed through you. You clung to Bucky, a string of profanity spilling past your lips.

Bucky didn't let you come down from it before pushing your body towards another orgasm. He wanted to feel you gripping his cock like this as long as possible--especially since he might never feel it again.

"Baby, you feel so good," he murmured, placing soft kisses to your face. "Love the way you're squeezing me."

"Feels so good, Bucky," you moaned.

"Fuck, been wanting to hear you say that for so long. Needed to be inside this tight little pussy so badly. It's better than I ever imagined."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wanted to ask what he meant--if he'd really imagined it, but you were too far gone to articulate a coherent thought.

As another orgasm crashed into you, you momentarily wondered if it was possible to die from overwhelming pleasure. You'd been in so much pain for so long and the sudden change to blinding pleasure was incredible. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

"How many more can you give me, sweetheart?"

"Wanfeelcum," you mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? Too fucked out to speak?"

"Wanna feel you cum, Bucky," you begged.

He was already so close to the edge he nearly lost control at the sound of your voice. But if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want this to end. He was scared if he came, if he gave you what you needed, then you'd be satiated and it would all be over.

"Need to feel you cum on my cock at least one more time, baby."

You whimpered, but nodded your consent.

Bucky picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You weren't sure whether it was the pollen or his skill, but you went flying over the edge of blinding pleasure with an intensity you'd never experienced. You screamed his name as the waves crashed over you, pussy gushing juices as you squirted all over his cock and abdomen.

"Fuck yeah, baby. So fucking sexy..." he murmured. "Gonna fill you up. Give you what you want."

"Want your cum," you begged.

"That's right, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum. Fill up this sweet pussy till you're stuffed."

"Yes, Bucky! Please!"

Bucky's hips stuttered as he came, filling your pussy with ropes of warm cum. Bucky kept thrusting slowly as he whispered your name into your skin over and over like a prayer.

Slowly, the haze created by the sex pollen began to fade, leaving you completely blissed out. Awareness of what you'd done began to creep in, but the feel of Bucky's weight on top of you kept you in the moment.

He finally slowed to a halt, but his lips were still pressing into your hot skin. After several more moments, he raised himself up just enough to kiss you sweetly, making sure you felt his adoration.

The moment he rolled off you, the full weight of what you'd done hit you like a ton of bricks. If your body would have cooperated, you would have turned over onto your side, curled up in a ball, and cried.

Bucky felt the sudden shift in your demeanor and he felt his heart clench in his chest. "(Y/N/N)..."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Surprise lit up his face. "What?"

"I shouldn't have done that--I'm so sorry."

"I'm gonna stop you right there." He sat up a little so he could look down at your face. You wouldn't meet his gaze, but he continued anyway. "Don't you dare think for a single second that I did something I didn't want to do. You were in pain and I couldn't let that stand. I would do anything for you, (Y/N). Anything. I don't regret it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Your eyes finally raised to meet his and you saw nothing but honesty in his gaze. You knew he cared about you, but you were still worried you'd crossed a line neither of you could come back from.

Bucky stared at your face, taking in just how incredibly beautiful you were. He was trying to commit it to memory--never wanting to forget any bit of it.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head. "You don't have to thank me, doll. Like I said, I wanted to." He paused for a moment, a silent war raging inside of him. He seemed to make a decision and once he did, the words just flowed from his mouth. "I mean it, (Y/N). I've wanted to for years--wanted you for years. I never wanted it to happen like this, but fuck baby...here we are. I would do anything you asked of me, okay? I'll rip my own heart out and light it on fire if you ask me to. So if you ask me to pretend this never happened, I will, but I need you to know I don't want to. I want to make love to you over and over again, hear you scream my name, watch your beautiful face as you fall apart for me...I want you. I will always want you."

You were completely breathless by the time he stopped talking. The words coming out of his mouth weren't what you'd ever expected to hear. "You want me?"

"I've always wanted you. Every part of you. Inside and out."

"What about all the other women?"

"What?"

"The ones you bring home all the time."

He touched your face gently, turning your head to look at him directly. "They're fine for a night, but they're not you. They were a poor substitute for the woman I really wanted, but couldn't have."

"Bucky..."

He looked a little crestfallen, mistaking your tone for rejection. "It's okay if you don't feel the same--"

Your hand gently pressed against his lips, shutting him up instantly. "If I could move properly, I would have kissed you to shut you up."

His eyes lit up and a small smile played on his lips.

"Of course I feel the same. Of course I want you. I only pushed you away tonight because I didn't want to lose you. I was afraid you would regret it."

He leaned down so he was inches away from your lips. "Oh sweetheart, I could never regret anything to do with you."

Your lips curled up in a sweet smile. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

"Buck?"

"Hmm?"

"Any chance we can make love? I wanna be in the moment...really in it."

"Right now?" he asked in surprise.

You nodded.

His lips met yours in a loving kiss. "I'm more than happy to oblige."

You grinned as he rolled back on top of you, lips pressing against yours hungrily.

"I'll make love to you as many times as you want. Whatever you want, I'll give you. Just ask."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

You smirked slowly. "Then I might have some ideas..."

"Oh really?"

"Oh yes." You pulled his face down to yours to whisper some of your inner desires into his ear.

"My god," he murmured. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You laughed lightly and he joined in before pulling you in for a passionate kiss, dead-set on giving you everything you wanted and more.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader smut #plus size reader smut #plus size reader #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #sex pollen

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etherealyoungk · 3 months ago

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crush on you | choi seungcheol

SUMMARY: in which seungcheol is completely smitten by you and will do anything to hangout with you, even if it means eating spicy food.

PAIRING: seungcheol x reader

THEMES: acquaintances, friends to lovers

WARNINGS: flirting, fluff, just seungcheol being down bad for you.

WORDCOUNT: 2593

A/N: i just love seungcheol so much <3

the warm aroma of freshly ground coffee fills the air as you work behind the counter, expertly crafting yet another latte. seungcheol casually leans over the counter, his gaze fixed on you.

"are you free later after work?" he asks, his voice light. he seemed more interested in your response than in the coffee you were preparing.

you glance up, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "don’t you have better things to do? you’re always hanging out here. seriously, i’ll have to kick you out if you don’t order anything, it's store policy, sorry", you say, not bothering to look at him.

seungcheol chuckles softly, unfazed by your mock threat. "please, i know you secretly love having me around," he says with a grin that could rival the sun for brightness.

you snort, shaking your head as you continue to steam milk and fill cups, preparing orders. "yeah right, you’re a pain in the ass actually, go hang out somewhere else", you tell, which only makes him chuckle more.

it had become something of a routine—seungcheol dropping by the café, engaging in playful bickering, and sometimes even dragging out his visits just to be around you, but you enjoyed it. you enjoyed his company even though you sometimes didn't want to admit it.

you’d known seungcheol for almost a year now, having met him through your mutual friend, and as fate would have it, he also went to the same university as you, which meant you crossed paths with him more often than not.

"why?", you ask after a moment, looking up again, meeting his big, brown, sparkling eyes.

"just asking, i thought we could grab a bite to eat later, doesn't smelling all this make coffee and pastries all evening make you hungry?", he asks. you pause, a sigh escaping your lips as you consider his offer. because he was right. the only downfall of working in a cafe was the constant smell of pastries and cakes wafting in the air and it always made you so hungry.

"i guess we could, i don't have anything planned", you admit and seungcheol's face seems to light up at your response "great", he says.

seungcheol waits until you finish your shift and now you're both walking down the road, the evening slowly turning into night.

"what do you wanna eat?", he asks, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockes as he glances over at you.

you tilt your head to the side, thinking. "tteokbokki", you say slowly. "i want to eat tteokbokki", you say. so, that's how you both end up at at a small restaurant - the one you always went to when you craved tteokbokki. you order the food and you're waiting, and seungcheol kindly pours some water in a glass, placing it in front of you.

"you haven't eaten here before have you? this place really has the best tteokbokki in the area. i've tried all the tteokbokki in this area and this place really makes it the best!", you explain.

seungcheol's smile softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. it was clear he was more amused by your enthusiasm than anything else. "you’re talking like you're a tteokbokki expert," he teases.

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest in mock offence. "of course i am. who do you take me for?", you say making him smile wider, his dimple peeking out and your heart does a little flip at the sight.

the food arrives and the rich, spicy red sauce glistens. the scent of the perfectly cooked rice cakes mixed with the spicy sauce makes your mouth water. your eyes light up with anticipation and you can't wait. you grab a piece and pop it into your mouth, only to wince as the heat catches you off guard.

"ahhh, it's hot!" you exclaim, fanning your mouth dramatically.

seungcheol is quick to react, handing you the cup of water. you take a grateful gulp of water, trying to cool your burning mouth. "slow down, the food isn't going anywhere", he says and you nod.

"aren't you eating?", you ask after a moment, as you take another rice cake, blowing on it this time before putting it in your mouth. you watch as seungcheol picks up a tteokbokki and carefully takes a bite out of it, chewing carefully.

"what do you think? it's good right?", you ask, leaning forward slightly and he nods. "yeah, it's good", he says, putting the rest of the rice cake in his mouth and chewing, before taking a sip of water, trying to hide his nervousness as he picks up another piece of tteokbokki. he had never told you, but spicy food wasn’t exactly his forte. you notice his discomfort and look at him with concern. “is it too spicy?”, you ask.

"no, it's fine, it's really good", he says immediately, taking another bite as he looks at you. though he was struggling to keep up with the heat, he didn't want to admit it to you, not right now. so instead, he took slow measured bites, each one followed by a quick sip of water and despite the heat, seungcheol kept eating, determined.

he really didn't know when he came like this - eating spicy tteokbokki even though he couldn't handle spicy food. but ever since he met you, he started doing things he would never do before. before he met you, his mornings were a blur of snoozed alarms and missed classes. but now, he woke up early with a smile, eager to get to campus. the reason? you. seeing you in class and catching your eyes across the lecture hall or seeing you on campus, that made every early morning worth it. and then there were the café shifts. he’d become a regular, only because it meant he could spend time with you. and now, eating spicy tteokbokki even though his mouth was on fire right now - all because he had a crush on you.

after eating, you both walk to the bus stop, the cool night air refreshing as you walk. "gosh i'm so full, that tteokbokki always hits the spot when i'm craving spicy food", you say.

as you reach the bus stop and the bus pulls up and he turns to you with a serious yet caring expression. “text me when you get home, okay?”

you laugh softly and give him a playful nudge. “so overprotective,” you tease, stepping onto the bus. you glance back and wave at him with a grin, your heart feeling warm from the simple, sweet gesture.

when you're waking back home, you happen to run into seungkwan, your friend whom you met seungcheol through. "seungkwan!", you call out and he lifts his head up, looking at you.

"yn! what are you doing here?", he asks. "i'm on my way home", you say. "i was just about to head somewhere for dinner, do you wanna join me?", he asks.

"oh, i actually just ate some tteokbokki not to long ago", you say and he nods. "the usual spot", he asks and you nod. "yeah, that's the best place. i took seungcheol there today, he had some too", you add.

seungkwan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "seungcheol?" he repeats as if he needed to be sure he’d heard you right.

"yeah, i'm pretty stuffed actually, i ended up eating most of it, but seungcheol did eat some of it", you say and seungkwan seems to have a realisation and laughs softly to himself. "seungcheol ate the spicy tteokbokki?" he asks again, disbelief in his tone.

you nod puzzled. "yeah, why?"

a smirk spreads across seungkwan’s face. "wow, there’s something wrong with him. he can’t handle spicy food at all, and you’re telling me he willingly went to eat spicy tteokbokki with you?", seungkwan asks, baffled.

you furrow your brows, taken aback by this new information. "he can’t handle spicy food?"

seungkwan laughs softly, shaking his head in disbelief. "yep, he’s a bit of a wimp when it comes to spice. his stomach is definitely not going to forgive him for that, poor guy".

"well, i guess i’ll see you around. get home safe," seungkwan adds after a moment, offering you a wave before heading off.

you are left alone, you mind going over he new revelation about seungcheol. he couldn't handle spicy food? if that was true, why had he agreed to eat tteokbokki with you? why hadn’t he mentioned anything? why didn't he tell you?

the next week when you see seungcheol, he's his usual bright self, smiling when he sees you and following you around and once again, hanging out at the cafe with you. he's sitting right up at front at the first table near the counter, his eyes fixed on you as he watches you make more coffee orders. he looks at you with almost a lovesick gaze, like he can't get enough of you.

"seungcheol", you finally speak once the rush seems to slow down and you are winding down, your shift coming to an end.

"yes?", he says, standing up and leaning against the counter again, waiting for you to continue.

"wanna grab some tteokbokki again?", you ask. "sure", he agrees.

so that's how you're sitting at your usual tteokbokki spot again with seungcheol. the tteokbokki arrives and you both eat and seungcheol eats some too, though he doesn't show any signs that it is too spicy for him. but after what seungkwan said, you know better.

you both are walking back after eating and you glance at seungcheol. "are you okay?", you ask and he looks at you. "yeah, why?", he asks.

"wasn't the tteokbokki too spicy for you?", you ask again and he shakes his head, denying it. "no, it was really good, just right", he says. and that's when you can't take it anymore. you stop in your tracks, seungcheol stopping a few steps ahead of you before he turns around.

"why'd you stop?", he asks, coming closer. you look up at him and do the only thing that seems to come to your mind - you smack his arm, hard.

"OWW", he exclaims, clutching his arm as he looks at you, utterly confused and also worried. "what was that for?", he asks, rubbing his arm as he continues to look at you.

"that's for lying to me", you tell and seungcheol furrows his brows. "seungkwan told me everything, i know you can't handle spicy food, but yet you were eating that deathly spicy tteokbokki for me? you're such an idiot", you say, digging into your bag and pulling out a bottle of banana milk.

"here, this might help ease your stomach a bit", you add quietly, shoving it in his hands before you continue walking, leaving seungcheol behind. he looks down at the banana milk you had handed him, then back up at you. he catches up to you, falling in step next to you. he really doesn't know what to say.

"are you mad?", he asks softly and you glance at him. "i'm mad because you put yourself through that and you didn't even tell me. you could have just told me you can't eat spicy food", you say, your expression softening a bit.

"i just wanted to experience it with you", he says, hoping he could redeem himself. "i thought it would be worth it, just to see you smile", he says.

you look at him, and the sincerity in his eyes stirs something in your chest. there'sna moment of silence as you process his words and the evening seemed to pause, the hustle of the city fading into the background. seungcheol shifts nervously, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his sleeve as he tried to think about how to navigate this tender moment. his eyes, usually so confident, now held a vulnerable gleam.

“i guess i was trying to use that as an excuse to spend more time with you” he begins softly and he pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor before he looks back up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of apprehension and sincerity.

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but i really like spending time with you. even in small ways, like this... it means a lot to me.”

he took a deep breath as if drawing strength from the air between you both before he speaks again. "i like you yn, i really like you", he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

your heart skips a beat at his confession and his cheeks are slightly flushed, and he looked at you with a hopeful, almost earnest expression, as if he was bracing himself for your reaction. as you took in his words, you could no longer deny the affection that had quietly grown within you for seungcheol. it would be a lie to say you weren't fond of him, you liked spending time with him too, liked his presence, liked him.

“i like you too,” you finally whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. the words felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, and the relief in his expression was palpable. seungcheol's eyes brightened as he took in your response. there was something profoundly sweet about the way he looked at you, like he would do anything for you.

you watch as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, before breaking out into a full-blown smile. it was one of those smiles that seemed to light up the entire room, making his eyes sparkle as his lips curved upwards, and a deep dimple appeared on his cheek, a tiny but unmistakable mark of his joy and happiness.

"that's good", is all he finally says, looking at you. "good?", you question and he nods bashfully.

"yeah, because i'm sort of head over heels for you already. so if you like me back, then that's really good", he says, emphasising his words.

his words are so sincere and the way he says them makes your heart swell with warmth. the casual but gentle way he admitted his feelings, combined with his adorable smile and that charming dimple; it didn't make his confession feel heavy. it felt right.

“so you're really head over heels for me huh?” you tease gently.

"i wouldn’t have it any other way", he says giving you a wink and making you smile, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

as you both continue to stroll down the softly lit street, the evening air is cool and refreshing. you glance at seungcheol, who’s still holding a bottle of banana milk that you had given him, but now it’s slightly crumpled from being clutched tightly, and the sight of it makes you chuckle.

“drink it up soon,” you say, gesturing toward the bottle with a small nod. “your stomach must be in a bit of a war right now".

seungcheol quietly pokes the banana milk with the straw and sips on it. he bumps his shoulder against yours gently, his gaze full of affection when you turn to look at him.

"want a sip?", he offers but shake your head and you pull out another banana milk bottle from your bag instead, showing it to him. "i see you came prepared", he says.

"yeah, i had to neutralise the damage on your poor stomach", you joke and the sweet sound of his chuckle fills the air, his dimple deepening as he grins wide and looks at you.

god, how he was hopelessly in love with you.

taglist: @paindivinemp3 @naaaaafla @icyminghao @weird-bookworm

@blue-jisungs @wheeboo @joshuaahong @wootify @fallingforshua29

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@hannyoontify @frankenstein852 @fxstpace @gyubakeries

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hazedmilk · 30 days ago

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CROSS OVER ! - R. SUKUNA X FEM! READER

Pairings - ghost! r. sukuna x fem! reader

summary - your husband—who had now been dead a year, won't cross over, and it's getting harder for him to go to the light. You need to help him finish his business, so he can wait for you in the light. Oh yeah, you can see ghosts by the way.

words - 3.5 k

a/n -art by @/ kcokaine on X

"I'll ruin you," he promised against her neck, voice all sin and shadow. "Slowly."

She should have shoved him away. Said something righteous. But when his mouth ghosted over her collarbone, her only answer was the sound of her breath catching.

"Say stop," he whispered, fangs grazing her skin. "And I'll pretend to be human again."

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

You hummed, quiet and distracted, flipping the page with a soft flick. A calm smile played at your lips — the kind you wore when you were trying not to react. Trying not to feel anything at all.

Flick.

The lamp beside you turned on.

Flick.

It turned off again.

You let out a loud, deliberate sigh, eyes still on the page. "Sukuna."

His voice came from the other side of the room, too casual. Too smug. "So now you decide to talk to me."

You didn't answer right away. Just turned another page. Slow. Measured. You weren't really reading — hadn't been for the last few chapters — but it gave your hands something to do.

"Don't act like I'm doing it for no reason," you said eventually.

Sukuna shifted on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. He made himself comfortable — because of course he did. Like this was still his house. His life.

"I haven't done anything," he said.

You finally looked over at him.

He was exactly where you'd left him — sprawled out, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other resting on his knee. He looked like death warmed over, which made sense. Given the circumstances.

"If by 'haven't done anything' you mean 'haven't crossed over,'" you said, "then yeah. You're right. You haven't done a goddamn thing."

He didn't flinch. Just smiled. That lazy, dead-eyed expression he used to wear when he knew he'd already won the argument.

"I like it here."

You sighed. "Well you don't belong here—not anymore."

"Maybe I'm still here because you want me to be."

You stared at the book, unblinking. "That's not how hauntings work."

"It's exactly how they work."

"No, it isn't—I've been seeing ghosts since I was five, Sukuna. I knew what a haunting was long before you died."

"Yeah? Well, I am dead. That makes me the expert now."

You flipped to the next page of your book, the paper sharp between your fingers. "Just... go. You're dead. I didn't ask for that. And I definitely didn't ask for you to stick around and haunt me like some unfinished project."

He didn't leave. Of course he didn't. His voice was smooth, amused, almost fond.

"Still wearing my ring, though."

A pause.

"Not yours. Mine. Wedding and engagement."

You said nothing.

He drifted closer, or maybe you just felt him closer. The air pulled tight.

"Like you don't want to admit I'm gone. Like some part of you wants me to stay."

You shut the book.

"No," you said, carefully. "I'm grieving. I'm furious that you're gone.but I know what's right, that it's your turn to cross over into the light."

He exhaled — not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. "But I don't want to," he said. "I can't."

You looked at him then. For real. The way the lamplight passed through his outline made him look half-finished, like he was fading already.

"But you can see the light?" you asked quietly.

He nodded, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. "Yeah. Right over there." He pointed to the left. You followed his gaze but saw nothing.

"Then go. Just go." You stood up. "I can't deal with you, not when I know I can't touch you, hold you, nothing! You're just there, like a piece of furniture." You exclaimed.

He chuckled.

Then he stood. Slow. Gentle. The way he never was when he was alive.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll go. Just... go to sleep."

You tried to smile. You even managed half of one.

He turned toward the corner.

Took one step.

Then another.

And by the third, he was gone.

—

"This one's from the Heian era," you said, lifting the lacquered relic with practiced care. Your fingertips brushed the worn edge, reverent, steady. "Came in just yesterday. Beautiful condition, considering its age."

The woman leaned in, breath catching. "It's... stunning."

You nodded, lips curling into a soft smile. Five years of owning this shop, and that reaction never got old.

It had started after Sukuna. After the vows, after the chaos of loving someone like him — you needed something slower. Something solid. Something with a past that didn't whisper back at you.

Antiques gave you that.

Every item in your shop had already survived centuries. Breakage, loss, war, abandonment — and still, here they were. Still standing.

Much like you.

"I've always had a thing for the past," you added quietly, tracing a worn pattern in the gold. "The stories behind these things. What they've seen. Who they belonged to."

The woman glanced around, caught in the quiet spell of the shop — the soft light, the scent of old paper and polished wood, the air thick with quiet memory.

You placed the piece gently back on the velvet-lined stand and smiled. "So, what do you think? This one... or are you still thinking about the Kaidō-era incense burner?"

She hesitated, eyes flicking between the two — torn, enchanted, almost reverent.

"I'll take the heian piece."

You smiled clasping your hands together. "I'm very pleased!"

She smiled as you tucked the small jar of koso into the paper bag, wrapping it neatly even though you both knew she'd tear it open before she got home. Still, habits like that—soft hands, careful folding—had a way of making you feel human again.

"That'll be... 2,567 yen," you said, voice gentle but detached, like it had been rehearsed a thousand times before.

She didn't flinch at the total, already counting the coins from her purse with practiced ease. Then she placed the money on the counter, each clink of metal unusually loud in the quiet shop.

"Thank you very much," she said, taking the bag. She paused for a heartbeat. "Such a sweet woman."

You gave her a noncommittal hum, more acknowledgment than gratitude. She didn't seem to notice.

The bell above the door jingled as she walked out, the soft chime echoing for a beat too long. Then silence returned, thick and familiar.

You counted the coins again anyway, out of habit. Sorted them into neat piles. Slid the drawer of the till shut. The shop felt colder now. Not physically, but in that subtle way silence sometimes scratches at the back of your mind, just before—

"Hey there."

You screamed.

The sound tore out of you without warning, a raw, startled sound that echoed against the dusty walls. You spun around, breath caught in your chest, stomach already sinking before your eyes even landed on him.

And there he was.

Of course.

Sukuna.

Smirking, hands in the pockets of a coat he wasn't wearing when he died. Standing like the rules of reality had never applied to him.

You frowned, wiping a hand over your face. "Are you actually serious right now?"

He tilted his head, that lazy smirk growing. "Look at my pretty wife, working so hard. Don't you get tired being this adorable all day?"

You stared at him, jaw clenched. "Why haven't you crossed over?"

He shrugged. "Never said I would."

"You did last night! You said you would!"

He looked unconcerned. "I said, 'I'll go.' I never said, 'Yes dear, I'll go cross over for you.'"

"Same thing!"

"Nope." He stepped closer. His voice dropped just a little, almost soft. "I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."

Your hands curled into fists. "You have to go, Sukuna. You can't keep doing this—just showing up like nothing happened. I buried you."

"I know," he said quietly. "I was there, remember? Front row."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not." His expression faltered for a split second—long enough to catch it. "I just don't want to leave. Not yet."

"You have to!" Your voice cracked, sharper than before. "You're dead, Sukuna. This—whatever this is—it's not fair. It's not real. You're not supposed to be here anymore."

He didn't move. Just stood there, watching you fall apart like you always did when he pushed you too far.

You took a shaky breath. "Cross over... or I swear to God, I'll stop loving you. I'll never forgive you for this."

That finally made him blink.

He stepped back, but not far enough. His voice was quiet now. "That won't be the case. You'll always love me. You know that."

"I—" You faltered, words knotted in your throat. "Shut up. Just... shut up and leave me alone."

You turned your back on him, closing your eyes like that might undo it, erase him, pull you back into a world that made sense.

A breath passed. Then another.

He sighed—loud, theatrical, familiar. Like he always did when you won a fight and he let you pretend it was your idea.

"See you later," he said.

And then he was gone.

Again.

Just like always.

—

It had been five days.

Not a long time, really. Barely a blip in the grand stretch of a calendar.

But it mattered.

Because Sukuna hadn't come back.

Five full days of silence. Not just the usual quiet that filled your home when the shop closed and the lights dimmed—this was different. This silence felt unnatural. Hollow. A space where something used to be. Where he used to be.

And maybe... maybe he'd crossed over.

That was good, wasn't it? You told him to go. Begged him, really. Shouted it at him like an ultimatum you never truly meant.

So he listened. And left.

You should be happy. At peace. That's what people say—you helped him move on, as if that's some kind of achievement. As if you're a stronger person for letting go.

But were you really happy?

No. Of course not.

You sat in the silence, waiting. Pretending not to. Convincing yourself you didn't still glance over your shoulder, flinch at the sound of your own breath in the hallway, freeze every time the front door creaked—hoping, stupidly, that it was him.

It'd be selfish to want him back. He was probably at peace now. Maybe even happy, finally. Waiting for you. Watching from the light, like people in books and movies always do.

Still.

Your six-year anniversary was coming up.

That was the part that caught you in the ribs.

You used to joke about it—how he remembered the day down to the hour, even if he pretended to forget. How he'd scowl and roll his eyes when you brought it up, but still always showed up with flowers and your favorite wine. How he'd call you "ridiculously sentimental" while pressing a kiss to your wrist and pulling you close.

But this year, there was nothing.

No knock on the window. No voice behind you. No smirk in the mirror. No ghost.

Just silence.

You sighed and turned toward your mirror, pausing to look at your reflection. The room behind you was still, like it was holding its breath.

You wore the dress. The one he bought you three years ago on a whim because it was "too damn perfect not to." The one you wore when he proposed to you on the rooftop. The one he tugged off later that night, fingers reverent and teasing all at once.

It was the dress you realized you loved him in. Not just loved. Chose him. Completely.

And now, you were wearing it again. Alone.

You didn't even know why you put it on. Maybe you were trying to summon him, like a ritual. Maybe you just needed to feel something other than aching emptiness.

You reached for your bag, fingers trembling slightly as you grabbed your keys.

You knew where you'd go.

You stood at the edge of the rooftop, the city stretching out beneath you in dull glimmers and distant noise. The wind pulled gently at your dress, lifting the hem like invisible fingers still curious about you. The night air was cool, but not cold. Comfortable, if not a little lonely.

You set the old boombox down by your foot with a soft thud, the plastic casing scuffed from years of being dragged around—picnics, road trips, impromptu dance parties in your cramped living room. It still worked, barely. The rewind button was jammed and the volume dial crackled if you touched it too fast.

But it worked.

You clicked play.

The opening synth of Hungry Eyes bled into the night, too loud, too romantic, too specific. And perfect.

It was always this song. Always.

You set the bottle of wine beside it—a red, the expensive kind he used to complain about because "no one with working taste buds needs to spend that much on fermented grapes," but he always bought it anyway. The cork popped a little too early. You poured a glass anyway.

Tonight was going to be perfect.

Not in a dramatic, Instagram-worthy, movie-ending kind of way. But your kind of perfect.

You sat on the edge of the rooftop, dress pooling around your hips, heels kicked off somewhere behind you. Your legs dangled off the side like you were sixteen again, like gravity didn't apply as long as you didn't look down.

Your glass trembled slightly in your hand. You blamed the wind.

You looked out over the city. Some couples were probably slow dancing in their kitchens. Some were fighting over whose turn it was to take out the trash. Some were in love. Some were leaving each other.

You were doing none of those things.

Just sitting.

Just listening.

Just waiting.

The chorus hit

You closed your eyes. Let the song wash over you, bubble up all the memories you'd been trying to lock down for five days straight. The dance in your old apartment with the flickering lights.

The way his hand slipped onto your hip, warm and casual, like it belonged there. The grin that split his face when he saw you try to twirl and nearly fell into the bookshelf. The quiet after.

His breath near your ear, and the whisper: "You're it for me, you know that?"

You took a sip of wine. It didn't burn enough.

The city didn't stop for you. No one knew this was the night he asked you to marry him. No one knew what the dress meant, what the song meant, what this rooftop meant.

It was your secret shrine. Your grief. Your anniversary.

You didn't even know if he'd come.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe this was the real goodbye, and five days of silence was all you were going to get. Maybe the universe had finally listened to you—for once—and taken him away properly. Permanently.

You wiped your cheek before the tears could fall far enough to be real.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered into the wind.

Your voice sounded too small, too fragile—like it might break apart before the wind could carry it anywhere. But you said it anyway.

And then you waited.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself it was over—

Some quiet, unreasonable part of you still believed he might answer.

Then:

"Thought you'd be here."

You turned at once.

Sukuna.

He stood at the edge of the rooftop, bathed in that soft twilight glow that made everything feel like memory. Like dream. His hands in his pockets, that crooked, knowing smile you hadn't seen in so long.

You stumbled to your feet, breath caught in your throat as you ran to him. "I... I didn't think—"

Your hand hovered near his chest. You wanted to touch him, but the ache of what wasn't real, of what you couldn't hold, was already pulling at your ribs.

But then he reached first.

His fingers curled around yours—solid, warm. Like it used to be.

You looked up at him, disbelieving.

You could touch him, feel him. And he could feel the same.

"I had to give it time," he said quietly, raising your hand to his cheek. "I'm sorry I left like that. But I had to come back for this—for you. For our anniversary. To dance. To see my wife one last time."

Tears blurred your vision. His skin felt real. His voice sounded real. And that made it hurt more.

"Y/n" he murmured, "dance with me?"

You nodded, barely able to breathe, and let him draw you close. One arm around your waist, the other holding your hand. He took the first step, slow and steady, guiding you as if music filled the air—even though there was none. Just the wind, the faint hum of the city below, and the sound of your own trembling breath.

You moved together in silence, his movements careful and sure, yours unsteady at first. But muscle memory, that old rhythm, came back.

He pressed his forehead to yours. "You changed me," he said softly. "I used to be—"

"An asshole," you whispered, a soft laugh breaking through your tears.

He smiled. "Yeah. That. But with you... God, it wasn't even about your body, or what people saw. It was you. The way you looked at me. The way you never backed down, even when I was awful."

You clung to him tighter, swaying with him across the rooftop. It didn't matter that there was no music. You remembered the song from your wedding night. He must have remembered too—because he began to hum it.

It was off-key, low and gravelly, but it made your heart twist in your chest.

"I didn't deserve you," he said, brushing your hair from your face. "But you still gave me everything. And then I died."

More tears fell. He wiped them gently away, his thumb soft against your cheek.

"It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "The crash, the road—it was me. I was distracted, reckless. But I would've done it all again. I would've driven through storms and fire for you."

"I can't accept that," you choked. "If I hadn't called you... If I hadn't made you come all that way—"

"Don't." He stopped, holding your face between his hands. "Don't carry that. I never blamed you. I never could. You were the reason I lived in the first place. For once, I had something worth everything."

The music in your head swelled again—memories of an old song and an old life. You kept dancing.

His hand pressed to your back, holding you steady, close. Your bodies moved like a memory, the kind that visits just before sleep. He spun you gently, then pulled you back in, arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I would've done anything for you," he said, voice thick. "And that night? It was enough. I had already been given more than I deserved."

You rested your head on his chest, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there. And still, you swore you could hear it.

He whispered into your hair, "Will you be alright when I go?"

You hesitated. "No one will ever be you. But I'll be alright. I know what's right. You have to go, and I have to stay."

You looked up at him and smiled through your tears. "But you'll wait for me, won't you? You won't find anyone in heaven, right?"

He chuckled low. "Never. Never," he said, eyes shining. "I wouldn't dare."

He spun you once more—slow and tender, the kind of dance made for goodbye. Then he leaned in, brushing your lips with his.

Soft. Familiar. Home.

"I'll be waiting," he said.

And then he stepped back.

The light behind him had grown. It bled gold across the rooftop, casting him in something ethereal and whole.

"It's brighter now," he murmured, looking over his shoulder. "It's... beautiful." He laughed—just once, and it sounded like it used to, rich and full of life.

Then he looked at you one last time.

"Happy anniversary, I love you."

And then—

He was gone.

Not far. Not away.

Just... gone.

But you know he'll wait.

He always will.

And you love him for that.

a/n - watcha think for my first oneshot / post

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lolab4t · 1 month ago

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her night nurse - fluff

pairing: thunderbolt!yelena belova x f!reader summary: when yelena shows up at your apartment at 2 am, bleeding and sarcastic as ever, it’s not the first time... and probably won’t be the last. you’re just a civilian with a quiet life and no medical training, but somehow, you’ve become her nurse and the place she escapes to. tonight, the injuries are worse. the banter is softer. and maybe, just maybe, something’s shifting between you. word count: 7k warning(s): thunderbolts* mentioned, WLW, some angst, fluff, injury and blood, medical terms, mild language, mutual pining a/n: i am aware that canonically, yelena is meant to be ace. this is just a fun little story! i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please feel free to like, comment, or reblog! <3 also, requests are open!

love me - elvis presley

it was around 2 am when you heard a knock at your apartment door. you crawled out of bed, twisting the door handle open. you already knew who it was.

yelena stood before you, scratched up, bleeding, holding her side.

"well, you look like shit." you uttered, moving to let her inside.

"that's no way to greet a guest." she answered as she entered, her accent thick.

your relationship was strange. you were just a normal civilian with a quiet life, stable job, and a boring apartment. yelena was a trained russian assassin and a new avenger. on paper, you didn't exactly have much in common.

you’ve known her for a few months now and while you wouldn’t call her a friend, she appears at your door a few times a week: hungry, sarcastic, full of cryptic jokes. she once admitted to you that your place felt like an escape… from the thunderbolts, her job, her past. it was the only place she felt halfway normal.

ironically, the way you had met was far from normal. yelena was bleeding then too. she had kicked open your door, thinking it belonged to a criminal. instead, you stood before her: a stunned civilian holding a spatula.

her voice was smooth like honey, and her accent caught you off-guard. "this isn't 3B is it?"

"uhm, no… it's 3D." you had laughed nervously in response, which earned a chuckle out of her. you both felt weirdly at ease for a moment.

that's when you noticed the stab wound in her thigh. after recognizing her as a thunderbolt, you invited her in and patched her up with your cheap first-aid kit... the one you hadn't looked at since you moved in. and from then on, you became her медсестра (nurse), as she liked to call you.

you would never admit it, but you liked when she called you that. you liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

she would come to you when she had so much as a scrape. you weren't exactly qualified or an expert, so you always scolded her about going to a hospital instead. she never listened. she never seemed to care about your lack of expertise. that wasn't the reason she came to see you.

now, you find yourself closing your door, turning to the girl in question, "lena, it's 2 in the morning."

"медсестра (nurse), i need some patching up here." she faked a pout, sitting on your couch in a laidback manner.

you could never deny her. not when she spoke in that teasing tone, or sat back in that maddeningly hot pose.

you groaned, noticing the trail of blood she had left, "you're leaking all over my ikea rug, again. i just steam cleaned that."

"you own a steam cleaner?"

you rolled your eyes, gesturing for her to take a seat at your kitchen table while you retrieved your first-aid kit.

she obliged, sitting back in it comfortably, like she had done so many times before.

you kneeled before her, instructing her to raise her shirt a bit so you could see the wound on her side. you grimaced at the sight of it, noticing it was deeper than her usual wounds. "lena, you should really go to a hospital for this one."

she shook her head, "i don't trust them. you know that, глупый (silly)."

another nickname. you never complained.

you scoffed, grabbing the antiseptic. you began to clean the wound gently. you felt her wince slightly as it hit her skin, but she covered it quickly. she watched you work in silence for a few moments, the air seeming to buzz around you.

"hold still," you muttered, focused, as you carefully cleaned closer to the wound.

"you are very bossy." she smirked, her accent still thick as ever.

you just scoffed in response, leaning back on your heels to survey the wound again.

“this one’s gonna need stitches,” you murmured, shaking your head. “i can’t do those. not properly.”

“i trust you,” yelena said, too fast. too confidently.

you froze for a second, then looked up. she was already watching you, eyes more serious than before. guarded, but open just enough.

did she know what she was doing to you?

“you shouldn’t,” you said, laughing softly, trying to hide how flustered she was making you.

“but i do.” she said again, more firm this time.

she had to know. she had to know what she was doing to you. she had to be aware that she was torturing you.

you didn’t respond. instead, you reached for the superglue and bandages, trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking just slightly. trying not to think about the way she was looking at you.

you did the best you could when it came to closing the wound. you dressed it in gauze and bandages carefully, standing up with a sigh of contentment when you finished.

"you wanna stay the night again?" you asked casually, as you began cleaning up.

she nodded slowly, "if it's not too much."

yelena had stayed over a few times now. you always offered her your bed, but she never accepted. she would usually just stay on your couch.

you hummed, "it's not. you can take the bed." you offered it to her as you always did, expecting her to decline.

"only if you're in it too, властная девушка (bossy girl)."

your breath caught. you couldn't tell if she was joking. neither could she.

this was the answer you had always wished for, but you never expected it.

then she stood up. slowly, carefully, like she was testing something. then she stepped in front of you.

“come to bed. i know you're tired,” she said, not teasing. just asking.

you blinked. “you’re bleeding.”

“then stay close. make sure I don’t die.”

you scoffed out a laugh, giving her a tired look, “that's not funny... but alright. fine.”

she didn’t smile… not exactly. but something eased in her shoulders. you followed her into the bedroom, flipping the light off on your way. the quiet felt heavy, but not uncomfortable.

she lied back in the bed carefully, wincing just a little as she adjusted.

you grabbed an extra blanket and went to hand it to her, but she caught your wrist instead.

“stay,” she looked up at you, this time softer. not a tease. a plea.

you hesitated for just a second, staring down at her fingers wrapped around your wrist. it felt like your heart had stopped.

then, slowly, you nodded. “okay.”

yelena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. you lied down beside her under the sheets, facing her with your head on your pillow. it was quiet for a few moments as you looked at one another.

then she smiled. god, her smile was beautiful.

“this is nice,” she mumbled.

you huffed a quiet laugh. “bleeding on my sheets is nice?”

she shrugged lightly, smirking. “you make it nice.”

your heart fluttered at that.

hoping she couldn't see the blush creeping up on your cheeks in the darkness, you let out a light scoff. “you gonna get all sentimental on me now, belova?”

yelena smirked, her eyelids getting heavy, “never.”

a second of silence, filled only with both of your breathing. then she whispered...

“…maybe a little.” her eyes were fully closed now.

“goodnight, lena,” you whispered back, closing your own eyes.

her voice was barely audible. “goodnight, моя любовь (my love).”

thanks so much for reading <3

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pomefioredove · 2 months ago

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hiiiiii i luv ur bloggg😭💞 i hope it's not a bother bc u most have SO MANY asks already, but i'll like to request for the event a #17 sugar cookie with dry fruit and chestnut❤️ byeeee

THANK YOU!!! I am getting thru all of these requests one at a time dw!!

order #17, sugar with dry fruit, chestnut

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ soliciting kisses

summary: legend says a true love's kiss cures all... tropes: first kiss, sick fic characters: jade additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, mentions of kissing but nothing explicit

"It's a children's story. Don't listen to him,"

Azul pushes his glasses up his head and rubs his eyes. He's in good health and yet seems more worn and weary than the coughing boy in bed behind him.

You look between the two. Jade is smiling, despite the rasp in his throat.

"...Are you sure?"

"Prefect," Azul sighs. "I know you're unused to the rules of this world, and I sympathize with that. But you are not a child. A kiss is not going to cure a cough."

You glance between the two again. "...But he seems so sad,"

Azul frowns and taps your forehead. "You're not some poor, unfortunate fool. Don't fall for... whatever it is he wants from you,"

"I'm not asking for much, Azul," Jade croaks from his sickbed. "If I truly had malicious intentions, wouldn't I be soliciting something of value?"

Azul covers your ears. "You should be resting," he snaps at the eel. "And please, for the love of the Seven, leave the Prefect alone! The very last thing I need is to be accused of inappropriate conduct. I don't need the staff involved in lounge affairs..."

"You say that as if I'm going to eat them," Jade grins, baring his pointed teeth.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Azul mumbles, his hands leaving your head. "I have to see to the lounge. Floyd will come to take your place in a few minutes. Don't get too close to the bed. He bites."

Your eyes widen as Azul waves the bedroom door shut behind him. Jade remains in bed, perfectly complacent and calm. His hands are folded over his stomach, there's a pleasant smile on his face.

"...Well, then," he says, once the sound of Azul's footsteps have finally faded. "I suppose we'll wait for Floyd."

You take a seat at the desk, careful not to touch any of the little glass boxes and jars full of moss and mushrooms that cover it.

Five minutes go by. Then ten. Then thirty. Then it's been fifty minutes. Jade leafs through a thick book. You shift uncomfortably.

"...It's rather uncomfortable, being ill in a human body," he says. He's soliciting sympathy from you. Azul had warned you about this. "Unbearably hot. However do you stand it? I could collapse if I wasn't already in bed."

He looks fine. But there's still a sheen of sweat on his cheeks that glistens in the mellow light.

You look away. "What're you reading?"

"Oh, this? It's what I was telling you about, before Azul interrupted," he smiles. "The story of the mermaid princess. Shall I summarize?"

You open your mouth, and nothing but air comes out. He continues anyway.

"She had wanted to be human. And this was a time where potions for these purposes weren't widely available, so she sought the help of an expert potionmaker. She was offered a generous deal: if she kissed her true love, all of her wishes would come true. Isn't that nice?"

You blink. "Why are you telling me this?"

Jade sets down the book, which he hadn't really been reading. "Only making conversation. Is it not intriguing how stories from both land and sea cite a true love's kiss as the cure to all ailments?"

You can recall a few stories like that. Lilia had told you one, once, and so had Rook. Both seemed more like fables than fact.

"...I suppose,"

"Of course, there is some truth to the sentiment," Jade says, as if sensing your suspicion. "It may not be a miracle cure, but it certainly lifts one's spirits. Ah, I am so very warm..."

Is this working on you? Why is this working on you??

Floyd was supposed to be here an hour ago. But it's still just you.

"Is it really that bad?" you ask, to which Jade nods solemnly.

"I'm used to the cold of the Coral Sea. I've never felt so uncomfortably warm before,"

Curses. He almost looks pitiful. He's pouting. You've never seen that face on him before...

You leave your seat at the desk and stand over his bed.

"Alright... to make you feel better,"

---

Azul opens the door, a tray of tea and cough drops between his hands. "I just ran into Floyd in the courtyard, he says he never came at all, I'm terribly sorry that you- AH! PREFECT! You look awful!"

You're slumped against the side of the bed, face flushed and warm. Azul sets down the tray and hurries to feel your forehead.

"...Dreadful. Of course, you're sick. Did he bite you? He bit you, didn't he?"

"...A little," you mutter, which is technically true. Azul snaps his fingers in front of your face to keep you from falling asleep.

"What did I say about getting too close to the bed?"

Jade snickers. Contrary to you, he looks happy as a clam, leafing through a mycology magazine. "Why, I'm insulted. I'm not an animal, Azul. I can control myself,"

Azul frowns and mumbles to himself. "I'll be in the Prefect's pocket for months... how will I repay this?"

"No need," you manage, wearily waving him off. "...Well, maybe a warm cloth wouldn't hurt."

"Yes, right away," Azul says, standing from your side.

Jade just smiles, setting his magazine over his stomach, completely unconcerned.

"Take your time, Azul. I can tend to the Prefect just fine," he says, "I have a cure for all ailments that's proven to work,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #queued

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adieutristana · 6 months ago

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Hii

Can you make Arcane women X Reader who became blind or deaf in an accident trying to protect them?

I love your writing and sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language

of course! thank you for the request, and your kind words <3

disclaimer that i am neither blind nor deaf but chose deaf because i know it better (family members). i tried my best but the last thing i want to do is be disrespectful, please let me know if you have any feedback.

summary; headcanons of arcane women with fem! reader who went deaf protecting them.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

warnings/tags; mentions of war/combat, injury, medical talk (mel), hurt/comfort, fluff

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* your first time being caught in crossfire was nothing short of terrifying. jinx's ego is inflated beyond belief, even going as far as to say she just can't seem to die. but it doesn't make you any less fearful for her safety, or more importantly, her life.

✧.* she's got another enforcer on her back, chasing her through the lanes as she repeatedly tries to fire her gun to fend them off. it's not seeming to work, though. she's panting, her legs threatening to give out underneath her, but she can't stop moving. not now.

✧.* you happen to be walking by after running an errand, and seeing jinx zip past you is concerning, to say the least. you decide to shift gears to follow after her, clutching a bag of produce to your chest as you run. but god, jinx is fast.

✧.* you finally manage to catch up to jinx, long, blue braids trailing behind her as a sort of unintentional tracker.

✧.* "jinx- jinx, what's going on?"

✧.* "damn enforcer... won't leave me alone... it'll be fine, i've got this taken care of." she says through gritted teeth, weaving in and out of different alleyways with expert speed.

✧.* the enforcer is approaching behind the two of you, closer and closer. you forcefully take jinx's elbow and shove her behind you, fully blocking her body. and then, the impact.

✧.* you're not even sure what happened- just the next thing you know, there's an enforcer with several holes in their body, and jinx is knelt in front of you. trying to speak to you, but it's like the world's gone silent.

✧.* "what? i don't understand... what's going on," you mutter, half to yourself, and half to jinx. but you quickly realize that you can't hear yourself speaking, and you can't hear her voice, despite the fact that she looks distraught over you. you're bleeding, the shock of it all stopping most of the pain, yet it just doesn't feel real.

✧.* jinx quickly grabs your shoulders and guides you back to her hideout. it's obvious that you're shaken up and in a haze, the last thing your girlfriend would want is you trying to find your way there by yourself in this state.

✧.* she sits you on a tattered couch, getting her (your) first aid kit out to hastily patch you up. you're looking at her hands working quickly on your wounds, but don't notice the fact that she's trying to ask if you're okay, if you're hurting, if you can forgive her for not being able to stop you from getting hurt. she looks up at you, dark lips pressed into a thin line. her brows are furrowed, searching your expression.

✧.* "i... can't hear anything." you say, although again, you can't hear the sound of your own voice.

✧.* jinx's eyebrows raise this time, but she quickly finishes wrapping your injuries without another word.

✧.* jinx is used to communicating non-verbally since taking in isha, but she wants to be sure of how you'd prefer to do it. first she'll make sure you don't have any lasting injuries, apologize profusely to you for everything despite going unheard. then, she'll start writing things down for you to tell you.

✧.* before long, you and jinx are making your own system of signs. you'd had to take up sign language classes, but jinx wanted to be able to communicate with you more intimately. whether you wanted to speak to her or no longer speak at all, she wants you to have that option.

✧.* 100% blasts her music even louder when you're around. she'd read something about deaf people being able to enjoy music via vibrations of the floor, so she keeps that in mind. most of the time she just plays 'get jinxed,' but the thought is there.

✧.* jinx ultimately just wants to help you get back on your feet and adjust after the accident. she thanks you profusely for protecting her like that, apologizing in the same breaths. naturally, some things in your lives will have to change, but she just wants you to be able to get back to living your life.

vi;

✧.* being with vi means being okay with her coming home with various bruises, cuts, scrapes, even sprains and broken bones from time to time. she can't always explain every injury, memory fuzzy from the series of events the day held. but regardless, she'll let you wrap her up, massage her, take care of her. it's nice to be doted on for a change.

✧.* vi's one and only strict rule is that you are not allowed to get involved in any of the fighting she does. even if it's something as seemingly harmless as standing before the council, you can never truly know what'll happen. you stay home, or at work, anywhere but where vi is getting into a fight. the last thing she wants is to see you hurt the way she gets hurt.

✧.* but this time, you decided not to listen. go behind your girlfriend's back. she's got a particularly dangerous job in the lanes, something about negotiation...? but it's the person she's negotiating with that worries you. so you decide to trail behind vi, staying a few feet behind her so that she doesn't notice you. it's harmless just this once, right? it's not like you're actually fighting, you're just making sure she's okay.

✧.* at first, things seem to be going well. a famous dealer of shimmer, someone she's decided to try and take on in an effort to slow the supply in zaun. you can't make out anything they're saying, but no punches are being thrown. that's always a good thing.

✧.* until they are.

✧.* vi has her gauntlets, striking and dodging with expert speed. you've seen vi before in pit fights that she allowed you to attend, but it always surprises you just how strong the girl is. she's like the human equivalent of a tank.

✧.* you inch closer, until you're peeking out from behind a corner at vi and the man. she seems to be holding her own so far, but you can't help the overwhelming dread enveloping you.

✧.* a punch is thrown by the man that makes your heart drop, and you immediately rush to jump in front of vi, guarding her with your body.

✧.* "babe, what are you doing-" she gasps, before you're hit several times, over and over. her eyes blown wide, vi leaves your side for just a moment to take the man down. she understands now that it's pointless, someone like this can't be reasoned with. she's not sure why she even tried, especially seeing you hurt like this.

✧.* vi kneels down beside you, wrapping both arms around you before quickly helping you up. she takes one of your arms around her shoulder, supporting your weight as she brings you home. she doesn't try to pry, try to talk to you, her mind focused on just getting you to safety.

✧.* the second she gets you through the door, vi sits you down on your bed, grabbing a kit to patch you up. still silent, still focused, her eyes unmoving. she seems strangely stoic, but you chalk it up to her just being absorbed in what she's doing.

✧.* finally, she looks up at you, and asks, "do you feel alright, baby?"

✧.* you furrow your brows, trying to make out what she's asking you, but you simply can't. everything is silent, and you don't know why, and you wish so badly to hear her voice. your lips are parted, but no words come out.

✧.* "baby?"

✧.* "i... everything is quiet." you mutter. vi’s eyes go wide, but she immediately catches onto what you’re saying- and scrambles for any way that she can talk to you. writing at first, but she listens intently as you speak and tell her exactly what you need. her first priority is helping you heal from your external injuries, her second is to help you adjust.

✧.* vi wasn’t really given a formal education, but she will seek out a local class or group so that she can learn sign language for you. the last thing she wants is to not be able to properly communicate with you. given, she doesn’t know much about deafness or hearing loss, but she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re able to get back on your feet.

✧.* generally, though, she tries not to mention the accident too much. she knows it’s a sore spot for you, and she also doesn’t want to reduce you to the fact that you lost your hearing. you’re still the same girl that she fell in love with.

✧.* however, vi is eternally grateful for the way you protected her that day. she doesn’t know what could’ve happened to her if you didn’t.

mel;

✧.* it happened during the attack on the council.

✧.* you were overseeing the meeting regarding the independence of zaun, a peace treaty of sorts. your girlfriend frequently invited you to sit in on meetings, saying that it was important for you to be aware of what’s going on in the city. part of you thinks she just wants an excuse to spend more time with you, though.

✧.* one second you're watching spotlights flicker as council members make their decisions, the next second you hear glass shattering and screams. you're throwing yourself over mel's form to soften the blow to her. and then- nothing.

✧.* you wake up in a stiff bed, your back feeling as if it's on fire, various tubes and wires sticking out of you. you look around, vision clouded, taking in your surroundings. a bland-looking room with white curtains, the air dry, a vase of flowers on a table, and a chair beside your bed. with mel sitting in it.

✧.* "darling, you're awake," she breathes out, reaching for your hand. she wants more than anything to bring you close, to hold you to her and never let go, but she can't do that right now. not while you're in this condition.

✧.* you squeeze her hand, but you don't register what she's said. you can't hear anything, in fact, and it's... strange.

✧.* you just look at mel, your expression still. she's searching for something, anything.

✧.* "...please, darling, say something."

✧.* "i can't hear you, mel." you state.

✧.* it doesn't take long for mel to catch onto what's happened, likely due to how many tragedies she's seen in her life. she's seen people lose their vision, movement in their bodies, limbs, and their hearing.

✧.* mel squeezes your hand back, a pained look in her eyes, but she's just grateful that this is the worst thing that came of the explosion. her first priority is getting all of your external wounds healed, getting you back to a state where she can finally take you home and hold you the way she aches to.

✧.* in the meantime, mel hires one of the best sign tutors in piltover (she can't be bothered to take a group class) to teach both you and her. the last thing she wants is for you two to not be able to communicate, even if you insist that you can (sometimes) read her lips.

✧.* the second the doctor says you're in good enough health to go home, mel is gathering your things and rushing you home. she's fussing over you, making sure you're okay to walk after being in bed for so long, peppering your face with gentle kisses and no doubt leaving some of her lip gloss behind.

✧.* mel does still want you to sit in on council meetings, despite everything. internally, she feels horrible for your sacrifice and selflessness. but she doesn't bring it up- she doesn't want for you to feel guilty or bring up any bad memories. she does hire an interpreter to sit in as well, so that you can still follow along.

✧.* mel also is careful to let you know that she's in the room before touching you. one of her favorite things used to be wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, nestling her face into the crook of your neck and pressing gentle kisses to sensitive skin. but she realizes that may startle you now, so she'll make sure that you can see her before doing anything.

✧.* your girlfriend overall is just very caring, very doting, as always. she's always been an attentive and devoted lover, wanting to make sure that you're comfortable and most importantly happy.

sevika;

✧.* it was during the rally in zaun, near vander's statue. all was well, you were stood next to your girlfriend as she spoke to a crowd of various groups- jinxers, traders, silco's former allies... your hand on the small of her back to reassure her as she spoke.

✧.* until enforcers raided the rally, full tactical gear and brute force. the crowd immediately disperses, some being thrown to the ground, others shoved against fences and handcuffed- and the second a spear was thrown at sevika, you knew you had to do something.

✧.* sevika was always insistent that you allow her to do the hard work. she's used to defending others, throwing herself in the face of danger and taking the worst of everything. she did it for silco, she did it for jinx, hell, she does it for you.

✧.* before she could protest or push you out of the way, you were throwing yourself in front of sevika, taking all of the blows directed at her. the instant she realized what you were doing, she was gripping your shoulders, trying to shove you away from her, saying "i've got this, move," and asking what the hell you think you're doing. but you won't budge.

✧.* you just keep taking it, hit after hit, wincing and screaming out in pain, but you can't bear to see sevika hurt. not anymore than she already has been.

✧.* the next moment you remember is waking up in your girlfriend's lap, her cradling your head, brows knitted together in painful concern. it hurts her to see you like this. the second you begin to blink your eyes open, she's holding you close to her chest.

✧.* she pulls back slightly to look at you, just taking in your features. god, sevika is just so grateful that you're alive, that you aren't hurt too badly. you're bruised, you were beaten, you have a few cuts and gashes, but it seems like she's gotten those cleaned up while you were unconscious.

✧.* "dove? are you okay? please, talk to me."

✧.* you wince slightly, your lips parted. sevika is trying to say... something, but you're not able to understand any of it.

✧.* "i don't- i don't understand..." you breathe out, and then you realize that you can't hear your own voice either.

✧.* "what don't you understand?" she asks, but you still can't quite make out what she's asking you. what you can see is that her expression is growing more and more frantic.

✧.* "i can't hear you, sev. i can't... hear anything." you say, hoping to god she understands what you're getting at.

✧.* her eyes widen, but sevika's expression quickly softens. she knows more than most people do what it's like to lose something in battle, having lost an arm protecting silco from one of powder's bombs nearly a decade ago. she sighs, pressing her lips into a thin line, and nods. she doesn't say anything further, but helps you onto your feet so that she can make sure you're fully there after being out for so long.

✧.* first thing she does the next morning is seek out some kind of resources for sign language. she's not the type of woman to take formal classes normally, so she'll stop by the only (run down) public library in zaun and begin to teach herself. it does take some time, but she gets there, and eventually she's at your level (although you went to an actual class).

✧.* similar to mel, she'll let you know that she's in the room before touching you in any way. one of sevika's favorite things to do is brush the small of your back from behind, give you lingering touches in the morning after she's woken up and you're already cooking breakfast. but she knows you'd probably jump out of your skin now that you can't hear her behind you, so she'll do whatever she can to avoid that.

✧.* as i've said many times, i do imagine that sevika is a pretty soft and gentle lover the majority of the time. this transcends into this, but above all, she wants you to just adjust. life goes on, you learn how to live with what you've lost and work around it. she knows that very well from experience.

caitlyn;

✧.* you were caught in crossfire of one of the many shootouts between noxian forces and piltover's soldiers. you had never been a violent or confrontational person, preferring to watch from the sidelines and let your girlfriend take care of the dirty work. that didn't mean that you didn't have opinions, but you opted to stay behind the scenes.

✧.* lately, though, caitlyn has been coming home with worse and worse injuries. at first it was a few cuts, a few gashes, but then it's stab wounds, bullet holes in her arms and sides. it's a miracle how she hasn't been vitally wounded, but you don't want to wait until that actually does happen.

✧.* so one day, you insist on letting you come with her. caitlyn tries to protest, tries to persuade you to just stay home, or go out to local shops, or take yourself out to eat, anything but putting yourself in the face of violence with her. but you're relentless, you won't have any of it- so finally, she gives in.

✧.* "stay at a distance, okay? the last thing that i want is for you to get beaten up like i do."

✧.* you try to listen, you really do. but with ambessa, noxian forces, soldiers coming at caitlyn and topside's soldiers from all directions, it's hard to not want to do something. the battle is getting more heated, caitlyn moves with frightening speed and accuracy. but it's not enough, not this time.

✧.* your eyes don't know where to look, don't know what to focus on. you can hardly keep up with everything, especially from where you're standing, but you finally decide to step in. you can't bear to see caitlyn get hurt anymore, and you can't even begin to comprehend the idea of losing her because of this.

✧.* it all goes by in a flash. you in front of caitlyn, the woman screaming your name, being shoved to the ground, sharp pains, then nothing.

✧.* you wake up in caitlyn's bed, surrounded by bouquets she got you and with her sitting on the edge of the bed. the second that she registers you're regaining consciousness, she can only smile down at you with tears pricking at her eyes.

✧.* "oh, thank gods you're awake," she breathes out, immediately reaching to take your hand and intertwine your fingers with hers, calloused thumb running across the back of your hand.

✧.* what's strange is that you can feel caitlyn's hand against yours, you can see her lips moving, but you can't hear anything, and it's driving you crazy. clearly she's trying to say something to you, but it's inaudible. everything is.

✧.* she furrows her brows, waiting for your response. normally, you don't take this long, but you're just... staring at her, your expression unmoving.

✧.* "dear?" she asks, her face growing visibly worried.

✧.* "i don't know what you're trying to say, cait, i- i'm sorry." you whisper. "i can't hear a thing."

✧.* caitlyn is a smart girl. she takes a moment to process what you've said, but it does click in her mind pretty quickly. you've lost your hearing. a million thoughts swirl through her head, about learning how to effectively communicate with you, how to adjust around this, but she can't get ahead of herself. she just sighs, gently brushing her lips against your forehead and letting you continue to rest.

✧.* however, similar to mel, caitlyn hires a sign teacher to teach both of you. cait is very immersed, practicing with you whenever possible. it's not only a good bonding experience, but it helps her be able to accommodate you better.

✧.* absolutely doesn't let you go on any more missions with her, though. not that you'd ask- but if you did, the answer would be an immediate no. neither of you really speak about what you did that day.

✧.* caitlyn is grateful that you jumped in to defend her, knowing she likely would've suffered worse in her own wounded state. but it's a sore spot for both of you.

✧.* caitlyn is also very well-researched, so she does go to some archives to read about hearing loss and how to build something around it. that's all she wants for you, really, to be able to make something out of this. she doesn't want to coddle you, doesn't want to give you sympathy that she knows you don't need. she's grateful that you came out the other end with your life intact.

#jinx x reader #vi x reader #mel medarda x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #sevika x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #sapphic #reader insert

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brokenpinballmachine · 4 months ago

Text

✶ moon rising at 12 o'clock

yan batfam x gn neglected reader

masterlist ch1 ch2(coming....)

a/n: hiii so like,, obviously I havent been on tumblr for like YEARS so excuse if anything looks bad. 2nd thing to get off: I am in now way like PRO EXPERT level, or whatever and this is mostly just for fun so expect like,,, shitty writing/characterization maybe, wonky time schedules etc. This is like my first post in like, what, 5 years?? maybe more?? Im quite new to the fandom so sorry for like any inconsistencies LMAO

TW: mentions of death, GN reader, slightly a crack fic (pov: my excuse to everything i write), neglect (OBV), english is NOT my first language... sorry yall... im not as american as you think..... sentence structure might be a little funky

word count: 3,662 words

summary: basically every batfam x neglected reader plot ever /w like multiverses or whatever,, inspired by a lot of authors + into the spiderverse

chapter 0: finding yourself

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

How many years has it been since you've last seen your mother?

You remember showing up at the door of the Gothic-styled manor, so excited, out of your mind, livid that you were the child of Bruce Wayne. What would you do? What would you say? Would you finally have the regular life that you've always dreamed of? To say you were ecstatic would be an understatement.

The butler next to you, who you soon found out was named Alfred Pennyworth, could only chuckle at your antics, holding your suitcases filled with clothes from your old house.

You were the child of Bruce Wayne and a prostitute who you knew as your mom. She wasn't home often, but that never wiped the smile off your face.

That stupid smile on your face.

Whenever something went wrong, you somehow managed to keep positive, to keep being optimistic. It was one of the traits that your friends always remembered, despite your upbringing.

When your mom did return home, though, she would place a few items of food on the table and leave once again. You never knew where she would run off to.

A vivid memory of your childhood is your mom coming home with another man, both of them turning in your direction when you decided to make yourself known.

It was strange. Why were they holding each other like that? Questions popped up in your mind, but they were shooed away with the flick of your mother's hand, telling you to go to bed. So you did.

You convinced yourself that night that maybe your mother was trying to make a change; perhaps she was finding you a dad? Yeah! That's it! She was just finding you a new dad so the three of you could finally live a normal, happy life. The stories of your classmates also filled your mind, and how their fathers would take them to the zoo, play baseball with them, and even allow them to put makeup on him. You wanted that. You just wanted a father.

When you woke up, you couldn't find either of them anywhere. Maybe they were planning a party for you?

Then a week passed by. Then another. And before you knew it, you had run low on the food supply your mother would always bring you, not knowing it was going to be your last.

You expected your mother to show up in the nick of time to save you from starvation, but it never happened. She never showed up.

Maybe… they were playing hide and seek?

You stopped showing up to school a week before your food supply finally ran out. You had portioned every last bit of food for each day, not allowing yourself to eat even an extra breadcrumb. Even if you never felt full, it was enough to keep you alive, even if you felt numb and more tired than usual.

Occasionally you would fall asleep on the couch, and you wouldn't even realize how long you had slept until you checked the time again.

That was until the day after your supply of food ran out; someone knocked on the door.

Opening it, you peeked your eyes out until they fell upon a tall police officer who seemed shocked at the sight of a small, malnourished child looking up at him, with heavy eye bags despite the constant rest you were getting. He asked you where your parents were. You shrugged.

Before you knew it, you found yourself in the police station as they questioned you endlessly about your parents and their whereabouts.

Your teacher had gotten worried about you not showing up to school or about your parents not answering any of their calls, so as a last resort, she called the police to make sure you weren't dead or anything.

Well, you might not have been dead, but you looked like you were about to pass out at any second.

Of course, when they found you in a dirty, broken-down home that almost looked abandoned, they started searching for your biological father immediately to see if he could house you. At the same time, they were also searching for your mother, but she seemed to either be missing or dead.

And you could still remember your own shocked face when they told you that the Bruce Wayne, multimillionaire, was your damn father. Even if your mom was missing, perhaps you could still have that life you always dreamed of with your dad?

As both Alfred and you went inside the manor, you followed him around like a little duckling as he gave you a tour of every room, and your wide-eyed face was plastered with a big smile as you ran around each room and explored every detail with your eyes.

It was bigger, better, and fancier than you could have ever imagined.

"Master Y/n, would you like to visit your father?" A voice snaps you out of your haze. You see Alfred standing near a door.

With a nod, your little legs run up to him, and the sound of pitter-patter comes from your shoes hitting the recently swept floors, echoing throughout the mansion.

"Master Wayne, your child has arrived."

Bruce didn't bother looking at you. His eyes remained on the many stacks of papers that cluttered his desk. A small cough from Alfred's mouth as he speaks up once more, repeating his sentence. This time, with a tired sigh, Bruce Wayne opens his mouth, each word coming out snappy and tired.

"Not now, Alfred; I'm busy."

And that was it. Those were the only words you heard him speak, and it wouldn't be until a few months later that you would hear him speak again—not towards you, of course, but that never swept off the smile on your face.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

Richard "Dick" Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake.

The names of your three other siblings.

When you had first met Dick, you stared at him in awe. Your cheerful attitude clashed well with his own, and he would ruffle your hair whenever he talked to you. Well, at least for the first week you were in the manor.

Afterward, he would always give you an excuse, as if the free trial of him being a brother to you had ended. As if he was being held at gunpoint to be the "nice" brother.

"Sorry, Y/n! I'm going out tonight, but I think Tim isn't busy!"

"Sorry, Y/n, I'm feeling a little too tired today!"

Sorry for this, sorry for that. Excuses seemed to be the only thing that ever came out of his mouth nowadays. Whenever he saw you, he would rush out of the house as soon as you came in—like he didn't want to hurt your feelings with the expected answer he would always give you.

The warm light of the manor seemed to make you chillier every time he rejected you, but it was fine. You still had two other brothers, right?

Who were you kidding?

Jason seemed to always ignore you, no matter the situation. The times he did acknowledge you were to give you short answers—a simple "yes" or "no." It wasn't like you saw him a lot, anyway.

For Tim, it seemed to be the same thing, but he did actually live in the house. He pushed you away every second he got, not bothering to even make up an excuse.

It's fine. You had Alfred, you had his cooking, and you had the manor. You had a roof over your head, so you still smiled even if it was foolish of you to do so.

You were extremely grateful for Alfred, of course, being the only one who bothered to check in on you. In your spare time, he would even let you help him cook! Maybe it was something as simple as icing a few cookies or rolling some cookie dough, but you still appreciated his effort to make you feel acknowledged.

Then came Damian.

Oh dear, not Damian.

You were immediately intimidated by him from the moment he entered the house. Maybe it was the threat that came out of his mouth when he first laid his eyes on you, or the small cut he left on your collarbone—spoiler alert: it was both—you decided not to even try to socialize with him. It wasn't worth the risk.

So why was he more beloved in the house than you?

Was it because you decided not to become a vigilante?

Why did Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim all seem more fond of him than they ever had been of you, even though you had "known them" for longer? You were jealous, to say the least, but you didn't make your voice heard. It would just cause a mess, and you knew they were often busy, so you brushed it off as you usually would.

You held a small hope that they would eventually notice you, and that was enough for you to keep a childish smile on your face. The innocent smile remained, despite being aware of everything that was happening around you. Your twelfth birthday was just around the corner, and you planned to celebrate it as you usually did: alone with Alfred.

Of course, that didn't mean you wouldn't hand out little invitations. You slipped them underneath each of your brothers' doors, pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into every detail of the handwritten notes before moving on to the next sibling. They never came to your birthdays, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

"Master Y/n, where would you like me to hang the balloons?" Alfred's voice rang in your ears. When you looked in the direction of his voice, you noticed your favorite colored balloon in both of his hands, making the smile on your face grow wider. This might be the best birthday you had decorated, like, ever!

"You can hang them up in the corners of the room!" you giggled. "Or maybe we could scatter them on the ground!"

"I'm afraid that might be a safety hazard, Master Y/n," he replied.

You could only shrug. "Hey, it's not as bad as you think!" You gave him a lopsided grin. "I'm sure no one would slip on them!"

Right, quite literally 'no one,' because you knew none of your family members were actually going to show up. Both of you continued to set up as Alfred checked on the birthday cake, the scent of which wafted toward you.

Aw, he shouldn’t have! You could recognize the aroma of your favorite flavor anywhere, and the sight of it made the corners of your mouth drool too. You inconspicuously wiped it from the edges of your mouth, blushing a bit and hoping Alfred hadn’t noticed.

He lit the candle on the cake, and you both sang together.

Despite Bruce never being there for you, you could always count on Alfred. The cool wind blew against the faces of the rest of the family; each one wore a frown as they made their way toward Wayne Manor.

The moonlight illuminated the pathway ahead and shone against their suits, almost mockingly, as if highlighting the mistakes they had made that night.

You know when people say, “Well, it can’t get any worse, right?”

Unfortunately for them, everything went terribly wrong.

They even forgot it was your birthday, Alfred noticing the glitter you used from one of your cards shining in the trash can when he went to throw something away. He didn't have the confidence to tell you; he didn't want to ruin your special night.

So when they suddenly appeared in the dining room, yelling and arguing about whose fault it was, they stopped at the sight of the decorations scattered throughout the room.

Who would be celebrating at such a time? Was this a prank? Bruce had the birthdays of all his kids (minus you) memorized, so what were these balloons and party streamers for?

Then they saw you. They saw the cake next to you; they saw the smoke coming out of the candles, they saw the multiple plates placed on the table and how only two plates actually had silverware next to them, and they saw the childish smile on your face.

You couldn't believe it; your wishes came true! They actually came.

They couldn't believe it. Awkwardness filled the room, and they each fell silent. They hadn't meant to intrude.

Of course, it wasn't your fault that the night went wrong, but Damian couldn't handle it. Your birthday—why did it have to be today of all nights? It was as if you were mocking him for the failure that occurred in battle.

He scoffs, storming out of the kitchen and stomping on one of the balloons while exiting, effectively popping it on his way out.

The sound made you flinch, and it finally brought you out of your daze. You look at Alfred, and he looks back at you, giving you a reassuring nod. You had one chance, and you weren't going to mess this up.

"Oh—sorry! I can get a few more forks if you want some cake; Alfred worked really hard on—"

You were interrupted by Bruce, who raised a hand when you were about to scramble into the kitchen to get more forks.

"No need," he says, "I'll go check on Damian."

He leaves the room, and Jason quietly follows him, leaving you alone with Tim, Dick, and Alfred.

Dick gives you a guilty smile. "Sorry, Y/n, I need to go recharge my battery!" And with that, he leaves.

Tim said something similar to Dick, and soon enough, you were alone again with Alfred. You didn't understand why they seemed to avoid you like the plague, why they ignored you at every opportunity.

The cake tasted more bitter than usual when you took a bite, and for once, the smile faded from your face.

And somewhere out in the multiverse, tonight was the night that made you "snap."

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

Turning 18 was more uneventful than you would think it would be. You finally graduated high school, had a job at a local mart, and your family was still ignoring you. Yet your smile was still there; it was strained at times, but it still lay on your face unmoving, unchanging.

Alfred didn't know how you do it. If he were in your position, that smile would have been gone by the time he was age 10.

You hadn't thought much of moving out, but it was wavering in your head. You would mention it to the butler sometimes when the two of you conversed, much to his dismay.

You were also planning on going to college next year, maybe after you saved up a bit. You hadn't applied for a scholarship yet.

You should probably do that soon.

Your room was still your room despite everything. The colors of the walls seemed to be fading out, and the posters attached to them seemed to be in need of new tape.

What the hell do you do now that you have all the time in the world in your hands?

Well, you decided it would be eating.

You were hungry. That was literally the only reason you went downstairs, but instead, you instinctively started eavesdropping on the conversation between your family.

"—one of them had powers!" You heard a voice that sounded familiar to Dicks.

"What would they—doing here?" You weren't sure, but the tone of this one sounded familiar to Jason.

"Im not sure—careful, they—look out,"

A new voice seemed to join in. "Not—database, I think—the three of them—our side?"

"It doesn't matter—destroy them—" You were sure that voice was Damians.

"Dont trust—need to be careful." This voice sounded older than all of them; it had to be Bruce's. "Who were they? —only appeared today."

Damn, look at you! You were such a great detective. You were able to figure out each person based on the voices. At least you got your detectiveness (you're not sure if this is a word, but you don't care either way) from your dad.

Oh well, they could worry about that themselves. You needed to worry about what to do next.

You make your way through the manor, but an unease seems to be creeping up and into you. Maybe you were just hungry again? Something just felt...off.

You scratched it off as just being worried about deciding what you would be in the future, but the unease never seemed to leave.

When you approached your room, you realized what was wrong. 3 new figures were located in your room. One was sitting on the window, one was standing next to the window, and one seemed to be crouching near the floor.

Each one of them looked familiar, like you.

And you screamed—or were about to until a hand rudely interrupted you and slammed against your mouth.

"Don't fucking try it." The person standing next to the window was gone and instead appeared behind you with their hand over your mouth.

"Vg/n! Don't be rude!" The one sitting on the window cries out expressively as their fancy, almost magical-like, white clothing with f/c accents seemed to bounce. They had a ginormous bow on their chest that seemed quite inefficient to wear.

The person behind you, whom you assumed was Vg/n, only sighed. "We can't let them alert the others," The person sitting on the floor cackles, "As if the family would actually come up to check on them, you think they fuckin' care?"

"No, but Alfred might," Vg/n retorts.

You were confused as hell, but your questions were soon answered when the Vg/n spoke up. "Look, it may not seem like it, but we're all you. Or rather, alternate versions of you."

They remove the hand from your mouth, and you voice out your confusion. "What?"

"Im the version of you where you become a vigilante,"

"Im the one where you become awesome and cute!—" The one sitting on the floor is cut off by the one sitting on the window who is suddenly next to you. "Ignore them, they're V/n, it's you when you become a villain," They have a hand on the side of their mouth as they whisper to you, giggling as V/n throws out a little 'hey!' from the rude interruption.

"Im M/n! I'm the version of you where you become... magical!" M/n strikes a pose with a wand they have in their hand.

It's a lot for you to take in, and you stand there, quiet.

"Ya think we broke 'em?" V/n interrupts you from your train of thought.

You shake your head as they speak. "No, no, sorry, I just... how—why are you here?"

"Well, that's what we're trying to figure out too!" M/n tries to smile reassuringly at you. "We were just doing our business in our universes, and BOOM! we're suddenly together in an alleyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Vg/n staring at V/n with an analytical look, and you had to hold in your laughter.

It must've been like whiplash to them when they found their opposite counterpart.

"Wait—so if you're all alternate versions of me, then... what version am I?"

"Well, you're like the past!" M/n's bow bounces freely on their chest. "Or you can also be the 'true' Y/n if you'd like, but that's debated,"

"Past...? How old are you guys??"

"It depends on who you're asking, but we're all around the age of 23-24!"

You stare at them in shock. Were you going to grow up into one of them? Vg/n... they looked cold, hard, almost like a mini-Bruce. They seemed to always have a frown on your face, opposed to you, who always had a smile. Scars were littered all over their body, both on the inside and outside, and you could tell with a single glance they had been through a lot.

V/n. They seemed to look much better than Vg/n, but at the same time, they seemed more cruel. As if their sense of justice was blurred between the fence of good and evil, as if they had lost themselves.

M/n was different as a whole from the other two. They appeared more 'innocent,' more 'playful,' but the smile on their face seemed to be more forced at the same time.

"So, you guys are trying to get home?"

"That's the gist of it," V/n commented.

"Well, we could ask—"

Suddenly, the three of them spoke up, yelling at you with a big fat no. Jeez, their bat families couldn't have been as bad as yours, right?

Vg/n only sighed at your puzzled face, answering the question that lingered in your mind without you having to speak up. "Basically, our lives were changed on our twelfth birthday. I decided to become a vigilante; V/n wanted revenge, and M/n found a ring that made them, well… magical. Our lives were basically the same up to that point, maybe aside from a few personality differences."

So they were just as bad. Even alternate versions of you couldn't catch a break.

"Well, we should at least discuss this somewhere else; I'm getting sick of this manor," V/n scoffed.

Vg/n didn't say anything, but you could tell they agreed with V/n too, even if they didn't want to side with a villain.

"Off we go!!!" With their wand pointed high, M/n ran out of the room with a cheer, alerting both V/n and Vg/n to chase after your other alternate self, with you following in pursuit. You couldn't even make it to the exit of the manor until you ran into your family.

Your whole big-ass family.

Not even one member—your WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY—OH MY GOD. At the WORST time ever too.

"It's you!" Tim exclaimed.

"It's me!" M/n exclaimed with glee. Vg/n and V/n got into their positions, and so did the rest of the Batfamily.

You knew this was going to turn into a mess.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

a/n 2: hii ok so for vg/n and v/n you can think of whatever outfit you want, but for m/n, im thinking of like, a madoka type outfit if your going for feminine, or a suit /w a cape (and the inside is the f/c accent) if ur going for masculine!! both masc and fem outfits have a bow on the chest area!

here are the theme songs!!

(M/n = Magical name, V/n = Villain name, Vg/n = Vigilante Name)

M/n: Magnetic - Illit, and fight theme would be Right Now - Newjeans (instrumental)

V/n: Demons - Doja Cat, and fight theme would be Yummy - Ayesha Erotica

Vg/n: Homesick - Wave to Earth

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfamily x male reader #batfamily x gn reader #batfam x male reader #batfam x gn reader #yandere batfam x reader #batfamily x neglected reader #batfam x neglected reader #moonlight rising at 12 o'clock #guys lowkey this is kind of bad #i really dont know what im doing atp #brokenpinballmachine #batbro reader #batsib reader #platonic batfam x reader

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

What’s the Worst That Can Happen?

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles convinces his unathletic girlfriend to join him for his annual winter training ski trip … what’s the worst that can happen?

Warnings: description of ski injury and mentions of surgery

Based on this request

“Pretty please?” Charles begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh come on, you know I’m hopeless at anything athletic. I’ll just end up faceplanting in the snow the whole time.”

Charles grins, wrapping his arms around your waist. “That’s what I’m here for, to catch you when you fall.”

“Yeah until I drag us both down a mountain,” you retort.

He laughs. “I promise I won’t let that happen. We’ll start nice and easy on the bunny slopes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bunny slopes? Mr. Formula 1 driver wants to ski the bunny slopes with his clumsy girlfriend?”

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere,” Charles protests. “Even the great Charles Leclerc was once a beginner. And the bunny slopes are the perfect place to learn together.”

You snuggle against his chest, still not convinced. “But it’s so cold there. You know I hate being cold.”

Charles kisses the top of your head. “The hotel has an amazing spa with hot tubs and a sauna. We can warm up in there after skiing. I’ll even give you a massage if you’re sore from falling down too much.”

“Gee thanks,” you laugh. “But what if I really am hopeless at it? I don’t want to ruin your trip.”

“Impossible,” Charles declares. “You could never ruin anything. This is about us having fun together, not about expert skiing. Though I have no doubt you’ll be shredding the black diamonds in no time.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Okay now you’re just lying to make me feel better.”

“Never,” Charles gasps in mock offense. “I have complete faith in your yet-to-be-discovered skiing abilities.”

You bite your lip, smiling shyly. His enthusiasm is adorable, even if misplaced. “Well, I guess it could be fun to try something new together ...”

Charles pumps his fist in excitement. “Yes! That’s my girl, up for an adventure!”

You hold up a finger in warning. “But I get to pick my own skis, and a helmet with a cute design on it. If I’m going to be falling a lot, I at least want to look stylish doing it.”

Charles grins. “Of course, whatever you need. I’ll take you to the best ski shops in town. You’ll be the most fashionable beginner skier on the mountain.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re crazy, you know that? Most guys wouldn’t want to deal with their girlfriends being accident-prone novices who will just slow them down.”

Charles takes your hands in his, gazing into your eyes earnestly. “Most guys are idiots then. I don’t care if you’re the clumsiest skier ever, I just want to experience new things with you. We’ll take everything slow, stop for plenty of hot chocolate breaks, and I’ll catch you every time you start to slip. The most important thing is being together.”

Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in for a tender kiss. “How did I get so lucky to find a man as sweet and patient as you?”

Charles smiles, pulling you close again. “I’m the lucky one. Now come on, we better start packing if we want to make our flight tomorrow morning!”

You wrinkle your nose. “Tomorrow? As in, the day after today? Don’t you think that’s rushing it a bit?”

“Why wait any longer to start having fun?” Charles counters enthusiastically. “Unless … you’re trying to back out already?” He pouts accusingly.

“No, no, I already agreed!” You insist. “It’s just, my suitcase is a mess and I’ll have to dig through my winter clothes and shop for ski gear and ...” Your protests trail off at the amused look on his face.

“Excuses, excuses,” Charles teases. “Admit it, you’re trying to stall so you can change your mind.”

You smack his shoulder again. “I am not! I promise I’m not backing out. I’m just … nervous. I’ve never skied before, what if I really am a disaster?” You bite your lip anxiously.

Charles tilts your chin up. “Hey, you’re going to do great. I’ll be with you every step of the way. But if you really aren’t comfortable, we can rethink this.” His eyes search yours with concern. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, even from me. We can pick a different winter trip if you would rather do something else.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “No, it’s okay. You’re right, it’ll be fun to try something new together. I’m just psyching myself out cause I’ve never been skiing before. But with you there supporting me … I can do it.”

Charles’s face lights up. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning up on your toes for another lingering kiss. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“You’re the best!” Charles shouts gleefully, lifting you up and spinning you around. You cling to his shoulders, laughing.

“Whoa there, save some of that energy for the slopes,” you tease.

Charles sets you down gently, though his eyes still sparkle with exhilaration. “I’m just excited, that’s all. This is going to be such an amazing trip.” He kisses your forehead. “Thank you for agreeing to come. It means the world that you trust me enough to try this with me.”

You smile, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. Any chance to spend time with you is worth facing my fears and clumsiness.”

Charles grins. “Remember you said that when I have to stop every ten feet on the bunny slope to help you up.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Hey! I might not be totally hopeless.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Charles says seriously. “For all I know, you could be a secret skiing prodigy.”

You snort. “Yeah right. But I promise I’ll try my best not to plow into too many innocent bystanders.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles encourages. “We’re going to have the best time.”

You smile up at him softly. “I know. Anywhere with you feels like an adventure.”

Charles’s eyes shine with adoration. He leans down for one more lingering kiss. “I love you so much. Now come on, we’ve got packing to do!”

He grabs your hand and you let him lead you excitedly down the hall, butterflies swirling in your stomach. You still feel nervous attempting something so out of your comfort zone. But Charles’s childlike enthusiasm is contagious. And you know without a doubt that by his side, you’re ready to try anything.

What’s the worst that can happen?

***

Famous last words.

This is the only thought running through your head as you stand at the top of the beginner ski slope, knees knocking together nervously. Charles had seemed so confident about this yesterday. But now, staring down the gentle incline covered in packed snow, you’re starting to realize how insane it is to strap slippery sticks to your feet and careen down a mountain.

Beginner slope or not, you’re certain to make a fool of yourself.

Charles must notice your trepidation, because he squeezes your mittened hand gently. “You’ve got this, mon amour. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

You smile weakly, comforted by his presence. At least when you inevitably crash and burn, it will be into his strong, steady arms.

Charles grins at you eagerly. “Ready to give it a try?”

You take a deep breath, willing your knees to stop quaking. “As I’ll ever be.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles says brightly. He turns to address the small crowd behind you — his performance coach Andrea, best friend Joris, photographer Antoine, trainer Nico, and friend Antonio. “Okay guys, let’s start nice and easy so she can get the hang of it. We’ll take turns skiing slowly beside her.”

You feel a rush of gratitude for Charles’ patience and consideration. The other men cheerfully voice their agreement. With so many experienced skiers guiding you, surely you can handle gently sliding down this minor incline.

Charles volunteers to go first, expertly snapping into his skis and gliding to your side. “Just stay relaxed, bend your knees, and focus on keeping your tips pointing forward. The snow will do most of the work, you just have to guide the direction. I’ll stay right here if you need me.”

You wobble forward, mimicking Charles’ athletic stance as best you can. The slope doesn’t look nearly as gentle anymore now that you’re staring down it. But with Charles’ coaxing, you slowly push off.

For a moment, you feel triumphant. The icy wind whips past your face as you coast downhill, skis sliding smoothly. You’re doing it! This isn’t so hard after all.

But your small victory is short-lived. An unexpected bump jolts you, throwing off your tenuous balance. You pinwheel your arms frantically as the ground rushes up to meet you.

Before you can taste snow, Charles’ strong hands grip your waist, stabilizing you back upright. “Whoa there! I’ve got you, just regain your balance.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs. But the reassurance in Charles’s voice helps settle your nerves. With his support steadying you, you manage to get both skis back under control.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “That would have been a quick first run.”

Charles grins. “What are ski instructors for? You recovered nicely. Want to keep going to the bottom?”

You eye the remainder of the slope warily. But so far with Charles’ help, you’ve managed not to cause a complete disaster. “Okay, but stay close please.”

“Always,” Charles promises, sticking to your side like glue.

With Charles’ hand hovering protectively behind your back, you make it the rest of the way down the slope with only a few wobbles. At the bottom, you collapse into Charles’ arms, exhilarated.

“I did it!” You cheer. Charles sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around.

“You were amazing!” He proclaims proudly. “A natural.”

You smack his shoulder. “Oh stop, I would have face-planted in two seconds without you.”

“But you didn’t and that’s what matters,” Charles insists earnestly. “I told you this would be fun!”

You can’t help but smile, caught up in his enthusiasm. As the rest of the group takes their turns skiing slowly beside you for a few more timid runs, you start to relax into the motion. Having skilled athletes guide you step-by-step gives you the confidence to slide a little faster, turn more smoothly, and keep your balance over bumps.

With each successful run, Charles’ grin grows impossibly wider. “Look at you go!” He exclaims after your latest effort. “You’ve gotten so good, I might have some competition soon.”

You snort. “Let’s not get carried away.” But secretly, you’re thrilled by the progress. Maybe you do have some hidden athletic talent after all.

On your next run, you’re feeling confident enough to wave Charles forward. “I think I can make it one time on my own now. Just stay ahead in case I start to wobble.”

“You sure?” Charles checks, poised protectively at your side. At your firm nod, he smiles. “Alright, you’ve got this! I’ll just be a few paces ahead.”

As Charles slides effortlessly downhill, you push off after him, a fierce look of determination on your face. For a few moments, everything goes perfectly. You whoop excitedly as you zip down the slope, wind stinging your cheeks. Charles cheers you on from where he’s stopped halfway down.

But right as you reach him, disaster strikes. Your left ski hits a patch of ice and skids wildly sideways. You flail your arms, trying to stay upright, but it’s too late. Your legs fly out from under you and you’re airborne, the white ground spinning dizzily.

You slam down hard on your bottom with a painful whump. For a second, stunned silence fills the air. Then Charles is at your side, helping you up as raucous laughter echoes from the group gathered at the bottom.

“You okay?” Charles asks, barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

You groan theatrically. “Only my pride is bruised.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, joining in the laughter. “It was an awesome run up until that point!”

You lean your throbbing head against him for support. “Laugh it up, superstar. We can’t all be pros like you.”

Charles presses a quick kiss to your helmet. “Even the pros take spills sometimes. Falling is part of learning. And you really are getting so good!”

From below, Joris cups his hands to shout encouragingly, “We’re proud of you!” The rest of the group gives thumbs up and cheers.

Their support, combined with Charles’ steadfast pride, melts away your embarrassment. This mishap was simply proof you still have more to learn on your journey to skiing mediocrity.

After a few more cautious runs under the wing of Charles’ companions, you regain the courage to try solo again. Each time you stay upright a little longer, recovering from slips with increasing agility. The sun reflects brilliantly off the pristine white slopes, making you squint against the glare. But with the Dolomites rising majestically around you, icy air filling your lungs, and Charles’ voice urging you onward, you feel truly in your element.

By afternoon, the group decides you’re ready for something more challenging. Charles leads everyone to the top of a longer and steeper slope. It’s still rated for beginners, but looking down the incline makes your stomach drop.

“You’ve got this,” Charles says as you stare uncertainly. “It looks scary, but you’ll build up speed gradually. Just remember everything you’ve learned.”

You take a deep breath and nod, encouraged by his vote of confidence. As the others line up to follow behind you, Charles gives your gloved hand one last encouraging squeeze.

“See you at the bottom, mon amour!” He snaps on his own skis and glides smoothly to the base to wait. Heart hammering against your ribs, you push off.

The acceleration down the hill is alarming at first, icy wind biting your cheeks. But focusing on keeping your skis parallel, you manage to control your speed, leaning into smooth turns like Charles taught you.

Halfway down the slope you chance a glance over your shoulder. The group is fanned out behind you, following your path and whooping encouragement. Their cheers on this more difficult hill send a thrill of pride through you. Just wait until you tell your friends back home that you, Miss Uncoordinated Klutz herself, skied down an actual mountain!

But in your moment of distraction, disaster strikes again. Your right ski snags on something, jerking you off balance. Panicked, you spin your arms rapidly to recover. But it’s too late. You’re careening out of control, picking up dangerous speed.

“Look out!” You scream as you zip across the slope sideways. But the ground is racing too fast to stop. Other skiers scatter hastily out of your path as you barrel toward them like a runaway freight train. You slam through their midst in a spray of snow, not even having time to wince apologetically at the curses that follow your wake.

Up ahead, Charles’ figure grows rapidly larger as you hurtle toward him. He holds out his arms bracingly, but the impact when you collide sends you both tumbling head over heels in a tangle of skis and poles. Snow sprays violently in your wake.

When you finally roll to a stop, face down and groaning at the base of the slope, all is silent. Hesitantly you raise your head, blinking snow from your eyelashes. The sight that greets you is one of absolute chaos.

Skiers litter the slope, sprawled in your destructive path like fallen bowling pins. Poles, hats, and gloves are strewn haphazardly across the snow. Fresh scarlet tracks stain the pristine white from ski edges catching on now-shredded pants and jackets. Groans of pain and bewilderment fill the air.

Horrified, your gaze lands on Charles pushing himself up just a few feet away, covered head to toe in snow. He shakes powder from his hair, blinking dazedly. Then his eyes land on you.

“Mon amour, are you okay?” He asks, scrambling over in concern.

Mortified tears prickle your eyes as you stare speechlessly around at the scene of destruction. So much for impressing everyone with your burgeoning ski talents.

Some first day on the slopes this turned out to be.

***

As Charles helps haul you to your feet, pain suddenly explodes in your left knee. You cry out, leg buckling dangerously beneath you. Charles’ arms instantly wrap around your waist, holding you up.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow creased in concern.

You grimace, tentatively trying to put weight on your leg again only for searing agony to shoot through your knee joint. “Something’s really wrong,” you gasp through clenched teeth.

Charles’ face pales. He keeps you supported against his side as he quickly unclips your skis so you’re not stuck in them. The moment your left foot touches the snow though, you yell in pain, leg giving out dangerously again.

Charles sweeps you up effortlessly in his arms. “I’ve got you, don’t try to stand on it,” he urges worriedly.

Over Charles’ shoulder, you see his friends weaving through the dispersing crowd of skiers, fetching a medic. As they confer in urgent French and Italian, Charles holds you close, face etched with guilt.

“This is all my fault,” he murmurs, distressed. “I never should have pushed you to try skiing when you weren’t comfortable.”

Despite the fire burning inside your knee, you force a pained smile, touching Charles’ cheek. “Hey, don’t do that. I wanted to try, remember? You didn’t pressure me into anything.”

Charles just shakes his head bitterly. “But look what happened. I’m so sorry, mon amour.”

You open your mouth to protest further, but just then the medic arrives with a toboggan sled. Charles gently sets you down on the padded plastic. You recline back, trying not to jostle your leg as the medic examines your rapidly swelling knee.

At the lightest touch, you flinch away with a sharp cry. The medic frowns. “Possibile lesione al legamento crociato anteriore. Abbiamo bisogno di portarla in ospedale,” he says grimly.

Charles squeezes your hand, face pale. “He thinks you may have torn your ACL. They need to take you to the hospital.”

You blink back panicked tears. You’ve always been prone to clumsiness, but nothing this severe. As the medic gestures ski patrol over to help transport you, the pain throbbing inside your knee seems to mock your brief foray into athleticism. Maybe you just aren’t cut out for winter sports after all.

Charles refuses to leave your side during the bumpy toboggan ride down the mountain. At the base, an ambulance is waiting to take you to the nearest hospital. While the paramedics work swiftly to transfer you into the back, Charles cradles your hand, looking utterly distraught.

“I never should have let this happen,” he berates himself again. “What was I thinking taking an inexperienced skier down that slope?”

Despite your pain-induced haze, you glare sternly at him. “Charles, stop. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine for losing control. Please don’t blame yourself, you’ll make me feel even worse.”

Charles still looks unconvinced. But he forces a tight smile, brushing hair back from your face. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you in pain. Let’s just focus on getting you fixed up. The doctors will know how to help.”

You nod, trying not to let panic overwhelm you. As the ambulance wails toward the hospital, Charles keeps his gaze locked comfortingly on yours.

Once there, nurses whisk you immediately in for x-rays and MRIs. Charles paces the waiting room, refusing offers from his friends to bring him food or drinks. When the doctor finally emerges, Charles springs forward anxiously. “How is she?”

The doctor’s solemn expression says it all. “Your girlfriend has sustained a complete ACL rupture. She will require reconstructive surgery as soon as possible to repair it.”

Charles sags back against the wall, color draining from his face. You fight back tears as the doctor explains your diagnosis — one of the worst knee injuries possible. It will require months of intensive rehab even after the surgery.

When the doctor leaves, Charles returns to sit by your side from where he was pacing back and forth. The pain in your knee has settled into a pervasive throbbing. At the sight of your obvious anguish, Charles’ stoic facade finally crumbles.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, rushing to your side. “This is all my fault.”

You grab his hand fiercely, despite the IV of painkillers tugging at your skin. “Charles, stop. I already told you not to blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“An accident I caused by pressuring you to ski,” Charles argues miserably.

You level your most stern glare at him. “Charles Leclerc, you listen to me. I chose to try skiing. Me. Not you.” Your voice softens. “So please stop tormenting yourself over this. It kills me to see you like this.”

Charles searches your face silently for a long moment. Finally he nods, exhaling shakily. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just hate that you’re hurt. But no more blaming myself, I promise.”

You smile weakly. “Good. Now come here.” Charles leans down and you tug him into a fierce kiss, trying to convey without words that you don’t hold him responsible.

When you pull back, Charles looks significantly less tormented. He caresses your cheek tenderly. “I’ll take care of you, I swear. You’ll get the best care possible and recover even stronger than before.”

You try for a teasing smile. “Guess you’ll have to find a new ski bunny next season.”

Charles shakes his head. “Never. No one could ever replace you.” His voice drops earnestly. “I don’t care if you never ski again, I just want you healthy and happy.”

Before you can reply, the doctor returns with consent forms for surgery. When he mentions performing the operation here, Charles’ brow furrows.

“No, she needs the best surgeon possible for this injury,” he argues. Turning to you, he adds, “I know a specialist at a private clinic in Austria. It’s where all the elite skiers go. I’ll fly us there tonight.”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, but you know better than to argue once Charles is in protective mode. You have a feeling you’re about to receive world-class medical treatment fit for an Olympian.

Sure enough, Charles arranges for emergency transport to the prestigious clinic. On the flight, he sits vigilantly by your side, holding your hand through every painful bump of turbulence. By the time you’re admitted to the glamorous facility, you’re touched, but not surprised by the lengths he’s gone to in order to help you.

The surgeon Charles selected, Dr. Braun, inspires immediate confidence with his warm bedside manner and decorated credentials. After thoroughly examining your knee, he determines you are indeed a candidate for ACL reconstruction.

Charles listens intently as Dr. Braun explains the procedure, involving grafting tissue to replace your ruptured ligament. Though you try to follow along, exhaustion and pain medication make it hard to focus. All you can register is Charles rubbing your shoulder and reassuring you that Dr. Braun is the best there is. You trust Charles completely, so his confidence in this surgeon is enough.

Too soon, nurses arrive to prep you for surgery. As they wheel your gurney toward the operating room, Charles walks alongside, face etched with worry. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “I love you so much.”

You cling to his hand for as long as possible before the nurses firmly insist he can’t go any further. As the operating room doors swing shut between you, separating you from Charles, your heart clenches anxiously. But Dr. Braun smiles kindly down at you, patting your arm.

“Not to worry, we’ll have that knee fixed up nicely,” he says. “When you wake, you’ll be on the road to recovery.”

As the anesthesia mask descends and your vision fades to black, you cling to the doctor’s reassuring words. Maybe there’s still hope for a somewhat happy ending to this disastrous ski trip after all.

***

As you blearily open your eyes, the first thing you see is Charles’ worried face hovering over you. The moment he notices you stirring, his expression floods with relief.

“Thank god,” he breathes, grasping your hand tightly. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, trying to clear the hazy fog of anesthesia from your brain. “Okay I think.” Your voice comes out scratchy. You glance down at the heavy brace immobilizing your knee and the events leading up to surgery come rushing back. “Did it … go alright?”

Charles smoothes your hair back gently. “Everything went perfectly. Dr. Braun said it was a very successful surgery.”

You exhale, tension easing from your shoulders. With the capable doctor and Charles by your side, you’ve made it through the first step.

Right on cue, Dr. Braun enters, smiling when he sees you awake. “Wonderful, you’re up. How is our patient feeling?”

“A little groggy, but not too much pain yet,” you report.

“Excellent. The pain medication should be keeping you comfortable.” Dr. Braun moves to your bedside, examining your knee closely. “Everything continues to look promising in recovery. You’ll need to take it very easy for the next few weeks to protect the graft while it heals. But if all goes smoothly, you’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”

You nod, stomach swooping anxiously at the thought of the long recovery ahead. Noticing your nervous expression, Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Whatever she needs, we’ll make sure she has the best care and recovers properly,” he tells Dr. Braun seriously.

The doctor smiles. “Her rehabilitation will be the most crucial part. I work closely with a wonderful physical therapist, Elisa, who specializes in ACL reconstruction recovery. I highly recommend continuing your physio with her once you return home.”

Your eyes widen, not having considered that aspect yet. But Charles nods without hesitation. “Just tell us where she’s located and I’ll arrange for her to fly out to stay with us as long as needed. Money is no object.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” you interject, head still fuzzy but fairly certain booking a private international physiotherapist is overkill. “That’s incredibly generous, but I’m sure I can find someone local-”

Charles silences you with a stern look. “Not a chance. Dr. Braun said this Elisa is the best. I won’t risk your recovery with anything less.” Turning back to the doctor, he adds, “Just say the word and I’ll have a plane and a place to stay waiting for her.”

You sigh, but can’t help feeling touched at the lengths Charles will go to help you heal. Dr. Braun seems equally unfazed by the bold offer — clearly Charles’ wealth affords certain privileges in care.

“I’ll speak to Elisa immediately and make the arrangements then,” Dr. Braun confirms. “With around the clock support from both her and myself, I’m confident you’ll recover wonderfully.” He gives your other knee an encouraging pat.

Over the next few days in the upscale hospital, you begin to adjust to the restrictive new reality of your injury. While your knee remains heavily braced and immobilized, the rest of your body seems to ache from compensating. But true to his word, Charles sticks to your bedside attentively, keeping you distracted with games and books during the long inactive hours.

When Dr. Braun finally clears you for discharge, you’re armed with piles of post-op instructions, crutches, and medications. As Charles helps you hobble out of the hospital lobby, you eye the crutches nervously.

“I’m not sure I can manage these things along with the brace,” you admit. The awkward metal sticks feel precarious beneath your arms.

Charles frowns, glancing between you and the crutches uncertainly. Then in one swift motion he sweeps you up into his arms instead.

You yelp in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Charles! What are you doing?”

“Carrying you, obviously,” he states, as if this were the most natural solution in the world. When you open your mouth to protest, he silences you with a look. “The doctor said to stay completely off your leg if possible. So no walking for you until it’s healed.”

You know better than to argue with Charles in protective caretaker mode. So you simply chuckle, shaking your head in amusement, and let him carry you like a princess out to the idling car.

At the airport, he again insists on keeping you cradled securely in his arms the entire walk out to the waiting private jet. Normally you’d feel self-conscious being lugged around like this in front of staff. But the utter tenderness in Charles’ hold makes you feel nothing but safe.

Once settled on the plush leather seat, Charles hurriedly arranges pillows under your braced leg. “Here, keep it elevated like Dr. Braun said. Do you need more pain meds? Let me grab you an ice pack ...”

He fusses attentively until you’re thoroughly bundled up with your knee raised and iced. Only once he’s certain you have everything required for the flight does Charles take his own seat, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Get some rest if you can,” he says gently. “I’ll wake you when we land to carry you home.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “My knight in shining armor.” Leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzle into his warmth. The steady rumble of the engines is soothing, and despite your lingering aches, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

Throughout the flight, Charles continues diligently caring for you. He helps you hobble to the restroom with assistance. He ensures you take your next round of medications on schedule. When the flight attendant delivers meals, Charles only picks at his own, too focused on making sure you actually eat to remember his food.

You’re simultaneously touched and exasperated by his hyper-vigilance. But you know it comes from a place of love and residual guilt, so you endure his constant fussing without complaint. If doting on you helps absolve his conscience, then so be it.

By the time the jet begins its descent toward Nice, your eyelids are drooping heavily. Charles lifts the window shade, sunlight streaming over your face. “Almost home,” he says with a tender smile.

You blink groggily, glancing down to make sure your knee is still properly supported. Reassured that Charles hasn’t forgotten a single detail of your care, you nestle back against his chest contentedly.

As the jet coasts down the runway, Charles cradles you close, placing a kiss atop your head. “Get some rest, mon amour. I’ll carry you out and get you settled back home.”

His quiet promise fills you with cozy warmth despite the lingering chill from your ice pack. You let your heavy eyelids fall shut, lulled by the steady thump of Charles’ heart.

Tomorrow your intensive recovery begins. But tonight, safely encircled in your love’s arms thousands of feet in the air, you feel confident you have the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

***

When you wake a few weeks later, pale morning light is just beginning to creep across the blankets. Blearily, you glance over to see Charles already awake beside you, brow furrowed as he stares up at the ceiling.

“You’re up early,” you murmur sleepily. “Everything okay?”

Charles startles slightly, as if pulled from deep thought. He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, just thinking about some things.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, scrutinizing him in concern. His evasive tone is uncharacteristic. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Charles holds your gaze silently for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking about the start of the season coming up so soon.”

Your brow furrows. The opening race in Bahrain is only two weeks away. As the realization hits, your heart sinks. With your still-mending knee, it will be a lot harder to keep up with Charles globetrotting to races worldwide. For the past two seasons of your relationship, you’ve attended every race possible together. The thought of that no longer being the case feels daunting.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Charles’ expression is conflicted. He gently takes your hand, “I just hate the idea of leaving you here alone when you’re still recovering. It doesn’t feel right being apart.”

You force an optimistic smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself and Elisa will still be here for physical therapy. I’ll be okay.”

But your reassurance doesn’t seem to ease Charles’ frown. “I know, I’m just worried about you re-injuring yourself with no one here. I can get my mother to check on you too ...”

As he spirals back into restless thoughts, you squeeze his hand firmly. “Charles, stop. I’ll be fine, I promise. This isn’t my first time on my own, remember?”

Charles grimaces. “I know, but you’re hurt now. I just hate leaving you when you’re still recovering. If something happened while I was gone ...” He trails off, looking stricken.

Your heart swells at his protectiveness. But you won’t let him torment himself with hypotheticals. Sitting up fully, you level Charles with your most stubborn expression.

“Well then, it’s a good thing you won’t be leaving me here for long, because I’m coming with you just like always.”

Charles gapes. “What? No, you’re injured, there’s no way-”

“Uh uh,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ve been to every race I could since we got together, and I’m not about to miss one now over a bum knee. I’ll agree to skip pre-season testing but then I’m going to Bahrain no matter what.”

Charles' mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he finally manages to argue, “But how will you manage airports and flights and crowded paddocks? You’re still on crutches!”

You wave a hand dismissively. “So I’ll hobble around the paddock looking pathetic, big deal. Better than moping here alone.” Crossing your arms, you fix Charles with your most unyielding stare. “Face it, you’re stuck with me.”

Charles searches your determined expression, clearly trying to formulate another protest. But he knows you too well, can recognize when your mind is made up. With a resigned chuckle, he pulls you against his chest.

“You are the stubbornest person ever, you know that?” He kisses the top of your head, a smile in his voice. “But I really shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing can stop you from being there to cheer me on.”

You grin, basking happily in his embrace. “Damn right. You should know by now that I’m going to be by your side every race, no matter what.”

Charles just shakes his head in amused exasperation, arms tightening around you. “Well in that case, it seems I have some calls to make to arrange for your care in the paddock.”

You kiss his jaw tenderly. “See? Problem solved.” Settling back against the pillows, you add teasingly, “Now stop stressing and let me sleep a little more. Unlike you, I need my beauty rest.”

Charles barks out a laugh, the last tension fading from his frame. As you drift back into cozy slumber cradled against his chest, his steady breathing lulls you like a soothing melody.

Later that morning, it’s time for your daily physical therapy session in the makeshift rehab space set up in your apartment. Elisa guides you through gentle range of motion and strengthening exercises, keeping up cheerful encouragement. The work is grueling, but Elisa’s optimism inspires you to push through the discomfort.

You’ve just finished up with an ice break when hushed voices drift in from the adjacent room. Craning your neck, you glimpse Charles sitting at the kitchen island, phone to his ear as he rifles through an open notebook. Though you can’t make out his full conversation, you catch snippets.

“Need to make sure she has somewhere to rest comfortably ...”

“Don’t want her trying to walk too far ...”

“She says she’ll be fine, but I need to be sure ...”

You muffle a laugh into your hand. Of course Charles is already contacting Ferrari about you joining him in Bahrain, planning every detail to accommodate your injury. Elisa raises a questioning eyebrow but you just shake your head with a smile. Charles’ protectiveness never fails to make your heart melt.

Oblivious to your eavesdropping, Charles continues speaking in a hushed but urgent tone. You can visualize his serious expression pinched with concern, wanting to arrange every detail to ensure your comfort during race weekends.

It’s hopeless trying to curb his caring instincts. So you simply shake your head in amusement and turn back to your exercises, resolved not to override the plans you’re clearly not meant to hear.

After your session concludes, Elisa helps you prop up your leg to ice before gathering her things. “You’re making great progress,” she encourages. “Keep it up and you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

You smile through your fatigue. “Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

Elisa nods, waving farewell as she heads out. Once she’s gone, you eye your crutches propped nearby. Normally you’d use them to hobble around, but mischief sparks inside you. This seems like the perfect time to test your boyfriend’s hovering instincts.

Bracing yourself on the workout table, you carefully rise to your feet, keeping all weight on your good leg. The short hobble to the living room leaves you breathless, but triumphant.

Rounding the corner, you spot Charles sitting on the couch reviewing emails on his tablet. Before he notices your approach, you boldly flop down to sprawl across his lap.

Charles yelps in surprise, tablet clattering away as his arms reflexively cradle you. “What are you doing walking around alone? Where are your crutches?”

You grin up at him impishly. “Must have forgotten them back there. But I managed okay for a short distance.”

Charles gapes, torn between horror at your recklessness and awe at your determination. You take advantage of his stunned silence to wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down into a kiss.

“Have I mentioned how amazing and caring you are?” You murmur when you finally separate for air. “Taking care of me even when you think I don’t notice?”

Understanding flashes across Charles’ face and his cheeks tint pink. “You heard that phone call earlier, didn’t you?” At your smug grin he groans. “I should have known I couldn’t get anything past you.”

You laugh, nuzzling your nose against his. “It was very sweet. But you really don’t need to go through so much trouble for me.”

Charles’ eyes lock earnestly on yours. “It’s no trouble at all. I want to make sure your needs are taken care of so you can be comfortable and safe.” He brushes your hair back gently. “I hate the thought of you struggling while supporting me at races.”

Your playful expression softens. You take his hand, intertwining your fingers against your heart. “Do whatever you have to do so that you can focus on driving your best without worrying about me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a few weeks of long flights and sitting in the back of your garage instead of standing. As long as I’m cheering for you, I’ll be happy.”

Charles searches your face, as if committing every detail to memory. “I don’t deserve you,” he says finally, voice husky.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “Sure you do. We take care of each other. It’s what partners do.”

Charles’s eyes shimmer with emotion. He cradles your jaw, kissing you deeply. When he draws back, the anxious creases in his face have smoothed away, leaving only tenderness.

“I promise I’ll do my best not to worry,” he concedes. “Just promise you won’t push yourself too hard.”

“Deal,” you agree easily, then smirk. “Now, how about carrying me back to the crutches you claim I so desperately need?”

Charles laughs, once again sweeping you effortlessly into his arms. You cling to his shoulders, perfectly content to let him fuss over you just a little longer.

***

“We should all go skiing together!”

Pierre’s enthusiastic suggestion makes you freeze mid-bite, forkful of pasta suspended comically halfway to your open mouth. Across the table, Charles goes completely still, face draining of color.

Oblivious to your boyfriend’s reaction, Pierre barrels on with growing excitement. “There are some amazing resorts in the Alps we could visit over New Year’s. Epic mountains, fresh powder-”

“No!” Charles interjects forcefully. He looks mildly ill at just the thought. “Absolutely not happening.”

Pierre blinks in surprise at the vehement refusal. Even his girlfriend, Kika, appears confused by Charles’ sudden change in demeanor. You have to press your lips together to keep from laughing at their bemused expressions.

“But why?” Pierre asks, brow furrowed. “I thought you loved skiing.”

Charles shudders. “Not anymore. Not after ...” He trails off, eyes darting to you meaningfully.

Understanding dawns on Pierre’s face. “Oh! Right, of course.” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

You wave a hand, unable to contain your amusement any longer. “It’s okay, Pierre. I know you didn’t mean to bring up traumatic memories.” You cast a teasing glance at Charles. “But I think skiing might permanently be off the table for us.”

Charles nods emphatically. “Absolutely. Never again. From now on, we take beach vacations only. Somewhere warm, with no snow, mountains, or treacherous icy slopes.” He shudders again for effect.

By now, you’re laughing so hard you have to set down your water glass to avoid spilling it. You knew Charles was still sensitive about the topic of skiing, but you hadn’t anticipated him having such an extreme reaction tonight. His overprotective dramatics are too adorable.

Still chuckling, you lean over to smack a kiss on his cheek. “You’re being ridiculous, but it’s very sweet that you’re so traumatized on my behalf.”

Charles wraps an arm around you, some tension easing from his shoulders. “After what you went through, can you blame me for swearing off anything to do with skiing forever?” He shakes his head vehemently. “Never again. It was the most terrifying experience. I thought I might have permanently damaged the love of my life.”

Your heart melts. “I’m completely fine now, thanks to you. But I can understand preferring to avoid ski trips in the future.” You smile teasingly. “We can find a nice beach to lounge on instead.”

Pierre chuckles. “Yeah, that’s probably smarter. Sorry for bringing up bad memories.” He smiles sheepishly across the table. “A tropical vacation does sound nice though!”

The group dissolves into easy laughter, the awkwardness forgotten. The conversation meanders to warmer destinations and the approaching off-season. Charles eventually relaxes his grip on you, seeming reassured that skiing is off the table.

You make it through the rest of the amicable double date without incident. As you all exit the restaurant into the cool night air, Pierre turns to you and Charles apologetically.

“Really sorry again for that ski trip suggestion earlier. Definitely wasn’t thinking.”

You wave off his concerns with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it! No harm done.” You pause, then add impishly, “Though from now on, Charles may vet all vacation plans just to be safe.”

Charles nods, face comically serious. “It’s true. I take your physical safety very seriously now.” His grave expression cracks into a grin. “So expect lots of beach vacations in our future together!”

Everyone dissolve into laughter again. After final farewell hugs, you and Charles head to your car, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders.

Once home, Charles tucks you into bed with an amount of care bordering on reverence. As he curls up behind you, you lace your fingers through his against your heart.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You murmur into the darkness.

You feel Charles smile against your hair. “Maybe, but feel free to say it again.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “You’re pretty much the best boyfriend on the planet. I love how protective you are over me, even when it’s a bit dramatic. It just shows how much you care.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your spine. “Of course I care. You mean everything to me.” His voice drops lower. “I never want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

You roll over to face him, gently cradling his jaw. “You could never hurt me. What happened was an accident, and I recovered just fine. So no more feeling guilty, okay?”

Even in the dim light you can see the sincerity in Charles’ eyes as he searches your face. “You really are too good for me,” he murmurs. “I’ll try to stop feeling overly responsible. Though I make no promises on vetoing future ski trip suggestions,” he adds with a teasing grin.

You laugh, snuggling happily against his chest. “Now get some sleep.”

As his breaths deepen into slumber, you reflect on how lucky you are to have found someone so devotedly caring. With Charles’ fiercely protective presence heating the sheets beside you, the future — filled with sandy beaches rather than ski slopes — looks bright indeed.

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madamechrissy · 7 months ago

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=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Descriptive edical procedures, reader has a medical issue, crazy sexual tension, light angst, tons of humor, workplace relationship, kissing and teasing, the hospital is lowkey slutty. Reader like 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 8.7k

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part Two =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

♡ Part Three ♡

One Week Later- the OR

“Intern, those fingers ready?” Dr. Gojo says to you, as you hold the severed finger of the patient in front of you, you’ve already cleaned them out, removing the damaged tissue. Maki is watching you eagerly from the window above, as if she’s dying to get her hand on the fingers, nibbling on a snack with Yuta as they watch. You look at Gojo, nodding now. “Perfect, now come over here.”

You stand next to Dr. Gojo in the OR now, a little overheated in your face mask, holding the finger steady as he begins to work on restoring the ligaments. You watch him avidly, his expert fingers under those latex purple gloves, precise to every millimeter, wiring the finger as you hold it. It’s quiet in the room, just the two of you and the sleeping patient, along with one of the nurses checking the vitals.

“What am I doing right now, Intern?” Satoru asks, peering up at you through his goggles, only serving to magnify the blue of his eyes.

“Wiring the tendons, Dr. Gojo.”

“Exactly, and how many hours do we typically have to do this successfully?” He asks softly.

“Twenty four hours, though everything after six hours poses a risk.”

“Perfect. How are you at sutures?”

“I’m the suture queen. I am in quilting classes, you know.” You tease, he chuckles a bit then, as the nurse hands you the needle and thread. You take it with steady hands, pouring antiseptic on the exposed finger, now put back together from Gojo. He’s right next to you, watching everything you do carefully.

“Nice, very nice. Almost as good as me, actually.” You smile under your mask at the praise, as he stands so very close you can smell his cologne even in the room that smells like pure rubbing alcohol and cleaner, you can feel the body heat of him, but you focus.

You slowly continue your sutures, making sure to be as even as possible, looping the skin together bit by bit as Dr. Gojo watches you. He does not instruct you, he merely holds it in place and allows you to finish, once you do he inspects it and hums to himself in satisfaction.

“Do you want to wire the tendons?”

“Fuck yes! Oh shit…” You blush now, thankful he can’t see, but you hear his soft laughter then. “Can I?”

“Only way to learn is to do it. I’ll be guiding you.” One hand presses against your back for just a moment as he switches your positions now, making you tremble, nerves going insane as you see Maki giving you a big thumbs up. Gojo laughs as he looks at her. “You have a fan club.”

“Not like yours Dr. Gojo.” You tease, now grabbing the wire.

“And what’s this technique called?”

“Tension band wiring.”

“You’re a little nerd.” You gasp, and the nurse laughs a bit. “It’s not a bad thing, you just are one.”

“Aren’t we all who go to med school?” You ask, carefully starting to gently wire the tendons together, Satoru is right against you now.

“Figure eight motions, there you go. Beautiful.” He murmurs again, and you’re eating up the praise, the nurse steps out for a moment since he is now stable, as you’re finishing up, when suddenly something is stabbing you in your temple. You cry out, gasping, and Satoru looks at you with concern.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, leaning closer, and you shake your head, taking a breath as you continue to finish suturing his finger up.

“I’m so sorry.” You manage to say.

“Sorry? Your hands haven’t wavered, you’re okay. What’s going on?”

“Really bad stabbing ache. I’ve had them before but this was bad… shit… please don’t-”

“I won’t tell anyone.” He assures you quietly, and your eyes flutter shut for just a moment now that he’s taken over, arms wrapped around and working over you, for a moment you lean back against his chest, before panicking. “It’s fine, no one’s watching anymore, take a moment.”

“It’s not professional-”

“You did great. Why don’t we… talk about that headache later?” You sigh, leaning against him for just a moment, feeling his heart pounding against your back steadily, slowly, it feels far too good, to shut your tired eyes and breathe.

“You don’t have to worry about it. You have enough to do.” You say softly, straightening up now and starting to apply the antiseptic carefully. Satoru stands next to you again, and you already miss him behind you, complete insanity surely.

“Just come to my office after you clean up. Yeah?” He says, the nurses come in then, and you nod carefully.

“Do you think he’ll play piano again?” You ask, carefully inspecting both of your handiwork now, the fingers sutured beautifully, but still, you know he has quite a recovery ahead. “I found him on Youtube, he’s amazing.”

“You get so mushy and attached.” He teases, you just smile.

“I guess I do. It’s a bad habit.”

“Very bad. But… I do think he’ll play again, it may take some practice and time, but we did very well.” You exhale in relief, finishing up as Dr. Gojo walks out, the pain in your head starting to come back once more.

“Shit…” You whisper under your breath, anxiety making your heart race now, but you shove it down, focusing.

Later after cleaning up and heading to Satoru’s office, it’s cracked open and you peek in, earning his laugh when he sees you. “Hey it’s not a Scooby mystery, Daphne. Well… maybe Velma, you’re so nerdy.”

You glare now, making him grin with those glinting white teeth. “You’re a regular Scooby Doo, but for sweets and BJs.” You shut the door behind you, he holds a hand to his chest.

“Ouch! That one hurts, you’re saying blow jobs are my Scooby Snacks!?” You roll your eyes.

“I’m just making sure I’m not stepping in on a… Hojo moment.”

Satoru’s lips curl up on one side, hands in the pockets of his slacks, lab coat behind his hips then, revealing his long, lithe legs. He is tilting his head, white hair falling just so. “A Hojo moment hmm? Like me and you at that party?”

“Shh!” You’re leaned up, hand on his mouth, as he laughs against your palm, heating it up. “We did nothing.”

“You know orgasms help headaches? Scientifically- don’t go!”

“You’re an ass.” You’re snatched up by him then, big hands on your narrow shoulders, frozen in place with him behind you.

“Sorry, sorry. Can’t blame me for teasing you, Miss cancels our date.”

“I really did get crazy busy, family shit. I’m sorry.” You turn back to him, feeling his fingertips brush your bare skin as they slip down your arms, and see he is pouting, you giggle then.

“You laugh at my pain, brat?”

“Brat! You’re a brat. No, your pout is why I giggled, it’s cute.” You tap his lips now, remembering the feel of them on yours, fuck it had been a long week since you two had shared that moment in your room, you may or may not have played with yourself to the memory… maybe or maybe not several times this week.

Not that you’d tell him though. Just stress relief!

Yeah?

Yeah…

“I promise I’ll make it up. I felt bad… it was actually my cousin. She had a baby recently and came down with something.”

“So you spent your only day off doctoring?”

You sigh. “Yep.”

“Nerd.”

“Hey!” He’s laughing again.

“Fine, what about a drink at the bar across the street after work then? Something easier?”

Drinks with Gojo. Dr. Hojo.

Bad idea.

“Sure.”

Fuck. Maybe you can keep your pants on this time…

“Better not stand me up, missy.” He taps your forehead now. “I want to do a CT scan first, MRI if I see anything too crazy. That okay with you?”

“But I have work, Dr. Gojo… rounds…”

“Have your friends cover for just like thirty minutes, okay? Do they know you have headaches?” He asks, eyeing you as if you’re a case now. You know that look, you see it on him constantly as he assesses his patients.

“How do you know I get them alot?”

“You rub your temples all the time, and your neck. But I figured stress and exhaustion. It could just be that. But…” He trails off, brushing back a lock of your hair now, making your body light up with the gentlest brush. “Humor me and let me see inside your head.”

“You wanna be inside me so bad.” His eyes get lidded at your joke, and your breath catches at the look on his pretty face. “Fuck, bad joke.”

“Hmm, no… it’s true.” He tilts your chin up, your breaths mingling now, as the door knocks, and you step away quickly, only to earn his lazy gaze. “Those scrubs hide such a nice little body.”

“Shush Hojo.” You smack at him now, and he opens the door, you notice it’s Miwa, he lets her in and you tense up, ready to leave, what is their deal? And why do you care!? It’s not like you all have done anything but make out and…

And…

Fuck you can’t get his demon doctor fingering skills out of your damn head, it’s like he’s implanted there, whispering your anatomy just to fuck with you. You shake yourself out of it as Satoru talks to Miwa now.

“Could you prep a CT for me please, Miwa?”

“Of course I can. Hello Doctor!” She says brightly to you, you both had been much better this week after the intense situation where she’d questioned you, now she seems to truly respect you more. Though you wish it wasn’t just Gojo’s words.

“Hello Miwa. How are you handling today? It’s been crazy.”

“I know, ugh. I’m good, I’m about to leave for the day, I’ll prep it for you, Dr. Gojo, here’s the notes for the recovery of that patient you all just worked on too.” He takes them and smiles.

“Thanks Miwa. Have a good night.” She bounces off, and he smirks down at you, snowy lashes lowering. “You’re jealous.”

“What!? No! Of what, sucking Dr. Hojo’s dick?” You cross your arms, scowling up at his snarky expression.

“It was once. I don’t tend to go on dates or carry on, you know.”

“So why ask me?”

“Maybe you’re… different.” You pause at that, blinking a bit when he steps close once more. “Maybe I really can’t get your anatomy out of my mind.”

“Shush. CT scan.” You whisper, he’s too goddamn close, leaning low over you, so close you’re studying his perfect skin and his high cheekbones, fuck he’s even prettier up close. It’s really annoying.

Those blue eyes are absolutely stunning, of course they are, but it’s not just the color, it’s all of the things emoted in his eyes, the intensity of them. Your eyes keep darting to his lips, even when the throbbing in your head comes back, you gently rub your temple as you keep flickering your gaze back to his eyes, soon his cool fingers replace your own, rubbing gently.

“You don’t want to admit you liked it.” Satoru says softly, his breath tickling you as he presses in, your eyes close at how good it feels, sighing.

“I want to be taken seriously, Satoru. Not to be the intern that gets favored because she fucks her boss.”

“You stress too much. Maybe that’s the cause of the headaches.”

“Hmm… maybe.” You lean closer now, continuing to let him rub your temples further. “You assume I wanna fuck you, Dr. Hojo.”

“Oh, it’s an educated guess. By all your body language.”

“Shush, keep rubbing.” His chest shakes against your hands with laughter as he gently cradles your face in his hands now, pressing his lips to your temple. “That feels too good, better stop.”

“You’re really annoying, intern. Mmmkay go get yourself covered so we can get it done yeah?”

“Meet you there.”

*****

“I hate this shit, I feel like I gotta pee.” You grumble now, as Satoru is injecting the contrast dye into your arm, making you feel like you’re hot everywhere as you lay on your back right outside of the machine. Satoru’s lips quirk up, you try to ignore how good the man looks as your doctor for just a moment.

Impossible.

“I know, it’s the worst, but just for a few. I’ll be right over there, looking all inside you.”

“Fuck off.” You stick your tongue out and he wiggles his brows, stepping out of the room, you get tense, feeling yourself breathing a little too fast as he now speaks through the microphone.

“Alright, pretty patient.”

“You’re flirting with your patient during a CT scan?” His teasing eases your nerves, though you don’t admit it outright, a little smile plays on your lips.

“Only patients this pretty.” He murmurs, and you ignore the blush on your cheeks, must be the contrast dye overheating you. “I’m easing you in, yeah? Just stay as still as you can and breathe.”

“Yes, Sir.” He hums then a bit, and you’re sliding into the donut shaped scanner, you always hate these things. As it starts swirling around your head in circles, you try to ignore the whirring sound, the overwhelming fear, what could be wrong, what could it mean-

“Don’t panic, it’s fine. Just checking okay?” Satoru’s voice interrupts your thoughts over the speaker now. Your nails are digging into your palm, a little sheen of moisture on your eyes that you suck up.

“Yeah.” Is all you manage, then it’s quiet as Satoru finishes the scan, as you’re eased out, he’s right there, unhooking you from the IV carefully, holding your arm and pressing a white square cotton to where he’d poked.

“You bleed a lot. Anemic?” He asks, and you should be surprised he knows, but he knows everything it seems.

“Just a bit, yes. I know, I should take my iron.”

“Mmm, anemia is pretty common in women, especially since I think all I see you eat is coffee. Maybe eat more? And add some protein?” He teases.

“I eat! But I’ll add some. Thank you, Dr. Gojo.” You take his hand to help you out of the little bed then, ignoring as much as you can how good his hands feel when he steadies you by your waist, warm and pressing against your skin. Your heart races as you look up at him. “Did you see anything interesting?”

His lips tense a bit, more serious now. “I saw a little interesting spot right there, but I wanna look at it more. I’ll call you to go over it in a few?”

“Sounds good, thank you.” You manage, you don’t know how much he’s hiding or what he’s found.

“Don’t stress, intern, I will tell you if it is, yeah?” You exhale, nodding, leaning up a bit, lashes lowered as you take in those perfect lips.

“If I’m gonna die-”

“Shut it. Now get to those rounds.” He whispers, breath so close you can taste it, minty always with the mints and gum he constantly chews.

“Got it Doc.” He snorts at you, fingers brushing your jaw line, as you contemplate his jaw line, so much more defined, his face is so chiseled… his body…

Fuck.

You clear your throat, smiling. “That’s much better. I’ll talk to you soon, don’t stress about it okay?”

Sure you won’t.

*****

“Maki, what if I die before interning is over?” You grumble next to your best friend as you all make the rounds, Maki snorts now.

“Gonna die of no Dr. Gojo dick?”

“Bitch shush!” She snorts as you look around wildly.

“No bitch, you shush. Why do you think you’re dying? I mean… we all are, but why so soon? You can’t die, I need to live with you.”

“You can have the house.”

“I still want you around!” You both pause in front of the patient’s door now, sighing and looking at each other. “Is something actually wrong?”

“I’m just panicking. I have some bad headaches… and did a CT.” You murmur, she frowns then, emerald eyes studying you seriously behind her black frames.

“Everything okay?” She asks, a little softer.

“I’m sure it is, I just panic when I don’t know the answers to things. Fuck… I could use some lorazepam in the arm.” You joke, she giggles with you.

“We all could, that’s for sure. Oh fuck… look.”

You take the chart from Maki then, raising your brows as you look at the patient’s records. “They’re blue?”

You both look at each other then eagerly pace to the room, where indeed there’s a young man, and he is in fact blue. He smiles a bit at you both, waving his silvery blue tinted fingers. “Hello ladies.”

“Hello.” You both say, looking at each other, then back at him. He laughs now, sighing.

“I know, I look like Papa Smurf.”

“No!” You say.

“Yes!” Maki says, and then the three of you burst out in laughter.

“At least you’re honest.” He muses, and the both of you approach him now, you take his hand and turn it over, seeing the palms were more of a typical color.

“When did this start happening?” You ask softly, Maki is checking his vitals, not hiding her curiosity.

“I’ve been blue for… probably a month. I’ve just hidden in my house.” You put aside the medical curiosity then, you feel the pain hidden in his voice. “Didn’t wanna scare the masses.”

“Anything in particular you consume? Colloidal Silver can cause this.” You say softly, he shakes his head then.

“I don’t think so? I’d know if I took silver, right?”

“Yes, it’s a supplement. Hmm… and anyone else in the family ever…”

“Turn blue?” He finishes. You nod. “No. Not that I know of?”

Maki and you look at each other, and you can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. You’re thinking it too, but it’s so rare and so weird.

“Methemoglobinemia?” She murmurs, and you tilt your head, sighing.

“I mean it’s possible, but that’s genetic, he’d have been blue. But let’s check for that and any potential exposures to chemicals that could cause this. It’s definitely not a typical case of methemoglobinemia, but we have to rule it out. Don’t worry, we’ll get you all figured out…” You check his name. “Muta, yeah?”

“Yeah. You mean I may not be blue anymore?”

“We’ll figure out what’s going on, I promise.” The door opens then, and Miwa comes in, gasping a bit, before smiling. Muta lights up when he sees her, his eyes glinting, you see it then, he has a crush.

“Your hair is the color of my skin, we’re meant to be.” Muta teases, Miwa laughs softly, coming in then as you two fill her in.

“Got it ladies, I’ll get these labs going.”

“Thanks Miwa.” You say, patting Muta’s shoulder. “We’ll get you back to normal, I promise.”

“Thank you, Doctor. And Doctor Maki.” She gives him a thumbs up, and you both walk out now, as the fluorescent lights make your headache worse. You wince now, rubbing your head again.

“Take a break babe, it’s okay. He’s not dying, he's just blue.” She says, as you are shaking your sore head now. Your phone goes off and you see it’s a text from your ex, you roll your eyes. “The ex?”

“Of course it is. Begging to see me over and over. I’m dreading the moment he comes to the house.”

“Shit, he’s really missing that coochie-”

“Maki!”

“It has cobwebs now.”

“You bitch!” You shove at her now, as Yuta and Toge walk up, both laughing at the two of you. Toge tilts his head when you rub your temples again.

“Hurt?” He asks quietly, you nod, sighing when his hand is on your forehead, you moan just slightly at how cool it feels.

“Feels so good.” You take his hand, pressing more, then feel him tense. You look up to see he’s bright red, and then he runs away. Your brows go together, as you blink in confusion, and Yuta covers his face, shaking his head.

“And you tease him! To torture him!” Yuta says, you glare then.

“What now!? His hand felt cool.” You grimace, leaning against the gray counter of the reception, as everyone flits back and forth by you.

“Hey you alright?” Yuta asks softer now, brushing back your hair.

“She’s got a nasty migraine again.” Maki murmurs, then comes with a little paper cup of water. “Drink babe.”

“Thank you.” You sip the cold water now, feeling it chill your lips and teeth. “Did I really upset Toge again?”

“He’s just in love with you, now you touched him. He’s going to be infatuated for days. I’ll have to hear.” Yuta winces now, you laugh, sucking in a breath as it starts to ache worse.

“He barely talks, how do you know?”

“It’s obvious. But you’re too into white haired doctors.” Maki whispers, earning a smack on her hand when she touches your forehead. “Hmm, no fever.”

Your phone goes off again, and thankfully it’s Gojo and not your annoying ass ex, you don’t need more of a headache. “Oh, he has results. I should go… can you-”

“We’ve got it, go.” Maki murmurs. You smile thankfully, heading towards Satoru’s office now. You knock carefully.

“Come on in.” You shut the door behind you, and Satoru smiles easily, calming your nerves somewhat.

“Come check out your brain, it’s pretty cool.” You laugh softly, and come to where he’s sitting, leaning over to peer at your brain on his laptop now. “So this… is what I think is causing your headaches.”

You look then to a little mass, panicking, damn near falling back, so much he has to catch you with his big hands. “A tumor!?”

“Calm down, no. Shh.” Satoru sits you right on his thigh then, brushing a hand down your back, tilting your chin to look at him. “I wouldn’t casually say ‘you have a tumor’ like that. Breathe.”

“Shit.” You take several breaths, leaning your head back, trying to compose yourself. “So what is that then?”

“Kind of a tumor?”

“Dr. Gojo!”

“I’ll explain if you calm down.” He presses his hands on your waist gently, pointing back to the screen. “So it’s something called a false tumor, it’s typically from head contusions. Bash your head on anything a couple years back?”

You steady your breathing now, trying to focus. “Shit, yeah I did. I was getting some things from the attic and had a whole bunch of old dvd players whack me in the head.”

“Ancient ass.” He teases.

“Hey I have VCRs up there too!”

“Fuck you’re old.”

“You’re old!” He’s chuckling now, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re doing it again, cheering me up.”

“Yeah, and it worked.” He taps your nose, watching it scrunch, little crinkles on the sides of his own brilliant blue eyes as he smiles. You realize then, you don’t want to get off his lap, fuck you wanna stay here. You feel good here. His arm casually wrapped around you, and suddenly you realize your warmth on his thigh, gulping now. Did he notice!?

He notices everything.

“I should…” You go to stand, and he presses you back down, firm thigh between your thighs, pressing up where it shouldn’t through the thin fabric of your scrubs.

“You should stay, let me explain what it is. Yeah?” You nod a bit, realizing that for just a bit you couldn’t think about your head hurting, even as you all are staring right at a scan of your brain. Satoru uses one of his long fingers to point at the spot, where you see it raised up. “A false tumor.”

“False tumors, I haven’t heard much about them.”

“It’s essentially intercranial hypertension, which translates to your brain is stressy-stressy.” You snort in laughter then, and his hand far too casually brushes down the outside of your thigh as he leans forward, pressed so close against you.

“My brain is in fact stressy.”

“See! I’m so smart, admit it.” He grins deviously, you snort in laughter at him, shaking your head.

“A little bit.” You gesture, squishing just a bit of space between your finger and your thumb now.

“I’ll take it. So there’s no sense removing it, seeing as that’s just opening a can of worms. A spinal tap would help relieve the pressure.”

“Spinal tap, yuck.” He rolls his eyes.

“You’re a big baby.”

“Am not. But yuck. Anything else? Lots of tylenol?” You find yourself turning now, he’s pulled you further on his lap, it shouldn’t feel this easy, this normal. Why does your head hurting not even matter now that you’re so close to him, now that you inhale his cologne, feel his touch.

“That sounds like liver problems waiting.”

“Well my wine at night does that.” You say with a smile.

“A little wine is good for you. Blood flow.” Satoru murmurs, gently running his fingertips up and down your arms now, you tremble just a bit at it, at how good it feels, a network of goosebumps left in his wake. His blue eyes darken just a bit as he watches them form, and suddenly it’s very quiet.

“Blood flow is good.” You say softly, to fill the silence, where all you hear is the pounding in your ears. “So any option three?”

“I can inject you with something to help the pain, but you really can’t put off the tap too long. When do you actually get a break?”

“Um…” You try to focus. “I get Thanksgiving weekend off?”

“Okay we’ll do it around then.”

“You can’t just come do a tap on a holiday!”

“Sure I can, I’ll be here a couple hours anyway. But you’ll have to lie still for some time, so I just wanna make sure you have a day off.”

“Alright, the injections till then?”

“Mmhmm.” He’s closing the laptop now, and you hear your heartbeat just racing, blood pumping in your ears, Satoru raises a thin white brow. “Are you alright?”

“It’s odd, the headache is gone when you… touch me. That sounds stupid, ugh.” You stand now, covering your face with a sigh. Satoru turns you so you’re right between his long legs now, hands firm on the curve of your hips.

“It doesn’t sound stupid. You’re getting endorphins from this.” He whispers now, so pretty this close he makes you ache, Maki is right maybe you do have cobwebs there, and his touch ignites your body. Like you’re on fire, especially when he cups your face.

“Satoru, what are we doing?” You whisper, he sighs, thumb brushing across your lower lip.

“Feeling things. You think too much. So dramatic, a fake tumor and alll.”

“Jerk!” You shove at him, unable to stop the grin from forming, craving his touch, more and more, when he pulls you flush against him you melt, hands bracing on his chest now, feeling the strong muscles flex under your touch.

“We should touch more if it helps your head.” His lips are right there, your noses touching as you hover, his snowy lashes lowering over dilated eyes, hands slipping up your back, one big one splaying the expanse of it. You press even closer, feeling the heat in your tummy building. Fuck would it hurt to just-

Suddenly both of your pagers go off. “Shit, code blue.”

“Shit.” Satoru and you both jump up now, rushing out into the busy hallway, you both round the corner, the chaos of the ER coming into view. Nurses and doctors moved with a choreographed precision, each step calculated and deliberate, as one of your patients from this week is in cardiac arrest.

“Shit shit shit.” You mutter under your breath, you rush in to see one of your elderly patients this morning now flat lining. You quickly begin compressions, pressing over and over as Satoru runs in, looking at the clipboard, studying you. “We need epi!” You say to the nurse, and Satoru stops her. “Satoru!”

“DNR, intern.” He turns the paper and shows you, the giant three letters, you gasp then, looking down at the lady you are working on.

“She has kids, she has-”

“She has a choice. Off now.”

You release her now, feeling tears flow as you watch the monitor completely flatline now, you remember her kids were literally just here, with her grandkids. She was laughing, smiling. You almost thought she was doing better…

“Intern, call time of death.” Satoru says.

You scowl at him through your tears, even if you know he’s right, and he sets his lips in a firm line. You see Maki, Yuta and Toge right outside the room, their eyes looking at you with concern, with worry. “Time of death is five- fifty- one PM.”

The nurse nods and writes it down, and you carefully cover the patient with one of the thin hospital sheets. “You can’t save everyone, you know.”

“I know, I know.” You choke up then, that headache right back, making you feel sick. “But to not save someone I could?”

“Her choice was to go. She’s been in pain a long time.” Satoru says, coming to stand next to you now, you feel bile rise in your throat.

“She seemed so happy today, so energetic even!?”

“Sometimes you get that burst of energy at the end. Maybe it’s… a bigger plan out there, to give your family something of what you used to be at the end.” You look at him through watery eyes, just exhausted.

Finger surgery.

A blue man.

Your own CT scan.

Some false tumor?

Now a death.

You want to go home. You want to lay in bed, curled in a ball in the dark, where maybe your head won’t pound. You want to throw up. You want to sleep for fucking days, trying to just not think. You want to just…

“Martha, her name was Martha.” You say now, and Satoru nods, a hand on your shoulder.

“Her name was Martha. Do you want me to tell the family?”

“No, she’s my patient. I will.” He nods then, eyes following you as you stiffly walk out, Maki, Yuta and Toge all come to you, but you hold a hand up. You’re barely keeping it together as it is, if one of them hugs you, you know you’ll fall apart. “I’m fine you all, promise.”

As you tell the family she passed, instead of the typical extreme upset, they almost seem a bit relieved, upset but relieved. “She was in so much pain, I think now… she’s free of it. Do you?” Martha’s son asks, and you struggle to hold you composure, feeling your stomach want to retch it’s contents, which were literally just coffee and a fucking croissant from this morning.

“She’s not in pain anymore.” You agree softly, and Martha’s granddaughter, about your age comes next to her dad now, looking at him, then you.

“Did she seem peaceful?” She asks softly, you nod then, giving a touch of comfort to her shoulder.

“She did, she seemed so happy to have been with you all I think. You may see her if you wish to.”

“We would like that. Thank you.” After they walk out you watch them pass by Satoru, who has his eyes on you.

You can’t let him see you so weak! You shouldn’t be so weak, you’re a doctor, you see death every single day. You rush into the locker room, thankfully finding it empty, before heading to the bathroom, leaning in and emptying the contents of your stomach, retching everything out. You get so weak as you do, dry heaving then as you feel yourself falling apart.

You’re sobbing over the toilet, flushing it, when you hear the door open and close, and suddenly you feel hands on your back. You shake your head, taking several breaths. “Go away, it’s gross.”

“You just cleaned out fingers that were cut off.” Satoru says softly, you laugh then, in between tears, as he holds your hair back for you. “Aw it’s like we’re besties, just having drinks you know.”

“Oh stop it. I’d kiss you if I didn’t just puke.”

“Please don’t, I don’t like you that much.” You laugh once more, before bursting into tears, and Satoru holds you, brushing your hair gently as you cling to him. “It’s normal to break down, surprised it took you so long. Been months.”

“I want to keep it together. I want to so badly.” You’re soaking his light purple scrub top, you see the blotches of tears forming as you cry more, letting him hold you. “Why are you so…”

“So handsome? So smart?”

“So comfy.”

“Huh, didn’t expect that one. Calling me fat, brat?” You giggle again, looking up at him now, his pretty face swims with how many tears you have.

“Not at all, no body fat on you. Just… comfortable I guess.” Your hand rests right over his heart, feeling it steady under you, trying to make your heart match, to slow your breathing down. Maki walks in then, kneeling quickly, brushing your hair back.

“Baby, you okay?” She asks softly, and you manage a weak little nod, as she kisses your head. “You’ve had a long day.”

“We all do, I shouldn’t act like this.”

“Babe we all puked at some point. Yuta was the first day.”

“He’s got a weak stomach, that one.” Satoru says, then looks at you and Maki with a little smile. “Maki, stay with her for a bit, I’ll get her some zofran, and I’ll get you something for the headache, yeah?”

You nod weakly, holding his hand then. “Thank you.” You say, he runs a thumb over your knuckles and just stands then, heading out. Maki cups your face carefully, studying you.

“You okay? Seriously.”

“I have some… fake tumor thing.” She gasps. “No, no, it’s fake. I don’t know… Satoru said maybe a spinal tap?”

“Satoru huh. Chummy.” You roll your eyes, sniffling as she helps you up. “Let’s brush your teeth, you don’t wanna kiss your doctor like this.”

“Maki, I can't kiss him. I can’t be with him.” You choke up once more.

“Just stay careful and sure you can. Do you think he’s serious though, or is it one of his… what do you call them?”

“Hojo moments.” You brush your teeth in the sink, grimacing at your appearance, you have mascara streaked under the dark circles of your eyes.

“Hojo moments… well about Miwa, seems like her and Papa Smurf are actually hitting it off. He’s hot now that his blue is fading.”

You perk up now, brows raising. “The blue is fading!?”

“Mmhmm, your first guess of methemoglobinemia was correct. Does that make you feel better maybe?” Maki’s eyes are concerned, you nod then, making her smile return just a bit. “Knew it, Miss know it all.”

“That’s you!” You spit out toothpaste, rinsing your mouth out now, as both of you laugh. The alarm goes off, your shift is done. “How’d it not present itself for so long I wonder?”

“I’m wondering the same thing. Already started the Methylene blue and Insane doses of Vitamin C. It’ll take a bit but he’ll be normal soon.” You wash up your face now, dabbing the bits of mascara off.

“One good thing today.”

“Two good things.” Satoru says, as you and Maki head to the locker room. “The finger surgery seems successful so far, we’ll keep him and monitor, but he could feel them.” You grin at that, at least something was going good today, aside from the ever more comfortable presence of Doctor Gojo.

“That is good news!”

“Now have a seat, let me make you feel good.” He teases with a grin, Maki snorts then, heading to her locker.

“Let me get out of here first, god.” You stick your tongue out, as Maki is sliding off her scrub top.

“I should get out of these real quick too if that’s okay? Before you poke me.” You say, he nods then, setting down the two vials.

“Let’s all get naked then, ladies.”

“Oh jesus.” Maki is dressed quickly, sliding her jacket on while Satoru is undressing, she sees him shirtless then and gives you an audacious wink, earning another eye roll from you. “Is she good to drive Dr. Hunk?”

“She’ll be fine from it, don’t worry. If not, I'll take her home. Having a drink after work anyway.” Maki pats your head once more, kissing your forehead then.

“See you home then. Night Dr. Hunk.” Satoru is giving some smoldering look that makes you and Maki both almost pee your pants, as she leaves you both alone now. Satoru has slid into a soft long sleeve black shirt and dark jeans, as you’ve gotten into your own clothes, you keep your jacket off, sitting on the bench and holding your arm out now.

“It needs to get injected in your ass.” He says then, and you gasp, making him grin wide.

“No way!”

“Yes way. Not the zofran, that’s just a little pill. Open up, pretty.” You open your mouth now, and he places the little pill under your tongue, gently closing your mouth with his fingers pressing your chin up.

“Fuck I hope it works quick.” You sigh as it dissolves, Satoru nods and tears open the package now, grinning like a devious ass devil. “You really gotta do this in my ass cheek!?”

“I really do. I’ll be completely professional, no worries.”

“Uh-huh sure. Well… alright then.” You turn now, unzipping your jeans and pulling them down, revealing your ass cheeks and your panties. He whistles, a hand coming to trace the bottom of them now, making your tummy clench with desire from just that. “So professional.”

“I need the panties off.”

“You do not. Dr. Pervert.”

“I’m Dr. Hojo and Dr. Pervert now?”

“Mmhmm. Fine, you little shit.” You slide down your panties completely, and his breath catches as he sees you, suddenly he’s quiet, then he’s bending down to sit on the bench, turning your now bare ass to him.

“You hiding that ass in your scrubs is such a crime.” You shake your head, ignoring how good his touch feels, even as he’s dabbing an alcohol pad on it, his breath against your skin does insane things, you have trouble forming a word.

“Your flattery works on those girls because you’re hot, not because you have any rizz, you’re so rizzless.”

“Rizzless my ass.”

“Ow!” Satoru has jabbed the shot in your ass cheek then, it stings and burns, you cry out, nearly jerking, so he holds you still with a hand on your hip. “You jabbed it hard on purpose!”

“Aw, need me to take it easy when I stick it in, baby?”

“Oh fuck off! Oh… I… mmm…” Suddenly the headache you’ve had all damn day is easing, you sigh now, feeling so blissful you can ignore the fact that your ass stings. You ease your panties up now, then your jeans, sighing as you turn to him, they’re still unbuttoned and unzipped, his eyes are locked right on you. “That felt so good, thank you Satoru.”

“You’re welcome, intern.” He murmurs, softly, watching you zip up your jeans and button them. “You’ll still need the tap, it’ll help for months.”

“I will. Thank you for everything today, really.” You cup his face now, before thinking better of it, pressing your lips against his softly. “A thank you kiss.”

“Can I get a thank you hand job? I’m having an issue.” You shake your head with a laugh, running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Absolutely not. But you can buy me a drink.” You grab your jacket and slide it on, and he eagerly hops up.

“Yeah?” His blue eyes light up, melting you further.

“Yeah. I’ll meet you there, Dr. Pervert.” You grab your keys, but Gojo passes you quickly as you all walk out, opening your door before he runs off to the car, making you giddier than you’d admit.

*****

“You’re drinking the fruitiest drink they make.” You say later on, as you both are sitting at the bar, and the bartender hands you a cosmopolitan cocktail, and hands Satoru a Sex on the Beach.

“Lemme enjoy my sex mmkay?” You go to pay and he stops you. “Put it on my tab please, and a tip for now.” Satoru hands the bartender cash, he smiles at the two of you.

“Anything you all want, fruitier even.” You both laugh now, and Satoru and you go find a little table on the side of the bar towards the window, you sit and sip on your drink as your phone buzzes away. You swipe it off.

“Annoying ex?” Satoru asks, leaning back as he looks at you.

“He’s so annoying. It’s been months of me ignoring him, you would think he’d get the hint.”

“And you don’t date now?”

“Um… it’s hard to think about dating with our hours, you know?” He nods then, pouty lips encircling a straw as he sucks up more of his drink, and you wonder at how Satoru makes everything look sexy. “Do you date?”

He flicks his gaze up and down your body slowly, leisurely, as if he’s caressing you with his look. “Are you asking me out, intern?”

“Oh whatever, you asked me!”

“I don’t date right now, no, but I guess I have different reasons.” He murmurs, looking off to the window for a moment.

“Would you date? No, I'm not asking you out.” You say, studying him as he licks his lower lip, drawing your attention further to things you shouldn’t.

“I would, I’m not against it, I guess no one has sparked my interest enough. I mean aside from physically.”

“Any crazy exes?”

“I have an evil ex, actually. She’s scary.” He shivers now, you tilt your head curiously, sipping your own drink, feeling the warmth flow through you.

“Is she now? Like mean?”

“She’s mean alright. We just didn’t work out, our parents pushed us to get married too young, prominent families this and that. But we never even liked each other, she was pretty happy to divorce me. And I was too.” You digest the information slowly, mouth opening just slightly. “Yeah, I was married.”

“I didn’t expect that. You seemed like a bachelor, I guess.”

“I am about to be thirty four, you think I was single this long? Nah, I’m too handsome, baby.”

“Not your baby.” You kick at his feet, but he just grips your thigh now, burning over the layer of denim, and you wish it were on your skin instead.

“Not yet. You’re in love with me already, you just don’t know.”

“Oh am I?” He’s leaning closer across from you, blue eyes glittering in the dim lights of the busy bar.

“Mhm, you are. It’s okay, everyone falls in love with me.”

“You’re so loveable, so humble.”

“I know I am… hey.” You giggle now, smacking his hand off, finishing your little martini off and exhaling.

“I needed this, ugh… thank you Satoru.” He smiles a bit, finishing his as well now. “Your wife was… well, you’re not a guy you leave.”

Shit, you said that.

You cover your face then at his look of surprise. “I’m sorry-”

“Why apologize for that? Sounded like a compliment. But she left for good reasons, we hated each other and were miserable. She still hates me still, but we’re more friendly now. Your boyfriend, did he leave you?”

“No, I left him. He was too controlling and I just… wasn’t feeling it. It sounds so silly compared to an entire marriage.”

“Nah, not at all.”

“I also just put med school first, I really did. I don’t think I gave him the attention he needed. So it’s on me a bit.”

“That’s mature as fuck.” You shrug a bit.

“Well, we had a drink, hmm?”

“Let’s have two?” You sigh, leaning forward on the table, elbow propped up, chin in your hand as you study the handsome man across from you.

“Two sounds like my resolve slips.” You say softly, Satoru leans forward as well, brushing your hair behind your ear, every touch and look making you weaker and weaker for him.

“Would that be so bad, intern? To let go.” You exhale now, leaning into the caress, lashes fluttering shut and casting shadows on your cheeks as he studies you for a moment.

“I have a feeling it would be hard to let you go.”

“Yeah, what if I bust quick? Have a small dick?” You burst into laughter now, and he pouts. “Maybe it is small, meanie.”

“That’s the other rumor, Gojo, that your dick is huge.” He blushes a bit, surprising you. “Oh you didn’t know that one! Shit.”

“I mean I’m not complaining but god, girls are gossipy.”

“Like you’re not!”

“Another drink?” He asks, standing up then, your gaze trails up his lithe, long body, as you feel the warmth spread through you.

“One more.” You agree, and he holds out his hand for you to stand, bringing you almost against him, knowing you’re teetering on the edge of a dangerous game, and when you both grab your next drink, Miwa walks in now, she pauses for a moment, before waving at the two of you and coming over.

“Dr. Gojo, I never see you at the spot.” She says, and for some reason you get nervous, looking down a bit.

“Yeah I decided she wouldn’t meet me for a date so I’d connive her into meeting me here at least.” He ruffles your hair and you huff, fixing it, ignoring the pounding in your heart at how good it felt to hear.

“A date?”

“Well, a pre date. Just a drink but she blew me off.”

“I really didn’t mean to. Um… is this weird or anything Miwa?” You ask nervously, she shakes her head with a little smile.

“Oh no, you’re fine. What you saw um… let’s just say I was having a bad day is all. We’re not together.”

“Heard you like Papa Smurf?” Gojo teases, she smacks at him then.

“He’s sweet. And less blue. Oh, my friends are here! See you two later.” She says, you watch her curiously, and Satoru is smirking down at you.

“Not everyone has to be dating or have feelings. You’re like some eighteen-hundreds Victorian lady.”

“Am not!” You’re laughing again as you all sip another drink, sitting side by side now, your phone goes off again now and you roll your eyes.

“Send him a pic of us together.”

“Shit that’s mean.”

“He’s a dick though? Yeah?”

“You tell me.” You lean close now, showing him the endless texts. Satoru whistles as he reads them, scrolling up.

“Shit, gaslight much?”

“The king. Fuck you smell good.” Your alcohol is clearly hitting, Satoru chuckles once more, hand stroking up and down your spine carefully.

“You smell good, sweet like lavender.” He speaks right against your ear, tickling it as he inhales now, sighing. “I noticed you switched shampoo back.”

“Hush, it wasn't because of you.”

“Of course not.”

You have the most fun you can remember, fuck when don’t you enjoy Satoru Gojo? When he’s walking you over to your truck, and the music is just a low hum now, though you feel it pulsing through your body, Satoru’s pressing your back against the car door, hands on either side of the top of your car, hard body so good against you. You bite your lower lip, hands sliding down his jacket.

“You want me so bad, you love to fight it. Why?” Satoru says softly, cupping your face with one hand now, leaning low.

“I don’t wanna be a notch in Dr. Hojo’s bed post.” You say softly. “I’m not judging, but I don’t wanna be just that to someone. I totally was going to at the party, ugh, but it’s not me. So, I fight it.”

“I have a feeling if I got you, I wouldn’t want more notches.” His thumb strokes your lip side to side, eliciting a little cry from the back of your throat that you can’t quite stop before it comes out.

“You think so, hmm?”

“Judging by your hot, sweet little pussy, yes.” Your cunt throbs around goddamn nothing, reacting to his words, to him pressing you further against your big old SUV, the cool metal against your back. “Those sounds you make…”

“Fuck… kiss me.”

“You’re demanding. And confusing, you know that?” His soft words are right against your lips, you cry out then, pulling him down as you tiptoe, kissing him over and over, mouth moving over his, his tongue slipped in between your lips. Your tongue slips around his, dancing then, as his big hands grip your waist.

Your hands slide up his chest, entwining around his neck, breasts pressing against his hard abdomen, nipples growing tight as desire fills you more and more. He grabs one of them now, thumb brushing over a peak, eliciting a whimper, your head falling back now, neck begging for his kisses. Satoru’s kissing your neck and grabbing your breast right in front of a damn bar.

It’s insane.

It’s stupid.

Right?

“Fuck I want to feel you again.” His husky voice melts you now, you’re now whining for more and more, pathetic for him, were you worried too much, could you just do this, just have sex? Did there have to be such complicated shit you always put on yourself? “You’re thinking too much.”

“How do you know?” Your words are against his ear now, as you flick your tongue on the earlobe, nipping just a bit.

“I just know, and you need to just feel.” He’s sliding his hand under your shirt, across your tummy, making it tremble under his touch, goosebumps rising. “How’s it feeling, pretty?”

“Feels… fucking good.” He chuckles deeply, as you breathlessly laugh, kissing him over and over. “But I usually need things to mean something. I know I’m lame.”

“That’s not lame.” He cups your face with both hands now, blue eyes boring into yours, the soft glow of the street lights ensconcing him, making him look even more handsome somehow. Even prettier. “It means something when I’m kissing you.”

You feel everything react to him, to his words. “It does?” He nods then, nuzzling your noses together, and his phone goes off, he sighs, scowling at it now.

“The ex?”

“Nah, parents. Worse. Say… you wanna pretend we date so I can bring a girl home for Thanksgiving?”

“What now?” You blink up at him.

“Yeah… they really want me to bring a girl home. You’re perfect too, they’d fucking love if I brought a top notch Kyoto Med school grad?”

“Oh gosh… I mean, I have no plans?”

“Perfect. It will make my mom so damn happy, she’ll love you. Aw we’re moving so fast you know.” He’s grinning wolfishly, eyes glinting down at you.

You love the idea far, far too much. “Alright, a good spinal tap and then I’m a whole Thanksgiving date.”

“Works perfectly for me. Good night, intern.” Satoru kisses you one more time, leaving you breathless.

“Good night, Dr. Gojo.” You slide into your car, covering your face and squealing then, yes you’re squealing like you’re fifteen again, not a twenty six year old doctor. “His kisses…” You squeal again, overheated as you go to start your car with a roar then, hating that you’re like some lovesick teenager.

Then you see him.

Satoru Gojo grinning as he watches you through your window. You gasp, sputtering, limbs flailing as you scream out, rolling down the window then, glaring right at him. “What the fuck!”

“Aw, you do love me. Already. So easy, intern.” Satoru teases, leaning in then, far too close.

“Whatever! Good night Dr. Gojo.”

“You-”

“Bye!” You leave then, catching his reflection in your rearview, stupid giddy grin on your damn face.

Shit this is gonna be messy.

So a LOT in this, I really want to explain how it would be to have SO much going on during a typical day, I hope it doesn't overwhelm her and Dr. Hojo's connection. We will be learning a lot more about Reader's ex and Satoru's ex soon <3

A/N: Totally added my own prob as a medical thing lol ( false brain tumor) they're rare and interesting. I love you all and can't wait to hear your thoughts!!!

Taglist: @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @aldebrana @shadeowz @gojo1228 @victoriaaaa00 @jaeminaur @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @jjknanamin

Part Four

#gojo x reader #jjk smut #satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk gojo #doctor gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo fic

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sydwritess · 13 days ago

Text

Younger Or Older

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: You can Lewis have only just begun dating, you go around the paddock together at races with him, spend time with him, the only difference was, the age gap you two have. When caught walking hand in hand together, interest starts to spark on social media.

First Person POV

Warning: An age gap between reader and Lewis, maybe around 15 or 10 years?

Right now I was in the Ferrari Garage, waiting for Lewis to get done with the media from the qualifying race in Monaco. He was jumping around from one interviewer to the next, answering a variety of questions, until it was finally over and he came to the garage.

"You did great." I told him with a smile.

"Thank you." He said, hugging me. "Now that media is over, do you want to get lunch for something?" He asked, smiling.

"Yeah, of course." I said.

"Alright. Let me go change and we can go." He said. I nodded, we both walked to his drivers room, I waited outside while he changed.

"You ready?" He asked, coming out of his room.

"Yeah." I said. He grabbed my hand and we started walking to the paddock together.

"What did you think about the race?" He asked.

"It was good. Cool, I'd have to say." I said with a smiling.

"How was it being up front this time?"

"It was cool. I still can't believe how fast you guys go though-"

"Excuse me?" A little voice said behind us. We turn around to see a little blonde girl standing there, a small Ferrari shirt in one hand, a marker in the other.

"Are you Lewis?" She asked quietly.

"I sure am love." He said, crouching to her level. "What's your name?" He asked the girl. She looked up at her mom for an answer. Her mom nodded in approval with a smile.

"Blake." She said softly.

"Blake, what a lovely name you got there." He said, the girl giggled with delight.

"Can you please sign this for me, please." She said, holding out the shirt and the marker.

"Of course I will. Where would you like it?" He asked, and she pointed on the front. "Can I write a message there to?" He asked, the girl nodded.

He laid the shirt down on the surface of the floor and wrote "Blake, it was lovely to meet you today, best wishes in life." And then signed his name.

"Thank you! Thank you!" She said, giving him a big hug, which he accepted.

"Your welcome. Enjoy your day now." He said, waving to the girl and her mom, turning back to me.

"That was so sweet." I said.

"She was to cute to resist, what can I say." He said.

"Where do you want to eat?" He asked. I looked around at the few shops in the paddock.

"Hm, how about Chipotle?"

"Chipotle? What's that?" He asked.

"Oh my God. You've never had Chipotle?" I said, he shook his head. He grabbed my hand and we walked to the shop, walking inside.

"You go sit down. Let the expert pick." I said.

"Alright, just no onions! Can't have that again." He laughed. I smiled and went up to the counter.

"Hi, how can I help you? The women asked.

"Hi, can I get two burrito bowls, one with steak, white rice, black beans, corn, cheese and lettuce? And one with Guacamole, rice, black beans, corn, cheese and lettuce? " I ask.

"Of course." She said. I paid and she came out with them right away. I walk back to the table and give Lewis his.

"I'm scared." He said.

"Don't you drive over 200 and hour?" I asked. He nodded. "Trust me, you won't regret this. It's good." I said, taking a bite of mine. He slowly opened his, like it was ready to jump out at him.

"You didn't get any steak on it?" He asked

"I kind of guessed. And you get really grossed out when you feed Roscoe his food." I said, he laughed.

"Wow, you catch on quickly." He said, smiling. He took a bite of his food and melted in his chair.

"This is really good." He said, taking another bite.

"I know right." I said. We continued eating, talking about the race and the media.

"You ready?" He asked, getting up out of his chair.

"Yeah." I got up and walked out through the paddock.

"I have to stay behind and review a couple of things for work, do you want to stay?" He asked.

"Yeah, for sure." I said. We were walking around and talking for a while.

"What do you think about your first time in Monaco?" He asks, as we walk back to the team centers.

"It's cool. Fancy." I said.

"Yeah. That's why I moved here. It's definitely not like any other country." He said.

Lewis had sat down with a bunch of his team members, going over strategies for the race, reviewing the car, seeing what needs to be fixed and not fixed. It had been a couple of hours until he was finally let go, seeing as the circuit was closing soon.

We were walking out to his car, when he spoke up again.

"Sorry that took so long. Thought we had everything set up already." He said, opening my door.

"It's okay. I get it, they just want to make sure everything's good." I said, getting in.

"Do you want to come over to my place?" He asked, getting in he drivers side.

"Yeah sure, that sounds great." I said. He smiled and started to drive off to his house.

We pulled into the parking lot, walking through he lobby and up to the elevators. The elevator led into a hallway, which we walked down.

"Shit." I said, as I walked inside, his penthouse was huge, having an over look of Monaco as a whole.

"Sorry. I should have full warned you." He said, looking at me,

"No. It's cool. Just never expected it." I said, looking around from my spot. I then heard a like trot come from down the hallway, revealing Roscoe at the end, who came rushing over to me.

"Hi buddy." I said, bending down to pet him. "Jeez, I just saw him a week ago at work and he seemed so small." I said.

"He grows big, I'll tell you. I can barely lift him on the bed anymore." He laughed out.

Lewis went back to his bedroom while I continued to pet Roscoe. He eventually came back out, a leash in his hand. He came over and tied Roscoe to the leash.

"You want to come outside?" He asked. I nodded, going outside to his yard, it had a patch of grass at one end, a large pool at the other, and some tables to sit at. I walk over to the balcony by the door, and look out over the streets of Monaco.

"It's great isn't it?" He asks, leaning on the railing.

"Yeah. It's not all... grey and white and boring like the states." I said. He laughed. I turn around to see Roscoe playing with a squirrel, or trying to, but the squirrel has no interest.

"He's so cute." I said, looking at Roscoe.

"He is. he always tries to play with squirrels. I have yet to figure out why." He says with a smile.

"Do you want to go inside?" He asks.

"Yeah, sure." I said. Lewis grabbed Roscoe, taking him inside, me and Lewis sat on the couch, and he turned on the TV, turning on a show on the TBS channel.

He had sat down, and I had my legs across his lap, scrolling on my phone for a minute. I was on Instagram, scrolling through when I stopped at one particular article.

'Lewis Hamilton and mystery girl walking hand in hand in the Monaco Paddock. Could she be there for the fame and not the game?' The headline said, under it was a picture of me and Lewis holding hands.

I started to read through the comments more.

'She looks way to young for him.'

'What did she just graduate high school? 🤣'

'Imagine if she's there just for the fame 🙄'

'Why is she so young?'

'Gold Digger like button here ->' ❤️

'She seems sweet.'

'Definitely there for the fame and money.'

'Come on guys, she seems nice.'

'There's no way she actually like him.'

'Fake it 'till you make it I guess.'

I flip my phone over, so Lewis doesn't see it. And I just look at him watching the movie.

"What's wrong?" He asks, catching my gaze.

"Nothing." I said quietly, looking at the TV. There was a pause between us. The air felt suffocating by now.

"Actually." I said slowly. He looked at me. "Do you think... that were okay?" I ask quietly.

"What do you mean?" He asks, sitting up straighter.

"I mean. I just... I just don't want people to get the wrong ideas if they see us together." I paused, looking at him. "I don't want you to get in trouble with work." I said

"I'm not going to get in trouble. Honestly they could care less on what my private life in tales." He said. He then looked down on my phone that I was gripping tightly. "But I think we are great." He said.

"Why do you ask? Do you, not feel right with us?" He asks quietly.

"No, no I do. I just, want to be sure this isn't going to affect you." I said. "Or for people to think I'm not here for the right reasons." I said, mumbling.

He looks down at my phone again. Looking at me with a confused look.

"Can I see your phone?" He asks. I hesitate, but nod slowly. He gently takes my phone out of my hand. I wince at what he's about to see.

Hi eyes widen. He reads the small article. And then moves on to the comments. Slowly reading each one.

"I'm sorry." I said, my voice a whisper. He puts my phone down on the table slowly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You know the internet, they always try to get a rise out of people." He said, shaking his head.

"You know I would never be with you for the money. I'm not like that." I said.

"I know. I know your not." He said, grabbing my hand. "I knew what we were getting into when I first met you. I knew how old you were. How old I was. This isn't some mistake were making. But I also know that were compatible." He said. I nod along.

"We are. I just, want you to know that I'm not here for what they say either. I would never do that to you." I said.

"I know you wouldn't. Your not like nay other girl, here for the fame. I mean, you even said it. Your here for me. Your not like the other girls who want their picture taken, or to feel more involved in my life." He said, pausing and sighing.

"When I get out of the car after every race. You wait your turn. You wait until I'm done going to my team. You wait until I'm getting off of that podium. You wait until I'm done with the interviews. You wait until I'm done with he fans. Your not the type to want your picture taken on purpose. And at the end of it. You support me. Your there, even when I'm not racing. Your not throwing yourself into the fame. You always tell me 'it's your time, you should be celebrating' just, waiting for me." He said.

"Because I'm patient. I know how hard your life can get with all of this." I said.

"That's what I like. Your there for me. And I'm there for you. That's how I know we are real." He said. I smiled slightly. "Just please. Don't listen to them." He said.

"I love you." Is all I could get out.

"I love you to." He said.

"I mean it. No one's ever said anything like that to me before." I said smiling.

"And I meant every word I said." He said, pulling me in for a kiss.

"Trust me when I say I love you." He says against my lips.

"I do. I'll always love you." I said.

Hey loves! Hope you like this one! Comment to be added to the tag list!

#writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton f1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton ferrari #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 tumblr

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vigilskeep · 4 days ago

Text

summary: viago finds out something terrible has happened to sol de riva. lucanis has a horrible day in a horrible week. emmrich and teia are once again somehow the normal ones by comparison. viago/teia and strongly implied non-binary crow rook/lucanis. mentions of crow-typical upbringing. i cannot be held responsible for viago’s inner narration being mean. 2.5kish words

The news lands like a bad joke.

One of the Diamond’s private booths has been converted piecemeal into something like a study. Viago had needed to work, and a table was a table, so he defiles Teia’s temple to indulgence with paperwork. Maps and notes are pinned to the ebony panelling on the walls. Among his stacks of notes and contract dossiers, Viago sits on luxurious black velvet as he waits, expectantly, for the punchline.

Lucanis Dellamorte just stares at the ash stains on the table, the low lighting putting the Void itself in his hollow dark eyes. Next to him, the necromancer, Volkarin, has the nerve to look sympathetic.

‘What exactly do you mean,’ says Teia, beside him, ‘by trapped?’

‘We gather that Solas planned this from the beginning,’ says Volkarin. He is quick to abandon fact for theory. ‘He exchanged places with Rook. Capitalising on the weakness of the Veil after Ghilan’nain’s demise, and perhaps even more so, the emotional duress that Rook—’ He catches sight of Viago’s expression, and whatever he sees there brings that sentence to a merciful death. ‘Suffice it to say that Solas walks free, and in his place, Rook has been imprisoned in the Fade.’

Lucanis says, ‘They’re gone.’

‘So why,’ asks Viago, ‘are you here?’

The question startles Lucanis, enough so that he looks him in the face for the first time since he stepped out of the eluvian today. Volkarin looks politely baffled. Viago wants to pour acid over something and watch it bubble into nothingness.

‘You have lost Rook,’ he says, and the words are a poison that threatens to close his throat. He forces past, makes no allowance for the weakness. ‘And now you are at my door. You have your pack of experts. Your contacts. Your gateways across the north. Surely there is nothing more that the Crows can give you. Go and get them back.’

Lucanis covers his face with his hands.

Viago does not know what to make of the Demon he sees before him. In the months since his rescue from the Ossuary, he had looked every bit the part of a man returning, piece by piece, from death into life. Viago had marked his improvement as he would mark the progress of any antidote. Each time Sol’s people visited Treviso, they had returned Lucanis a little stronger. More wholeness to his body, more colour to his skin. The shadows under his eyes had never vanished but they had softened, and Viago had seen him smile more easily at Teia’s teasing or Sol’s jokes than he had thought the heir to House Dellamorte would ever be capable.

Today it was all undone. After nearly a week of silence from the Crossroads, no way to know what at Tearstone had gone awry, Lucanis had come through the eluvian as unkempt and ragged as the near-corpse that Sol had first pulled from the sea.

Viago’s first thought had been that the man was ill, even blighted. Then he had asked for a quiet word in a private room in the same broken tone that others have asked Viago for a final poisoned cup. As he explained what had happened on the island, words had often failed him, sentences withering into choked silence, leaving Volkarin to conclude them. He flinched and startled at nothing as Volkarin spoke, turning to face interruptions only he could hear. Now he hides his face.

Volkarin casts him a worried look and once again attempts to intervene. ‘Please understand, we are pursuing every avenue. I am not without hope.’

Viago had considered the necromancer a tolerable acquaintance, with indisputable knowledge and the ability to hold a worthwhile conversation on Blessed Age sculpture. The standards Viago has come to expect from friends of Sol’s are not high; Volkarin exceeds them all. Still: his intrusion in this room now is as unbearable as an intrusion under the skin. He is an interloper here among their business. He cannot understand what is at stake, or he would not be sat there on Teia’s velvet in his ridiculous coat, posture perfect and prim.

Teia puts a hand on Viago’s arm, probably because his lack of answer is uncivil. He can’t decide whether reproach or sympathy would be worse to see in her eyes, so he doesn’t look at her.

To Volkarin, she replies pleasantly, ‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Incidentally,’ says Volkarin, encouraged, ‘may I ask after Rook’s surviving blood relations?’

Viago nearly chokes on more disbelief than fury. As soon as he can get out the words, he snaps, ‘Already planning the funeral, Watcher?’ His tone is not under his own control, but Teia’s fingers tightening on his arm give him an idea what he sounds like.

‘Oh!’ says Volkarin, surprised. ‘Oh, no, dear me. It could not be further from my thoughts, I assure you. I was considering… avenues.’

He glances sidelong at Lucanis. Lucanis does not look up.

‘My colleagues and I,’ he continues, ‘have been pursuing what it would take to locate Rook within the Fade. It seems the natural first step. And if you’ll forgive the notion, it may be a matter of, ah, blood. Blood matching theirs would be ideal, truly. If anything could speed our progress…’

Teia leans forward into Viago’s field of vision. Her face is perfectly calm, taking as well as ever to the role of mediator, but forcing him to wonder what she’s thinking. She and Sol are friendly, but not close. Teia arrived in his life just as they were beginning to spiral out of it. ‘Please, speak freely,’ she says to Volkarin. ‘You’ll find the Crows very open-minded.’

The line of Lucanis’ shoulders tenses like he disagrees, but at least he stops hiding, if only to turn and speak to Volkarin. ‘Rook was not born into the Crows as I was,’ he says. ‘Their family exchanged them for safe passage into Antiva. Refugees, from the Fifth Blight. They will be long out of reach.’

The words are a cold sting of unwelcome surprise. Sol has trusted this man even with that.

‘Ah,’ says Volkarin, sounding disappointed and a little saddened, as though he knows what family is to Sol, or what ranks first among the hardships they have faced. ‘Well. No matter, merely a thought. There are other approaches.’

‘You have tried them,’ says Lucanis. ‘Tried them, and failed.’

It sounds very final.

For the first time, Volkarin’s professional veneer slips, and he is the one to look tired. How many attempts has he made? How desperate did they become before turning to Treviso? ‘My dear man,’ he says. ‘Please don’t give up hope. There is so much we don’t know.’

‘Which is why we are failing. Why we cannot get them back. Isn’t it?’

Volkarin has no answer. His mouth thins into a grim line.

Lucanis drags his fingers through his hair, the style more of a mess than ever. His hand trembles like an addict’s. It’s impossible to tell what state his demon is in. Sol’s quiet updates had petered into silence, which Viago had taken to mean the thing was dormant. Is it what’s dragging him into this stubborn despair?

‘Rook is—’ Lucanis permits himself to choke on the words where Viago had not. ‘Rook is gone. Rook has been gone for days. And all the while, everything they have fought for, everything we lost them and Harding and Bellara for… We have sat and watched as it slipped between our fingers. Solas is free. The Venatori triumph. Elgar’nan has taken the heart of the Imperium while we hide and pretend there is hope. That is why I am here.’

‘You want us to fight,’ surmises Teia.

Lucanis spreads his empty hands, gesturing helplessness. ‘I have no magic. I cannot waste time playing at rituals and guesswork; I cannot even try. I only have the Crows. The least I can do—all that I can do—’

Save the world, even if Sol is no longer in it. Give them up for dead, and finish their work.

‘House de Riva refuses,’ says Viago.

Lucanis stares at him.

Teia’s fingers tighten once again on his arm. He doesn’t have to look at her to know that this time, it is a wordless warning. This is the First Talon, she reminds him. You are speaking to the First Talon’s face.

Viago cannot bring himself to care. He ought to think this through, to weigh the pros and cons, but in his head there is only one cold answer. ‘Your contract,’ he says, ‘is with Sol. Your business is with Sol. If you want my knives in Minrathous, you will find Sol and bring them here to tell me so. Until then, whistle for another dog. Our house is not at your beck and call.’

Lucanis shakes his head like he cannot believe it. Viago has feared and respected the man by turns. Recently he has even had occasion to like him. Now he would pity him if he were not so disgusted.

Viago is not being sentimental. He does not work from wishes. When he slips poison into a drink, he doesn’t hope it will stop a heart; he knows it will. Evidence and experiment has already proved the unassailable truth. He does not hope that wherever Sol is, they are alive, and fighting to win. He knows it. He has been the one to send them into impossible odds, time and time again. They always come back with laughter still in their throat. They always think of something.

If Lucanis lacks faith, he does not know Sol at all, and he certainly does not deserve them.

The man turns to Teia next, with nothing more than pleading eyes. That is his trouble, Viago thinks. Lucanis is not his grandmother; he is not even his cousin. He does not terrify or flatter or cajole. He is First Talon, and he still looks to them for help, as if they are his friends.

Admittedly, it is an approach that may work on Teia. Even her immaculate mask has fallen away; the slightest of furrows has formed between her brows, and her nails tap, distracted and discordant, on the table. She’s fond of Lucanis. Fonder still of Caterina, the spectre looming behind him. To dismiss Lucanis at his first command will be costly in every imaginable way. He would not ask her to do it.

‘Ay,’ she mutters. ‘What a mess.’

‘Teia, please,’ says Lucanis.

She grimaces. ‘House Cantori,’ she says, both sorry and unflinching, ‘stands with House de Riva, in this matter.’

The conversation is over very quickly after that.

The First Talon says little more. He recoils into himself like a wounded thing into its den, dead-eyed and quiet. Volkarin fills the silence. They are planning another attempt later today, he says. They are consulting Dalish allies for whom crossing the Veil is a regular professional hazard. They are reaching out to Kal-Sharok about pure lyrium. He is not without hope.

Viago waits until Lucanis is gone—a shadow crossing the rooftops, headed to the Dellamortes’ lair—and stops Volkarin before he can go for the eluvian. The necromancer looks at him, curious, politely bemused.

This is a terrible idea. ‘Rook was exposed to countless toxins, for immunisation,’ he says. ‘All through their training. I cannot get you their family, but I can get you blood that runs with all the same poison. Exactly the same. Would that be useful?’

Volkarin tilts his head thoughtfully, as if to look at the idea at a better angle. Viago is almost certain he is not just humouring him. ‘A fascinating proposition,’ he says. ‘It is rather pushing the bounds of the theory, but on occasion, the Fade quite takes to such bending of the rules… How many Crows would have been treated with precisely the same combination?’

Treated is a kind word. There is no place in it for coaxing Sol, a child then, to drink even when they were sobbing. There is no place in it for the long nights when he thought they might die before dawn. What Viago did to them was not medicine. It was necessary. Before he was Talon, he was a threat to a Talon, liable at any moment to be struck down. Sol had thrown their lot in with him from the start, and he had safeguarded them both by all the methods he knew.

He smiles, humourless, and admits, ‘Only one.’

‘Only—? Ah.’ It passes over Volkarin’s face clearly: the realisation, then the understanding, then the concern. ‘It shouldn’t be a life-threatening exchange, merely to locate them. It would, however, be arduous.’

‘We Crows tend towards arduous pursuits.’

Volkarin shakes his head, though it’s thoughtful, not a refusal. ‘I would commend you for it,’ he says. ‘I would ask you to come with us to the Lighthouse, to begin as soon as possible.’ His mouth twists with rueful humour. ‘And I would request that you explain the matter of my spilling your blood to our friend, upon their return.’

He agrees to those terms.

Whether it is optimism or pessimism, Viago decides that Sol’s mages at the Lighthouse will spend enough time mired in indecision about method for him to get some work done while he waits. He returns to the private booth to gather the most urgent papers. A few contract reports, too. They’re predictable—failures don’t come back to make reports—but he could stand to see some good news.

Teia’s still in the room. She’s sprawled inelegantly along the seating, one leg drawn up, a hand over her eyes as if to shade them from the dim, sultry casino lights. She lifts the hand a little to look at what he’s doing, then sits up, brows raised, and says, ‘Going somewhere?’

He explains about the blood.

When he’s finished, she reaches for his splayed collar and pulls him down to bring his lips to hers. He has to bend nearly double. After the kiss ends, she does not let him go. She presses her forehead to his and they breathe together.

‘I wish I could at least go with you, Vi,’ she says, sounding miserable.

A year ago, faced with such earnestness from her, he would not have had the heart to believe it. Five years ago, he would have been too busy flushing and stammering just to have her beneath him like this. Her tight-fitting combat leathers would have driven him to distraction. Now they only fail to hide how thin she’s become, and remind him how long it’s been since her last chance to drop the armour. He still remembers the delight on her face when she showed off new dresses, a transformation every day, each more unbelievable than the last. Will that come back, when these days are over? He wants to see her wear colours again.

Uselessly, he says, ‘Someone has to hold the fort.’

‘I know,’ she grumbles. With a sigh, she lets him go.

He stands straight, feeling bereft.

‘Gods in Minrathous,’ she mutters. The idea of the gods never sits easy with Teia. She says she has settled it in her mind, and then picks at it, like a scab. ‘Well, it would have been a sight to see.’

‘We’ll see it,’ he tells her. ‘Keep both our houses ready to move.’

Teia smiles. ‘Of course. We’ll go to war once our Sol is safe and sound, and you’ve finished shouting at them for all this trouble.’

Viago smiles back, just a little. He’s sure.

He has to be.

#sol de riva #mortifying fucking ordeal. okay. please say nice things my friends

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 7 months ago

Note

Just reader inviting Bucky to go play paintball, and Bucky agreeing in order to get his therapist off of his back. He starts bragging that he’s actually an expert marksman (as has been notoriously documented), but his behavior would wind up being equivalent to Icarus building a spaceship to the sun.

Bucky comes back drenched in paint while the reader’s clothing is perfectly intact. That doesn’t stop Bucky from getting paint all over her in other ways, though.

Bucky bragging about being an expert marksman

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky brags about being an expert marksman.

Warnings: implied Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Bucky.” Bucky looked up from the book he was reading when you said his name. “Me, you, and paintball. Let’s go.” You say, grabbing your car keys.

“I don’t heard a please in any of those words.” Bucky said teasingly.

“Will you please go play paintball with me?” You asked.

“That’s more like it, doll face.” He said. “And yes, I would love to play paintball with you.” He says, bookmarking the page he’s on in the book.

Bucky put his book on the coffee table and stood up from the couch. He walked over to you and snatched your car keys from your hand.

“I’m driving.” He said.

You playfully rolled your eyes at the Super Soldier before following him out to your car.

“I should warn you, I’m an expert marksman.” He says, starting the car.

“I’m well aware of your marksmanship, Sergeant.” You say with a bit of sass in your voice.

“I’m just saying, be prepared to be covered in paint when we’re done paintballing.” He grins.

“I’ll hold you to that, Barnes.” You say.

While you and Bucky were playing paintball, he was acting like he was going to war. That’s how competitive he’s being right now. Little does he know that you can be competitive too.

You poked your head out of the side of the wall to see Bucky looking for you so he can shoot a paintball at you. You quietly laid down on your stomach and slowly crawled to the side of the wall. You aimed your paint gun at Bucky and shot a paintball at him, hitting hit shoulder. Bucky was caught off guard and looked down to see you laying on your stomach with a mischievous grin on your face.

“You just started a war with an expert marksman, doll face.” Bucky says.

“Bring it on, Sergeant.” You say.

Bucky shot a paintball at you after you said that. You squeaked and quickly rolled out of the away of his aim. The paintball missed you. You saw another spot where you could hide. You stood up and poked your head out from behind the wall to see where Bucky was. The coast was clear… or so you thought.

“Turn around.” He says.

You slowly turned around to see Bucky standing at least a foot away from you with a mischievous grin on his face. You shot a couple paintballs at him before he could shoot any at you.

“Damn it, doll!” Bucky shouts, looking down at his shirt.

“You know, you’re all talk for an expert marksman, Barnes.” You say.

You giggled as Bucky squinted his eyes at you before a mischievous smirk grew on his lips.

“I’d run if I were you.” He says, putting his finger on the trigger of the paintball gun and aimed it at you.

You squealed and ran as Bucky shot a paintball at you. You dodged it and found a hiding spot.

A little over an hour later, you and Bucky ran out of paintballs. Bucky managed to shoot you with a couple a paintballs. He was covered in paint. Meaning, his shirt was soaked with paint and there was some on his jeans and his jacket.

“So much for being an expert marksman.” You giggled.

“I am an expert marksman.” Bucky replies, narrowing his eyes at you.

“You can’t be an expert marksman if you’re covered in paint, Bucky.” You giggled again.

Bucky continued to narrow his eyes at you. Then a mischievous grin grew on his face. You know that look all too well. That’s when you know he’s up to something. He started walking towards you. You walked backwards.

“Bucky…” You walked backwards till your back touched your car. “Don’t even think about it.” You warned.

“Oh, I’m thinking about it, babydoll.” Bucky says lowly.

Your breathing got heavy when Bucky put his hands on your waist. Before you could protest, he pulled you against his body, paint getting on your clothes. Then he kissed you. Your hands grasped onto his paint soaked t-shirt. You couldn’t care less about the paint getting on your clothes now.

“How about we get even more messy in the backseat?” He suggests, moving his lips down to your neck.

“Yes please!” You breathed. “Take me, Bucky!” You begged.

“Oh, I will, doll face.” He almost whispers. “I’m stopping till you’re begging for more.” He said, opening the car door to the backseat. “You’ll see how much of an expert marksman I really am. Just in a different way.” He says lowly.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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vbecker10 · 1 month ago

Note

Hiii I was thinking an angst thing about loki accidentally hurting reader with his magic? Or something similar? Have a good day!!

Please Forgive Me

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: As an analyst, you're not even supposed to go on missions but when Fury & Steve decide you are needed in the field, Loki accidently volunteers to train you. Despite your best efforts, your crush on the God of Mischief grows and when he finally tells you that you're ready to go with the team, you're filled with nervous excitement. Loki makes you promise you'll stay close to him but his desire to protect you from danger leads to you being injured by his magic.

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in this request! I love a good angst fic! Sorry it took so long for me to write it. It also got away from me a little (a whole lot actually) and I made it about three times as long as I meant to. I hope you like it! 💚

"Congratulations captain, this might be the most absurd plan you have ever come up with," Loki says with an eye roll as he leans back in his chair across from you.

You feel yourself shrinking, trying to be invisible as you sit between Natasha and Clint. Your eyes focus on your open laptop. The notes you had been taking stop mid sentence, leaving off exactly where Captain Rogers announced you were expected to join the team on the next mission. There's no way I should be doing this. I honestly don't think I've ever heard a worse idea in my entire life. I know it and so does the God of Mischief, you keep your anxious thoughts to yourself.

"None of us can access the computers as quickly as Y/N can. And that's not the only issue, one misstep and all the data on those hard drives will be wiped, we can't risk that," Natasha explains calmly.

"Nat's right, we can't complete this mission without Y/N," Clint says, the conversation continues as if you're not in the room and you wish you weren't. "Normally we could just mirror the drives or physically remove them but we can't, they need to be accessed on site."

You bite your lip, trying to find a flaw in their assessment of the situation but you can't find any. This is what I get for being SHIELD's top expert in Hydra's overly complicated computer system. I thought it was a good thing when I figured out how to extract files without triggering their firewalls but it seems like it's working against me now, you think. I guess my boss was right, I really should have gotten around to teaching other analysts to do this too because now they're going to send me to a freaking Hydra base in the middle of nowhere. You sink further down in your chair and debate escaping from the conference room, your eyes drifting towards the door. There's no way I'd make it anyways, every single person in here is faster than I am, you give up on that idea quickly.

"What's your plan then?" Steve asks Loki, folding his arms across his chest.

Your attention is now completely focused on Loki, curious to hear if he actually has a plan but he's still staring down Steve. The Asgardian doesn't look in your direction once, almost at if he doesn't realize your sitting directly across from him. "My plan remains the same, leave her here so she doesn't get herself killed," Loki says and you're quick to note that there's no concern in his tone.

He's not worried for my safety, he's simply stating a fact. I've never been in the field before, never held a gun, never learned to fight and why would I need to? I spend my days as far away from danger as possible, tucked behind a desk in my office on the 73rd floor, you think.

"She won't get killed," Steve says matter of factly but you're not sure you believe him anymore than the god does.

"And you can guarantee her safety?" Loki asks again without even a hint of worry. "You cannot simply send a civilian into an active Hydra base and assume they will not be injured or worse. She needs training-"

His words are cut off suddenly by director Fury who is sitting at the opposite end of the oval table. "That's an excellent idea your highness," he says with a sarcastic tone that makes you nervous and Loki wary.

"What is?" the younger Asgardian furrows his brow and looks at the director. You sit up straighter in your seat, unsure if Fury is on your side or not.

"You're right, Y/N needs field training," he says and you look from Fury back to Loki quickly as your eyes widen when you realize what he means. "You have one month to get her ready, we can postpone the mission until then."

"Wait!" Loki stands in response, ready to argue. "That is not what I was suggesting-"

"This sounds exactly like what you were insisting on," Thor smiles as he stands from his seat next to Loki, patting his younger brother on the back.

"I was not offering to do it myself," Loki argues, pulling away from his touch.

"I think you were," Natasha smirks.

"No, this is absurd," Loki groans. "I do not have time for this mortal-"

"Then make time," Fury says in a tone that leaves the god no room for further arguing.

Loki sighs deeply in defeat as he sits back down, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes drop to his coffee mug. After a brief moment of silence, he lifts his head and looks directly at you for the first time since the meeting began. "Seven o'clock in the East training room tomorrow morning," he states. You nod and he adds sternly, "Do not be late Y/L/N."

(The next morning - evaluation day)

You walk quickly down the hall towards the training room Loki reserved for you this morning having no idea what to expect. You're almost ten minutes early but you could barely sleep and you're terrified of how Loki might react if you are even a few minutes late. Pushing open the heavy metal door, you pause when you see Loki leaning against a nearby wall reading a thick leather bound book.

"Oh, good morning," you say. You didn't think he'd already be here and you attempt to sound cheerful and not overwhelmingly nervous.

The prince looks at you silently, checks his watch then nods seemingly in approval of your timing. The book vanishes into a haze of green mist and he takes a step towards you. "It's good to see you can tell time at the very least Y/L/N," Loki says.

"Y/N is fine," you tell him, trying to ignore what might be the closest thing to a compliment you get from him today.

He looks at you for a moment and you can't read his reaction to you at all. Today is going to be the longest day of my life, you think as you follow him to the center of the empty room.

"Wow," you mumble, you've never seen the training rooms before but you heard they held some of the most impressive technology in the Tower. The large space is covered in what appears to be simple white tiles, the floor, the walls and even the ceiling. The holograms created by the computer program can mimic any setting or environment, even weather conditions. Your eyes travel up to the high ceiling and you bump into Loki after not realizing he stopped walking.

He lets out a deep sigh in annoyance and you apologize, "I'm sorry."

"After you complete the simulations today, I will determine how many times a week we will need to meet and how long the training sessions will be," he says without acknowledging your apology.

You bite your lip anxiously, "So today is a test?"

"Yes, I need to evaluate your current abilities," Loki confirms.

"In that case, I have a really bad feeling we're going to be spending a lot of time together," you mumble when he walks towards the door leading to a side room for observation.

"As do I Y/L/N," he agrees even though you thought he was too far away to hear you. The God of Mischief goes into the observation room and you watch him through the glass that separates you. He takes a seat at the desk and turns on the computers, the lights around you dimming slowly.

"Hey, before we start I just wanted to say thanks," you say and Loki lifts his head, looking at you through the window. "I know you didn't really volunteer but you were the only one who seemed... concerned," you know that's not the right word but it's all you can think of at the moment, "about me going on the mission."

"The super soldier sometimes forgets how weak humans truly are," Loki responds, his voice coming through the speakers into the room.

"Yeah... well," you shrug. "Thanks anyway, I don't actually want to die out there," you laugh awkwardly.

Loki's quiet and you sigh, not expecting him to respond but after a few seconds he says, "You are welcome Y/N."

You smile, hoping the fact that he called you by your first name means he might be warming up to you just a tiny bit. Only a second later, the lights go out completely, your heart suddenly racing as you realize the evaluation has started and you have no idea what's going to happen.

(One month later)

You duck low as a series of bullets fly towards you, hitting the car you're using as cover. Swearing under your breath, you sit up, pressing your back against the car then stand as you turn, returning fire. Each bullet hits it's mark, taking out all three Hydra soldiers and clearing your path. You stay low, your eyes scanning the debris that litters the street as you make your way quickly around the bullet riddled car. You spot another soldier just as he steps out from behind an overturned bus. You fire first, taking him out easily then you run towards the brick building across the street and head through the open door.

As soon as you step over the threshold you squint, shielding your eyes with your hand as everything around you becomes almost blindingly white. The sounds of the harsh wind and distant sirens vanish as suddenly as the unpleasant smells of smoke and blood. You lower your hand, smiling as the training program is fully turned off and Loki walks towards you.

"So... how did I do?" you ask, hopeful as always to have his approval after a training session.

"Very well, darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

You can't help but blush at the pet name he started using just a few days ago. The first time the annoyingly handsome God called you darling wasn't even in the training room. You were sure you misheard him say 'have a good evening darling' when you stopped by his office briefly with a question but he continued to use the pet name each time he saw you after that.

"I have good news," he tells you while he follows you to get your water. "I think you are officially ready to join the team on the mission."

You take a long drink of water then look at him stunned. "Really?" you ask excitedly.

"You passed every assessment I have thrown at you for the last week," he confirms with a proud smile. "I am no longer worried you will get yourself killed," he laughs a little.

You smile wide, "You know what that means right?"

He sighs deeply. "You truly mean to hold me to that?" he asks, sounding annoyed by the bet you insisted on two weeks ago but you know him better than that, or at least you hope you do.

"Aww don't pretend like you're not super happy about this," you laugh and hold your arms out wide. "You agreed, if I passed your silly little evaluation I got a hug."

"It is not silly," Loki says and you continue to smile at him, your arms still open. "Fine," he caves as he walks up to you, "but this stays between us."

You can barely contain your excitement when he steps close to you and accepts your hug. You had brought up the deal as a joke after watching Loki's pained reaction to Thor trying to give him a hug. You never honestly expected Loki to agree to it and you definitely didn't think he'd actually follow through with it. Now that the moment is finally here, you really don't want him to let go any time soon because you know you might never get another hug.

"This is nice," you tell him, resting your head on his chest as his arms close comfortably around you.

He doesn't respond but you can tell by the way he breaths deeply that he doesn't hate this type of affection as much as he claims to. After much longer than you expected, Loki finally clears his throat and let's go of you. "That is enough of that," he steps away from you, his eyes lowered as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles from his black dress shirt. You watch him closely and when he looks up, you can see the smile he's fighting to hide.

"When do you think the mission will be?" you decide not to tell Loki that hug was better than you had imagined.

"I will let Fury and Rogers know you are ready at our afternoon briefing," he says. "We could be sent out as early as tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you ask, your nerves creeping in suddenly. Surviving the training was one thing but actually going on a mission is still a scary thought.

"You will be fine darling," Loki reassures you. "I would never tell the director you were ready if you were not."

"Cause you're worried about me dying," you tease, both of you knowing Loki is in this position because he pretended to be concerned for your safety.

He rolls his eyes at you, "I will neither confirm nor deny that I do not wish for you to die while on the mission."

You giggle, "You always say the sweetest things."

Loki laughs at that, shaking his head lightly as he walks towards the door. You follow closely and pick up your gym bag. He opens the door for you and just before you step into the hallway you say, "I really hope I don't disappoint you when we do finally get to the base."

"You couldn't possibly disappoint me darling," Loki smiles warmly at you.

"That's not what you said a few weeks ago," you remind him, trying not to focus on how much larger his smirk gets when he sees you blush.

"I have been known to be wrong once or twice in the last thousand years," he admits as he steps out into the empty hallway. "But that stays between us."

"Like the hug?" you ask with a giggle.

"What hug?" Loki says before turning to walk in the opposite direction you need to go in.

(Three days later)

You take a deep breath as the target location comes into view, the jet's radar beeping to alert everyone that you're entering the drop zone. Loki sits next to you, squeezing your hand gently, sensing your anxiety rising. He leans close so the others can't hear and whispers, "You are going to be fine. Stay close to me darling."

You nod, thinking back to Loki's promise this morning after the final briefing for the mission. He told you he would keep you safe and in return, he made you promise to stay near him. A few weeks ago, you never would have believed Loki's promise but today you trust him completely.

The pilot gives everyone the signal to get ready and you stand up, following the prince as he walks to the back of the jet. The door opens and a rush of cold wind whistles through the jet. You take a step backwards, your back bumping into Loki's chest as you watch Steve, Natasha and Clint jump to the ground far below.

Loki gently puts his hands on your arms, turning you so you are facing him without a word. There's a small smile on his face when he tugs on the straps of the bag containing your parachute, tightening them slightly then his eyes scan your uniform and belt to make sure all of your gear is in place.

"Just like we practiced darling," he smiles encouragingly, his hand resting lightly on your cheek so you are looking directly at him. "Then wait for me so we can go to the computer lab together," he reminds you again. For a brief moment, you think Loki might lean down and kiss you but instead you tell yourself now isn't the time for your crush on him to surface. He lowers his hand and you can't help but instantly miss his touch.

With another deep breath, you smile at him and nod your head. "I've got this," you say, your nerves calming as you become more confident. You've been working so hard to get to this point and it's finally here. In the last three years of working for SHIELD, you never once had a desire to be in the field but now that you're here, you want to prove to yourself and everyone else that you can do more than just sit behind a desk.

There's another reason you need this mission to go well, you want to make Loki proud of you. He spent so much time with you over the last month, helping you in session after session. Coming in early before his meetings, staying late at night, finding time on the weekends to make sure you were as ready as possible. The prince even made his own deal with you this morning, he said you could have another hug after the mission and that was all the motivation you really needed.

"Yes you do," he agrees, taking a step away from the door. "Ladies first," he chuckles and you laugh, another bit of tension leaving your body.

You step up to the open door, look at Loki briefly over your shoulder and jump from the jet exactly like he had instructed you to.

(Fifteen minutes later)

You pull the chair out quicky and sit behind the steel desk while Loki stands guard at the door that leads from the main hallway into the lab. There is a second door behind you that leads to a much smaller corridor and the prince keeps his eye on it while you get to work.

"I need about fifteen minutes," you tell the team over the comms as the system reboots.

"Try to do it in ten," Steve responds and you look up in time to see Loki roll his eyes at the sound of the captain's voice.

You fight to hold back a smile. Why does he have to be so cute when he's annoyed, you think. The computer beeps as you type in a command then insert the USB to begin pulling data off the servers.

"It will take as long as it takes captain," the God of Mischief answers for you, his tone firm yet he gives you a smile when your eyes met before you look at the screens again.

You continue to copy file after file to the USB as quickly as you can for the next few minutes. The distant sound of gunfire from above keeps you vaguely aware of where the rest of the team is. Their goal is to distract the soldiers for as long as possible while you finish your work which is thankfully almost done. "Two more minutes," you inform the team over the comms, "just a few more-"

The door behind you slams open, your heart pounds rapidly in your chest as your hand moves to the empty holster on your belt. The God of Mischief yells something but you don't hear the words, rising to your feet to reach for your gun across the desk. You had removed it from your belt and placed it there before crawling underneath the desk to move a few cables right after you arrived. As soon as you are on your feet with your hand on the gun, you see the soldiers rush into the room but in an instant their faces fill with fear and you look towards Loki.

Turning your head, all you see is a bright flash of green rushing towards you as Loki's seider reaches across the room and slams into you.

(Later that night)

You groan and open your eyes slowly, squinting at the sudden brightness around you. A faint beeping in time with your heartbeat fills the room as everything comes into focus after blinking a few times. Pale blue walls surround you, the smell of antiseptic and sanitizer makes you scrunch your nose then it hits you. Oh crap, I'm in the infirmary, you realize suddenly.

"Welcome back," says a friendly voice to your left and you feel the light tug of an IV in your arm when you shift on the bed. You turn your head to face the voice but the quick movement makes you dizzy and you close your eyes again with another groan. "I'll get the doctor, try not to move too fast," the nurse tells you.

Breathing slowly, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep until the door opens and closes again. You open your eyes, forcing yourself to stay awake, you're exhausted but you need to know what happened.

"Hi Y/N, I'm Dr. Palmer," she says, looking up from her tablet. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," you mumble honestly. Your whole body is sore as you try to sit up a little in the bed. When you put your hands down on either side of you for leverage you look down and see a white cast on your left wrist then look up at the doctor.

"I'm sure it does," she says, looking back down at the tablet to skim your records. "Seems like you were thrown pretty far."

"Thrown?" you ask, rubbing your temple gently when you feel a bit of gauze and wince.

"Careful," she reaches out to lower your hand away from your injury. "I'm not surprised you don't remember the incident."

"The incident?" you repeat her, looking down at your hands as you think and suddenly remember seeing a flash of green light before everything went black. "Loki?" you ask, looking up quickly which causes you to become dizzy and close your eyes again until the room stops spinning.

She waits for you to look at her again before answering. "According to the field report, the room was breached by Hydra soldiers and Loki failed to make sure you were out of the way. He threw the soldiers and you into the concrete wall at the far end of the lab."

You listen to her in silence, pieces of your memory slowly returning. The soldiers were coming... I tried to reach for my gun... no, I had gotten it, I remember feeling the metal grip in my hand... Loki yelled something at me... Loki's magic. You close your eyes tight, pushing away the fear that surfaces with the memory of seeing his seider spreading towards you so fast there was no time to react.

"I remember bits and pieces," you clear your throat and look up at Dr Palmer.

"You're memory will most likely return slowly over the next few days. You have a mild concussion, some bruises, a fractured wrist and several stitches," the doctor informs you. "You'll need to stay here tonight so we can keep an eye on you but you should be able to go home tomorrow. I want you to rest for the next week, then you should be able to return to work."

"Thanks," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the last few minutes of the mission you remember.

Dr. Palmer watches you quietly for a moment then pats your leg gently to get your attention, "Get some rest Y/N. I told the team they can visit you in the morning before you're discharged."

"Thanks," you respond again, barely listening to her. She turns and walks out of the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your mind wanders back to when you first began training with Loki and you wonder if his first impression of you was right, you never should have been in the field.

(One month ago - first day of training)

You slam to the floor hard on your side, groaning in pain as the bright lights come back on and the room resets. "Shit," you mumble when you hear the observation door opening fast enough for it to hit the wall. It's the fourth time in a row you've failed at the same point in the simulation and you don't need Loki to tell you this isn't a good start to your training.

Loki's footsteps are not rushed but the heaviness of his leather boots on the tiles makes you get off the floor much faster than your body wants to. "I'm trying," you say in your defense before he utters a word.

"Not hard enough it seems," he counters in a harsh tone. "Honestly, am I wasting my time Y/L/N?"

You sigh at Loki's use of your last name, the little bit of progress you were making with him yesterday was gone as soon as you failed the simulation the first time. "No," you say, folding your arms over your chest despite how sore your elbow is. "I can do this I-"

"Possibly, if we had several months," he cuts you off, "but we have only one."

"I know," you look at the ground near where you had fallen most recently.

"As heartless as the team thinks I am, I do not actually wish for you to get killed on this mission," Loki says and you look up at him immediately. His expression is stern but his voice softens just enough for you to believe his concern for you might be real. "If you are not capable of succeeding, I suggest we put an end to this now. I do not enjoy watching you continually hurt yourself," he gestures to the bruise already forming on your cheek from a previous fall.

"I can do this, Loki," you tell him, more insistently this time. Sometime between 3 and 4 this morning you decided you were going to get this right no matter what. Your newfound determination was based mostly on your fear of failing but you were also desperate to prove Loki wrong. "Let me try it one more time," you bargain with the prince. "If I don't die in the simulation this time, you keep training me."

"And when you do die?" he asks, already expecting you to fail a fifth time.

"Then you give up on me," you tell him with a shrug. "Tell the director you were right and I'm not good enough to go out in the field."

"Very well," Loki easily agrees to your terms, turning to walk back towards the observation room. You wait for him to wish you good luck or tell you he does want you to succeed but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he simply closes the door to the observation room, takes a seat at the controls and turns the simulation back on.

(Present - the next afternoon)

A knock on the door of the small room sends a wave of hope through you, your heart telling you Loki is finally here to visit you. You know the prince won't come but you can't stop yourself from watching the door as your excitement rises slightly. You had a lot of free time today and you spent most of it trying to figure out why Loki is the only one who hasn't visited yet.

Three potential reasons stick with you, each more upsetting than the last. Your first thought is that Loki is so disappointed in you and he doesn't even want to speak to you. The second idea you reasoned out is that he is too busy gloating and telling the team he was right about you not being capable of succeeding in the field. The third idea is the most hurtful but it's the one you feel is more likely then the others. Loki isn't going to visit because he never actually cared if you got hurt. Calling you darling and seeming like he enjoyed being with you was just an act by the trickster god to get you to train harder, pushing you through pain and exhaustion.

"Hi Y/N," Thor smiles at you warmly when he opens the door and sees you standing by the bed, picking up the bag with your belongings the nurse brought it. "Glad to see you back on your feet so quickly."

"Thanks," you give him the same forced smile you gave Steve, Natasha and Clint when they visited earlier. The three of them stopped by only briefly but it was long enough to reassure them that you were fine. You honestly didn't mind them only staying for a few minutes, you were still tired and it was hard to pretend you weren't let down that Loki wasn't with them.

"Dr. Palmer said I'm doing better than expected so she discharged me," you tell him then walk towards the door.

"Heading home?" he asks, holding the door open for you.

"Yeah, I'll be back in a week," you tell him as you walk through the infirmary together. "Oh, actually I should probably stop by Steve's office before I leave right? I didn't get to write up my report on the mission, obviously, but I can do it from home."

"He already filed the case notes, I just came from the debriefing," Thor informs you.

"Wait, how?" you ask when he opens the door to the infirmary that leads back to the main building. "I thought he needed a report from everyone who was in the field."

"Loki explained what happened," he says, not looking at you as you make your way down the hallway. He sighs, "My brother is on probation again and he's lucky it's only three weeks. Tony was pushing for longer but-"

"Why is he on probation?" you stop walking.

"Because of what happened," Thor says as if that should be obvious. He gestures to your broken wrist, "He could have killed you."

"It wasn't his fault," you defend Loki without even thinking.

"He said it was," Thor starts walking slowly again and you stay with him. "We listened to the recordings of your comms, we could hear Loki yell for you to get down and only a few seconds later we heard him attack the Hydra soldiers and unfortunately you as well. Even if he had not admitted to being at fault, it's clear he did not make sure you were out of harms way before unleashing his magic."

"But that's not what happened," you grab his arm to stop him from walking towards the elevators again and he gives you a confused look. "I heard Loki say something right after the door slammed open but I was distracted looking for my gun. I got up to get it-"

Thor shakes his head, "You got up? You weren't already standing between him and the soldiers?"

"No, I was sitting. I stood up after the door opened, after he yelled," you explain, both of you heading to the elevators.

"And he knew that?" Thor asks, pushing the button on the wall.

"Yeah, he was literally looking right at me when they broke into the room," you tell him remembering the smile Loki gave you when you told them you were almost done. "Steve told me I was supposed to listen to Loki and instead of getting down like he said, I stood up. I got right in the path of his magic."

"Why would he lie about that?" Thor asks when you both get in the waiting elevator, you shrug in response. "This is truly odd. My brother rarely accepts blame for things he has been caught doing," he says, pushing the button to take you down. "I do not understand why he would insist this was his fault if what you say is true."

"I don't know why either but I'm going to ask him," you look up at Thor.

"He is in his room," Thor tells you. "He did not want to speak to me or anyone else after the meeting, I doubt he will come out anytime soon."

"How do I get there?" you've never been to the Avenger's quarters before and you don't want to wander around until you find him.

Thor smiles as he gestures towards the elevator panel and it's then you realize he didn't push the button for the ground floor like you had assumed. "I had a feeling you would want to speak with him," he says.

You walk down the hall, counting doors until you get to the one Thor told you belongs to his brother. Before you can lose your nerve, you clear your throat and you knock loudly. Loki opens the door a moment later and stares at you in silence, clearly not expecting you to have been the one knocking.

"Y/N, what are-" he tries to form a sentence but it dies off when you walk past him into his room without saying a word. He stands at the door watching you take a seat on his couch with a mixture of confusion and anxiousness. Loki closes the door but remains near it, almost as if he's afraid to come too close to you.

"Are you okay?" he asks when you still don't speak. His eyes focus on your broken wrist for a long moment before he sees the gauze covering the stitches on your temple.

"I'm fine," you respond vaguely then ask him what you really want to know. "Why did you lie about what happened?"

"I did not lie, Y/N," he says, still standing by the door. His eyes fall from yours to a space on the floor between you. "I hurt you, I should be help accountable for my actions."

"You know it wasn't your fault," you tell him and he shakes his head. "I wasn't standing in between you and the soldiers until after you warned me, I know you remember that."

"The specifics do not matter," Loki insists.

"Why not?" you ask, standing as you get annoyed with his refusal to answer your questions openly. "Do you think you need to take all the blame because you're the one who said I was ready for the mission? Or do you think you're helping me by trying to hide how stupid of a mistake I made?"

"Please, let it go," the prince says, his back almost against the door as you take a step towards him.

"Let it go, seriously? Loki, they put on probation because we miscommunicated. I can just tell Fury and Steve the truth and then you won't be in trouble," you suggest, feeling guilty that he's been punished.

"It is not necessary," the God shakes his head with no explanation which only annoys you more.

"Loki," you try again, taking a few more steps in his direction. "You just got off probation last year. You shouldn't be back on it cause of-"

"Just stop," his voice is stern you look at him, stunned into silence. He runs his fingers through his long hair and you bite your lip, thinking it was a mistake to come here. "I am sorry I just... Y/N, I have bigger concerns right now than my status on the team. I do not care about the probation."

"What's a bigger concern?" you ask, he finally moves away from the wall, closing the distance between you.

His eyes fall to your cast briefly then he looks into your eyes. Loki sighs, "You are."

"Me?" the word leaves your mouth quickly in disbelief. "If you were so worried, why didn't you visit me? Everyone else did, even Thor came."

"I wanted to but I honestly thought I would be the last person you wanted to see," he gives you an answer that never even crossed your mind.

"Loki, you were the only one I wanted to see," you tell him and now it's the god's turn to look at you in disbelief. You reach out and take his hand, "Every time the door opened, I hoped it was you. I just wanted to see you."

He squeezes your hand gently, "Darling, I am sorry I did not visit."

You can't help but smile a little when he calls you darling. "It's okay," you say but he shakes his head.

"None of this is okay," Loki let's go of your hand then strokes your cheek lightly. "Y/N, I am so sorry for hurting you. I promised to keep you protect you, to keep you safe while we were in the field and I failed to do so, I am the reason you are injured. I can not apologize enough darling. Please forgive me."

"I know you didn't hurt me on purpose," you put your hand over his. "And I promise, I really am okay. It's just a broken wrist and a few stitches, it's not a big deal," you decide to leave out the mild concussion to not make him feel worse. "You can ask Dr. Palmer if you don't believe me," you smile more sincerely than you have all day.

You watch him finally relax as his hand lowers and he smiles a little, "I believe you."

"Good," you sound more excited than you meant to and he chuckles lightly. "And before I forget, you owe me something and I plan on collecting."

"What do I owe you?" he furrows his brow.

"A hug," you smile wider. "You said I could have another one after the mission."

His expression changes quickly, a smile replacing his confusion. "A debt I am more than happy to pay," he says and you giggle.

You don't waste a second, pressing your body against his as you wrap your arms around him tightly. Your cheek rests on his chest and you close your eyes as you relax. He's quiet, one of his hands holding you around your lower back while his other hand moves slowly up and down your back. After a few seconds, you feel him press his lips to the top of your head lightly and blush instantly.

You lean back just enough to look up at him and he smiles but you can almost feel his sudden nervousness. Without thinking, you move and kiss him lightly but as soon as you feel his lips against yours, your body fills with panic. You try to pull away from the hug completely but Loki holds you in place against his body.

"I'm sorry, that was-" you don't look at him, embarrassed that you acted on impulse. You have wanted to kiss Loki for weeks, ever since your crush became more intense but this was absolutely not a good idea.

"You should be sorry darling," he says in a tone you recognize. It was the voice he used when you couldn't help but think he was flirting with you even though you tried to convince yourself he wasn't. You lift your head and look up at him, swallowing nervously when he smirks. "I wanted to kiss you first," the prince explains.

"You wanted to-" you try to repeat his words but they don't make any sense. You put your hands on his chest and distance yourself slightly but he keeps you gently in place. "I'm sorry. I've got a concussion, it almost sounded like you wanted to kiss me first," you giggle awkwardly as you look up at him.

He looks at you with concern, his smile fading quicky, "You did not tell me you had a head injury. Are you certain you should be out of bed?"

"Oh... right, yeah. I guess I left that out. I just didn't want to make you feel any worse but it's fine. It's just like a teeny tiny concussion," you tell him quickly. "Wait... no, don't get me off topic. That's not what I wanted to talk about. Why would you say that? You wanted to kiss me?"

He chuckles, "You are so cute when you are like this."

You blush deeply when he calls you cute and you press your cheek to his chest to hide again. Just a second later, you feel Loki's hand on your warm cheek as he tilts your head up. "You heard me correctly darling, head injury or not," the prince answers your question with another smirk. Before you can respond, Loki bends down slightly, pressing his lips to yours. He holds your body tightly and you give into the kiss easily, closing your eyes as your hands grip the fabric on the back of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back to break the kiss you can't do anything but giggle and he laughs while he plays with the ends of your hair. "So... you think I'm cute?" you ask him.

"I think you are truly stunning and I am amazed by you," Loki says with a smile that causes you to blush even deeper than before. "I had planned on asking you out on a date after the mission, when you came to get the hug I owed you but then I hurt-"

You place a soft kiss to Loki's lips, "Don't you dare blame yourself again."

He gives you a warm smile, "If I keep doing it, will you keep kissing me like that?"

"No," you laugh. "I'll probably tickle you or something."

"I would like to see you try darling," he smirks, taking your hand to pull you towards the couch.

"Oh, I should probably still talk to Steve and Fury," you tell him. "So you're not in trouble or on probation anymore."

"Absolutely not," he sits down and shakes his head.

You sit next to him and he puts his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. "Why not?" you ask as you cuddle against him as if you've done it dozens of times.

"Because now I will have more free time to spend with you," he smiles and kisses the top of your head.

"I do like how that sounds," you kiss his cheek and lean on him comfortably. "Especially since I have the next week off, doctor's orders."

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