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lola-writes · 3 months

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Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’.

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service.

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach.

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use.

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips.

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach.

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder.

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return.

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read.

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug.

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement.

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued.

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped.

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought.

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled.

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom.

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously.

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely.

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it.

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit.

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work.

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68).

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up.

My breath hitched in my throat.

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips.

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features.

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment.

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts.

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

“The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips.

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly.

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height.

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck.

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine.

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.”

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him.

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish.

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky.

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach.

He had a very cute butt.

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips.

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday.

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair.

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous.

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went.

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper.

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside.

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets.

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out.

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up.

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me.

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back…

Dread coiled in my stomach.

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight.

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart.

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered.

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice.

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare.

And I was up for the challenge.

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious.

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further.

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked.

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig.

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

“Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame.

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal.

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut.

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected.

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words.

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered.

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers.

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth.

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

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Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

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lotus-tower · 9 months

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Safety for the rich Ordinary people have zero clue just how many tools the rich are using to avoid this virus. The rich are photographed without masks during public appearances, giving the public the impression that it’s safe to ditch masks. But what we don’t see are all of the precautions being taken behind the scenes. Nasal photodisinfection Celebrities are using hospital-grade technology to photodisinfect their nostrils. KISS’s manager, Don McGhee, talked about the band’s use of nasal photodisinfection in an interview, saying, “Without this, we wouldn’t be on the road.” The technology, called Steriwave, has been used by hospitals to reduce infections in surgery patients for more than a decade and is now available commercially—for a very high cost. Event Scan & Covid prevention companies [...] And they are paying for it. The rich CEOs of these major companies and rich government officials are getting everyone PCR (or LAMP) tested before their big corporate parties, screening all their guests beforehand, and taking Covid very seriously—while telling their low-level employees to return to the office. Far UV-C The schools, workplaces, and homes of the rich are being outfitted with special UV lights that kill viruses in the air—including Covid-19. Far UV can continuously and autonomously eliminate over 90% of pathogens in the air (and on the exposed surfaces) of an enclosed room. These high-tech lights cost thousands of dollars. [...] LAMP Testing Loop-Mediated Isothermal Amplification (LAMP) testing may be the “better sibling of PCR testing” and is being used by the rich to rapidly diagnose Covid-19. [...] Fancy private schools, like this one (whose tuition fees are $17,664—$18,900 annually) are requiring all visitors to submit samples for LAMP testing—in addition to daily testing of students, teachers, and families, requiring high-quality masks, cleaning the air, serving outdoor lunches, and a lot more. When you're seeing photos of maskless rich people gathering together, it may look like they aren’t taking any Covid precautions. But the reality is: they've all tested beforehand. They’ve hired private companies to screen their guests, using multiple layers of protection. They are not taking any chances with this virus, because they know it’s extremely serious and nothing like the flu.

-The Pandemic Isn’t Over: The rich know it. You should, too.

#covid #covid19 #y'all need to read this article it's really good

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healmyhrt · 7 months

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⌗ motion picture soundtrack, m. sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: matt attempts to help while you’re going through a depressive episode.

disclaimers!: depression, self-harm, drug use (marijuana), established relationship, use of y/n

a/n: this was requested:)

i laid across the comforter, limbs spread out, with the lights all off. sitting in the dark made me feel safe for some reason. i liked the dark. i found comfort in darkness.

but sometimes the darkness can become the root to my problems.

i was diagnosed with depression when i was only 14 years old. since then, it’s gotten worse, but every now and then it gets better. and it got better when i met matt.

but now im getting bad again.

and i always get bad again.

i was high out of my mind, and getting lost in my thoughts the more the weed kicked in. i always used marijuana to cope with my problems, i know i shouldn’t, but i do.

even trying to stand up was a mistake. my body wouldn’t allow it. as soon as i raised my feet, my body sunk back into the mattress. i would have preferred to drown in the mattress, dying from suffocation.

red wine and sleeping pills

help me get back to your arms

light peers into the room as the door creaks open.

but i don’t move an inch. the weed made my body feel as light as a feather, and like it told me not to move at all or else i would ruin it.

“y/n?” matt makes it clear that it’s him. he walks over to the bed, and hands me a water bottle. “you need to drink something.” i push his hand away, and realizing how much energy it took out of me.

i ignore him, and he gets up, walking over to the lamp. “you can’t be like this forever.” he turns it on. the world that was black and empty is now filled with light.

but im still lost in my thoughts.

cheap sex and sad films

help me get where I belong

“i started a bath for you. come on.” he gently picks me up, and i feel nothing in my bones, my muscles, nothing at all.

once we reach the bathroom, matt sits me on the toilet seat, and starts undressing me. “arms.” he forms a small smile.

i try to lift my arms, but not even they could be moved. matt pulls my huge t-shirt over my head, carefully, and off of my arms.

he places his hands on the waistband of my underwear. “can i?” he raises an eyebrow. i nod as much as i can.

he slides them down my legs, and im seated on the toilet seat butt ass naked. matt picks me up effortlessly again, and gently places me in the bath water.

once im situated, he kneels next to the tub, and grabs a loofa. matt starts on my shoulders, and works his way down my arms. he turns my forearm toward him, and stops.

all he saw were scars.

I think you’re crazy, maybe

matt sets the loofa down in the water, gently grabbing my arm. his warm fingers against my skin felt like spiders crawling all over me. he takes a closer look at them, some of them healed, some fresh.

“stop.” i mumble, using all of my energy to pull my arm away. looking up at matt, his eyes watering. “y/n, what is that?”

it felt like i was talking to my mother all over again. how she reacted when she found out i harmed myself. it was terrible, i never wanted to see her cry like that again. let alone matt.

“im sorry.”

matt holds his face in his hands. my eyes start to water, and i look at him. “matt, please don’t send me away.”

he immediately looks up, with a confused expression. “send you away?” i look at the water. “i don’t wanna go there again.”

matt’s face softens, and he leans closer to the tub. “y/n, who sent you away?” even talking about this makes me think of it. and i start crying uncontrollably. my thoughts are a parasite in my brain.

stop sending letters

letters always get burned

matt softly hugs me, and his arms around me help me remember feeling. feeling like i should have been.

its not like the movies

they fed us on little white lies

matt helps me back into bed, and i feel safer, now in warmers clothes. i lay my head onto the pillow, and stare at the ceiling, laughing. i could not stop laughing.

and then it stopped.

now all of the world was gray. and grayer. and even grayer. then it was black. pitch black.

matt lays down beside me, and i turn toward him. seeing his face made me feel some sort of comfort.

like i had been living in grayscale and matt was the first thing id ever seen in color.

i think you’re crazy, maybe

matt leans in closer to me. “y/n, can i ask you a serious question?” i nod my head slowly. but my head pounded with every movement i made.

“are you okay, seriously?”

i wanted to sink into the pillow, letting matt never have to see my face again. and me not having to answer that question ever again.

i stared at him in silence.

my eyes started to water again, and i bit my bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to leave my eyes. and matt just hugged me.

i will see you in the next life.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #Spotify

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natailiatulls07 · 1 year

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Oh chérie

Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary - When Y/n suffers with her insomnia, Charles will always be there to help her

Warning -

A/n - Sorry this is so short :)

3.23am It was the dead of night, everyone was asleep. No cars causing traffic, no tourist exploring the streets of Monte Carlo. The city is dead.

Apart from one person. Y/n was sat cradling a mug of tea whilst watching the silent streets down below. It had been almost three weeks since she had gotten a proper nights sleep.

She had been diagnosed with insomnia over two years ago, and she would get long periods of times where her sleep would be all over the place.

Charles knew of Y/n's insomnia and he tried his best to help her through it but stubbornly she kept her problems bottled. So that's why he was sound asleep and Y/n didn't wake him.

It was only when he reached out for her, that his subconcious mind clicked that she was no longer in bed. Stirring awake, it fully clicked in Charles' mind that Y/n was not there.

Slipping out from their plush covers, only dressed in some boxers, he made his way to the living room. That was where he saw the side lamp illuminating the living room and the tired girl beside it. "Oh chérie.."

He knew exactly what was going on, her insomnia. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry.." Her tired eyes look up at Charles' eye that held sympathy. He hated to see his Y/n so tired and he just wishes that she'd reach out to him for help.

"No no, how long have you been up?" It was always the first question, he'd try and figure out how much sleep she'd get.

"I think I woke up around quartre to three..been here ever since" In Charles' mind, he quickly calculated and coming to a conclusion that she had only slept for two and a half hours. Sympathy was clear on his face.

Nodding his head, he moved to pull her up from the couch. Picking up Y/n's now empty cup of tea from her hands and placing it beside the lamp.

Charles directed her back through to their shared bedroom. He pulled himself and Y/n down so that she could be laying on his chest. He reached for the tv remote, turning on the the tv directly opposite their bed.

If there was on thing that helped Y/n sleep was just listening to her playlist. It isn't like a playlist of peaceful music, no it's a playlist of regular music from taylor swift to childish gambino.

Pressing play on the music, he started to draw shapes along her back, just coaxing her into sleeping. "Thank you.." Charles could hear her quiet voice, she felt herself slowly falling into that deep slumber in his arms.

"It's okay, go to sleep now chérie...it's okay" They stayed like that for the rest of the night, Charles soon fell into that slumber as well.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula one x y/n #lando norris #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #carlos sainz #f1 2023 #formula 1 #sergio perez #ferrari #fernando alonso

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topguncortez · 9 months

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Are You With Me? | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Y/N wakes up from the same reoccurring nightmare since Ella had been diagnosed. Some parts of what Jake did during the divorce come to light. Jake and Y/N cross a line.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, nightmares, traumatic events, vomiting, divorce, fighting, cursing, childhood cancer, child character death (not graphic), smut, unprotected sex, mentions of cheating

“She’s not breathing,” A constant beeping sound filled the air as doctors and nurses came running into the small hospital room. Y/N was pushed out of the room, left to look at the action from behind a plate glass window. However, the doctors and nurses didn’t spring into action like she had seen them do when rushing into other childrens’ rooms. They stood there, watching as the child struggled to breath.

“Do something to help her!” Y/N yelled, pounding her fists against the glass, but it was as if it fell on deaf ears. Doctors and nurses crowded the hospital bed as the small girl lay there unmoving. Tubes and wires covered her body as the obnoxious long tone filled the air.

“Do something! She’s dying!” Y/N yelled again trying to move her spot to get to the little girl, her feet were stuck where they were, “Help her!”

“Time of death,”

“No! My baby! No!”

“Nine thirty six.”

“No! Ella!”

Her body nearly collapsed to the floor, but strong arms wrapped around her, holding her up. She fought against the hard body, wanting to get to her daughter and hold her. The doctor pulled the white sheet over Ella’s head as Y/N continued to thrash in the strangers arms.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Y/N, you’re alright.”

“No! Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N! Wake up!”

With a jolt, she sat up in bed. The cold grip of fear still around her heart, making it beat erratically. A thin layer of sweat covered her body, as her hair stuck to the back of her neck. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, finding herself in the same room she had laid down in, and her ex-husband sitting next to her on the bed. Jake had turned the lamp on, coating them in a warm orange glow.

“Are you alright?” Jake asked, taking in the sight of his bewildered wife. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his chest, but he had earned an elbow to the face trying to attempt it earlier.

Y/N nodded her head, not trusting her voice at the moment. Her throat felt dry, presumably from screaming in her sleep. She sucked in a couple of breaths, feeling her heart beat slow to a steady rhythm. She was no stranger to nightmares, especially after Ella got sick. The haunting sound of asystole alarms and the cries of grief stricken parents kept her awake at night.

“What time is it?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“Two twenty.”

“And the kids?”

“Still asleep, but, Y/N…” Jake swallowed, “Have you thought about going to that support group Doctor Thomas suggested?”

Y/N scoffed, flinging back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “No,” She stood up, walking towards the bathroom to get a drink of water, “Don’t need it.”

Jake stood up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom door, leaning against it. Y/N splashed some cool water on her face, before filling up the cup she kept by the sink. Jake couldn’t help but take in the sight of her pajamas; a white tank top and a pair of his old plaid boxer shorts. He could remember when she stole them from him when she was about seven months pregnant with Alex, “It might help you sleep better if you talk to someone.”

“Oh, like you did?” Y/N knew it was a low blow the moment the words left her mouth.

The divorce had been finalized for two years and Y/N always used Jake’s affair as a deflection tactic. When she didn’t want to talk about herself or anything that was bothering her, she always brought up the affair. Jake had learned to ignore it over the past couple of years.

“Look,” Jake ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair, “I know I messed up and didn’t do things right in the past, but I am now. The group is really helping me get through this.”

Y/N looked up at Jake in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t the first time he has brought up therapy. Hell, even Miles had suggested it once before but it was quickly brought down. Y/N didn’t want to sit in a circle with other parents of sick kids and listen as they tried to one up each other with who’s kid is the sickest.

Y/N grabbed a quick drink of water, before turning to face Jake, “Thanks for the suggestion, but I got this.” She patted his chest before walking back into the bedroom.

Jake shook his head as she climbed back in, pulling the blankets up to her chin and turning the light off, engulfing him in darkness.

“Whatever, Y/N,” Jake pushed off of the door jam, leaving the room without another word and going back to the guest room he had been inhabiting.

— — —

Sleep did not come easy to Y/N after the nightmare. Hell, sleep hadn’t been coming easy to her for about six weeks since Ella got sick. She had created a strict schedule of being at the hospital when first rounds started at six am. But between the early wake-ups, the late nights making dinner and getting the kids to bed, nightmares waking her up, and now Eli’s newly developed sleep regression, Y/N was a walking zombie.

“I don’t wanna be sick,” Ella cried as Y/N held the pink basin in front of her.

“I know, baby,” Y/N cooed, as tears ran down Ella’s cheeks. It was the same battle every day about an hour after Ella left the chemo room. The nausea slowly creeped up in her little body until she threw up. Y/N hated when Alex would have the occasional sick day, and it was killing her seeing Ella getting sick every day like clockwork.

“Mommy,” Ella whined as she dry heaved over the basin.

“Just let it out,” Y/N rubbed her back, “Let it out, baby. You’ll feel better.” She grimaced as the scent of vomit filled the air, Ella’s small body nearly convulsing as she puked, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, baby.” Y/N kept repeating sweet nothings to Ella as she emptied the very limited things in her small stomach. Her weight loss has become more evident by her protruding collarbones and ribs. Jake was almost scared to pick her up these days, worried that he’d break her.

A knock sounded at the door, “Knock, knock,” The person said, “Is now a good time?”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she sat the basin down in between Ella’s legs. It was never a good time for Doctor Thomas to barge into the room, but it wasn’t like she cared. What do you even say to a doctor when they ask ‘is now a good time?’ “No, come back later when I’m dying”?

“Yes,” Y/N answered, but Doctor Thomas was already halfway into the room. Y/N grabbed a cool rag, putting it on Ella’s forehead and removing the emesis bucket, “How can we help you, Doctor Thomas?”

“Just checking in,” She smiled that perfect smile that all doctors seemed to have. Pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. Doctor Thomas pulled up a chair, sitting at Ella’s bedside, “How are you, Ella?”

The little girl pouted, “I threw up.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” She rubbed the back of Ella’s hand, “Today wasn’t a good treatment day?”

“They didn’t even have sugar cookies,” Ella muttered. Y/N shook her head with a light laugh. Of course Ella was upset about the cookies.

“You’re letting her have sweets?” Doctor Thomas asked, looking up at Y/N.

“We’re monitoring her diet, but yes, we allow her to have something sweet to eat every once in a while. Miles said-”

“Miles isn’t an oncologist,” Doctor Thomas said, tilting her head slightly and plastering that smile on her face.

Doctor Nicole Thomas, oncologist, top of her class at Northwestern, top resident at the Mayo Clinic, one of the best oncologists on this side of the Missouri river, and total bitch to parents. April, the mother of Sammy, the little boy next door to Ella, shared her dislike for Doctor Thomas. She was blonde, had legs for days and breasts that seemed to be the perfect size and perky. The wives had all noticed their husbands wandering eyes when Doctor Thomas walked by. And to make matters even worse, Doctor Thomas knew Jake. . . personally.

“If you have an issue with my daughter’s diet, please, Doctor Thomas, enlighten me,” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest.

Doctor Thomas’s smile didn’t falter, “Things like cookies and sugary treats aren’t good for children with compromised immune systems. Over processed pre-packaged snacks or snacks full of butter and frosting. . . you want your child eating heart healthy snacks. I think Jake would agree.”

The slip of her husband’s name from Doctor Thomas’s lips had Y/N seeing red, her arms falling down to her sides, “I know what is best for my child. You are pumping her full of toxins that are making her throw up and lose weight. If she wants a sugar cookie, I’m going to let her have a sugar cookie. At least she’s eating something. . .” She rolled her shoulders back as she mumbled, “And keep my husband’s name out of your mouth.”

“Noted,” Doctor Thomas said, standing up from the chair. She looked down at Ella, “I hope you feel better, Ella. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye Doctor Thomas,” Ella waved to the blonde woman.

Before she left the room, Doctor Thomas turned around, the condescending smile still on her face, “Have you looked into that support group? I think it would really, really do you some good, Y/N.”

Y/N scoffed, marching towards the door to rip into Doctor Thomas, but she was gone by the time Y/N stepped out into the hallway, her chest heaving. Her eyes narrowed as another familiar blonde made his way down the hall, smiling and waving to the kids and their parents as they passed. Fire burned in Y/N’s veins as she stalked down the hall, determination written on her face.

“Hey!” She yelled as she set in on Jake, “Tell your little side piece to keep her nose out of the way I raise my child.”

“Side piece?” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Doctor Thomas,” Y/N sneered, “Trying to tell me what's right for my child.”

“Our child,” Jake corrected her, “And she’s probably right. She is a doctor after all.”

Y/N scoffed, “Of course you would side with her.”

“Unbelievable,” Jake shook his head. He looked around, noticing the eyes of the nurses, doctors, parents and techs on them as they squabled in the hallway. He grabbed Y/N’s arm, pulling her into an alcove by the nurses’ station, “You need to get yourself together. You’re causing a scene.”

“Me? Get myself together?” Y/N’s eyebrows rose in shock, “You’re the one screwing our child’s doctor!”

“I didn’t screw her!” Jake snapped.

“No,” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, “You’re just spending late nights having secret conversations and confiding in her behind my back.”

“Do you blame me? It’s like talking to a brick wall with you,” The hurt settled into Y/N’s chest. She wrapped her arms around her chest, as if she could protect herself against Jake’s words. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips, “Y/N. . . you need to talk to someone. You aren’t sleeping. You’re lashing out at people. Your mother called me in tears the other day because you yelled at her. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t know what's me,” Y/N whispered, taking a step back from Ella, “I need to be with my daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Jake corrected her again. Y/N just shook her head, walking out of the alcove and back to Ella’s room.

— — —

Three days had passed since Jake and Y/N’s fight in the hallway. They had been walking on eggshells around one another. Y/N had started keeping some clothes and showering in Ella’s hospital room to avoid going home when Jake was there. Jake started placing a plate of food in the microwave for when Y/N would come home from the hospital before he went to be with Ella for the night. It had all seemed to work just fine, until it came crashing down.

Y/N was running late to switch Jake off from his night shift with Ella so he could get to work. Eli had pitched a fit about wanting to put pants on for daycare, and Alex was taking his time with packing his backpack for school. She had barely managed to get out the door on time to get the boys to school before zooming to the hospital to drop off Eli and relieve Jake.

Jake was pacing the lobby, waiting for his ex-wife to show up. It wasn’t like her to be late without texting or calling first. The worst came to his mind as he tried to keep his heart from pounding in his chest.

“Fuck it,” He cursed, pulling his phone out ready to call her, when the elevator dinged.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N breathed out, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve called by Eli dumped his breakfast on his pants and Alex forget his glasses and we were running-”

“It’s fine,” Jake huffed, “Mav has us doing classroom work. Nothing Dragon and Rooster can’t handle.”

Y/N shook her head, “I’m just. . . I’m so sorry.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched his normally strong partner crumble because she was fifteen minutes late. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at Jake, “I promise next time I’ll-”

“Code Blue Room 310. Code Blue.”

The speaker above them sounded out interrupting them.

“That’s the room next to Ella’s,” Jake said, his heart coming to a complete stop in his chest.

“April,” Y/N breathed out.

Both of them turned on their feet, rushing down the hall as a mass of doctors and nurses went rushing into the room next to Ella’s. Y/N could see through the large bay window into the room as Miles started doing compressions on the little boy's chest, his parents standing in the corner with tears streaming down their faces.

It was like Y/N was stuck in that nightmare again. The images of her standing outside the hospital room, looking through the window while the doctors just stood around her child. Y/N turned her head as Sammy’s chest convulsed off the bed as they shocked his heart. Jake wrapped his arm around her, his hand cradling the back of her head as she held onto his flight suit. It was like a car crash on the side of the road, Jake couldn’t look away as they shocked Sammy’s heart again. The scene went on for only a few more minutes until the loud beep of asystole sounded out from the room, as the wails of parents filled the air.

“No! My Baby!”

“Time of death. . . nine thirty six.”

“Sammy! No! No!”

A sob left Y/N’s mouth, and Jake held her tighter.. The door to the room opened up, Miles being the first one to walk out, a discouraged look on his face. Y/N lifted her head meeting his sad brown eyes. It was the same look that he had given Y/N many months ago. The look of heartbreak and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Miles said, shaking his head and stalking off.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, seeing Jake’s stoic and shocked face, “W-what do we do?”

Jake looked down at her, and then back towards the room where the two parents cried over their dead son, “I don’t know. But we need to tell Ella. . . they are-were friends.” Y/N nodded her head.

Ella was wide awake in her bed when Y/N and Jake walked into the room. She smiled at them both, but it quickly faded seeing the frowns on her parents' faces. Y/N sat on the edge of Ella’s bed, and Jake stood behind her. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. They didn’t exactly cover the topic of telling your four year old child that they’re friend just died of the same cancer they have in the parenting books. Jake sensed Y/N’s turmoil, taking a step forward and grabbing her hand. He squeezed it twice, and Y/N looked up at him. She gave him a tight lipped smile before squeezing his hand back twice.

“Ella,” Y/N started, “We need to tell you something. . .”

— — —

Y/N had never been so thankful to have her parents living in the same city. Clara and James were at the hospital within minutes of Y/N asking if they could stay with Ella. It had been a rough day with Ella, between trying to explain what happened to Sammy, to holding her while she threw up. It had been a day of tears and tantrums from the little girl, she didn’t want to be stuck with needles or be pumped full of medicine and neither one of her parents could blame her. Ella had fallen asleep on Jake’s chest before Clara and James arrived.

Y/N and Jake had moved in near silence as they made dinner, bathed the boys, and put them both to bed. The mental and physical toll of the day was starting to hit them like trains. Jake was amazed by how strong Y/N had been, being able to keep a smile on her face and care for Ella. He just wanted to go home and drink the day away.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Jake said as they walked up the stairs. Y/N’s legs felt like bricks when she reached the top, “I called Mav and told him what happened. I got tomorrow off,” Y/N didn’t say anything as she stared at her bedroom door, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

It was silent for a moment as Y/N listened to the creak of the floorboards as Jake walked to his room.

“Jake,” Y/N called out, her voice barely above a whisper. He stopped in his tracks, not daring to look down the hall at her, “Stay with me,” She looked at him, “Please.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes.

Jake swallowed thickly, “Y/N,” He scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t think that's a good-”

Y/N shook her head, walking over to him, “Please,” She stood in front of him. She wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but refrained, “Please. . . stay with me. . . I don’t want to be alone after today.”

Jake looked into her eyes, seeing the longing and the fear that hid behind unshed tears. Silently, Jake agreed, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers and lead her down the hall. He gently pushed open her bedroom door. It was just the same as it was two years ago. It was as if she was still living in a time capsule where Jake had never betrayed her. Where they were still married. Where they were still one.

Jake walked Y/N over to her side of the bed, having her take a seat on the mattress. She watched as he moved around the room with muscle memory, opening drawers to her dresser, pulling out her normal pajamas; an oversized shirt and boxer shorts. He set them on the bed next to her, standing in front of her.

“Can you-”

“Help me?” They spoke at the same time.

Every fiber in Jake’s being was telling him no. Every fiber was telling him to leave the room, to tell her that she would be fine on her own and he’d be right down the hall if she needed him. But his heart was telling him that he couldn’t leave her. Not like this. Not when she had witnessed every sick parents’ worst nightmare. Jake functioned wordlessly, as he reached for Y/N’s hands, standing her up. His hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. He refrained from looking at her chest, which he felt like he deserved an award for. He folded the shirt nicely placing it on the bed behind her.

“You should probably do the um. . . pants,” Jake gestured to her lower half.

“Jake,” She chuckled, “We were married and had three kids. You can’t take my pants off?”

“Yes I-. . . Well you know that I can but this is. . . This is different,” Jake said.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Y/N,” Jake challenged.

“Jake,” Y/N shot back, “Look at me.”

Jake huffed, turning his head to look at her. It was the first time in nearly three years that he had seen her like this. His body felt like it had been lit on fire. Three years, and Y/N hadn’t aged a day. Her body was still perfect; beautiful skin, perky breasts, curves that brought grown men to their knees. Jake’s hands itched to touch her, to remember the feel of her skin beneath his palms. He felt his groin tighten at the memories of her being under him.

“Jake,” Y/N sighed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him as she took a step closer..

“Y/N,” He warned.

“Please,” She begged, her eyes wide with lust, “I need you.”

“Y/N.”

“One night,” Y/N begged, “One night to make me forget, please.”

Jake groaned, grabbing her face and crashing his lips to hers. The familiar taste of her chapstick, something that hadn’t changed over the past three years. Her hands went to his hair, pulling on his blonde locks as his hands roamed her body, walking her backwards until they both landed on the bed. Y/N moaned as Jake’s lips landed on her neck, sucking and biting gently. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t dreamed of having his lips on her skin again.

“Did he touch you?” Jake asked, his hot breath fanning her neck.

Y/N shook her head.

“I need to hear it, Y/N,” Jake said, looking at her, “Did he touch you?”

“No,” Her answer was solid, “Not like this. Not ever, like this.”

“Good,” Jake sat back on his haunches, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head, “Cause I don’t share.”

Y/N’s eyes shamelessly ran down his naked torso. It was obvious that Jake took care of his body. She remembered all those mornings of waking up to him playing music in the garage turned home gym. But seeing his sculpted body up close again, sent her into a frenzy as she reached out for him, pulling him back down against her. The two of them kissed passionately, hands roaming each other’s bodies, trying to pull one another as physically close as possible. Clothes ended up scattered around the room until they were bare in front of one another.

“Are you sure?” Jake asked, placing himself in between Y/N’s legs. His cock was hard and leaking, aching for some sort of relief. Y/N’s eyes wandered down his body, a shiver running through her body.

“Please,” She reached down and grabbed his cock, guiding it in between her legs, “Please, fuck me, Jake.”

Jake nodded his head, replacing Y/N’s hand with his own. He ran it over her folds, before gently pushing the head into her opening. A hiss left Y/N’s lips at the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched. Jake knelt down on his elbows, caging her head in between his arms.

“Look at me,” Jake whispered. Y/N’s eyes fluttered up to his green ones, “Breathe, I got you. I won’t hurt you.” Y/N nodded her head as Jake grabbed her thigh, guiding it over his hip, pushing into her a bit more. They both let out a gasp as Jake bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He waited a moment, letting them both get used to the feel of one another.

“Jake,” Y/N placed both hands on his cheeks, “Move. Please.”

Jake complied moving his hips back ever so slightly and then pushing back into her. The painful stretch of Jake’s cock in her pussy slowly faded away until pleasure filled her body. Jake’s grunts filled the air, as he sped his hips up, and hit all the right places. Y/N dug her nails into his back, surely leaving angry red marks down the skin.

Neither one could remember the last time they had sex like this. Raw, emotional, full of passion. The two of them pawed and pulled each other as close as possible. Their lips swallow one another’s moans and cries of pleasure. Jake brought Y/N to the brink of orgasm twice, before cumming inside of her. He collapsed on her chest, their heartbeats erratic but still beating in time.

The two of them had cleaned each other up in near silence, both scared of even talking about what had transpired between them. Y/N laid on her side of the bed, far away from the door, wrapped in Jake’s arms, her head on his chest. She gently traced over the tattoo on his pec, the gentle cursive of her name. She had noticed the other day that he still had her initials tattooed on his ring finger.

“I’ll do it,” Y/N mumbled.

Jake furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his wife, “Do what?”

Tears filled her eyes, as she looked at him, “I’ll go to the support group.”

Jake gave her a sad smile as he bent his head down, placing a feather soft kiss on her lips, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

taglist: @yanna-banana @kmc1989 @soulmates8 @averyhotchner @fandom-life-12 @jazminlahey20 @jessicab1991 @reidshearts @princess76179 @dizzybee03 @dempy @kellyls04 @daddymack01 @beautifulandvoid @noonenuts @bradleybeachbabe @its-the-pilot @buckysteveloki-me @shibble @a-library-ofmy-own @fanfictionismyhobby @emilyoflanternhill @seitmai @moonlessnight14 @hardballoonlove @sgt-barnesveins @vhkdncu2ei8997 @1nterstellarcha0s @krispybearbouquet @a-serene-place-to-be @seresinslady @na-ta-sh-aa @milestomaverick @itsmytimetoodream @topgunslut @yuckosworld @angelbabyange @pedrohoe04 @midnightmagpiemama @lynnevanss @ummjustfics @thegoddessc @mrsevans90 @mjsvinyl @luversgirl @silenthappyplace @buckysvinyl

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boudicca · 5 months

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my proposals for 2024 house md plots

kpop stan slash koreaboo is believed to have deadly cancerous lesions in her lungs before house bursts in at the eleventh hour to declare she's been poisoned by a rare toxic fungus found only in the korean peninsula, which she consumed via contaminated haitai grape candies

a young gamer develops a severe illness which is impossible to diagnose until he confesses to chase that he drank an e-girl's bathwater which he purchased on onlyfans, contracting a bacterial infection

a lamp otherkin gets tungsten poisoning from their collection of antique edison lightbulbs

several college students' lungs are filled with microplastics and the fellows are sent to every vape and weed shop near campus to find out what caused it (high nicotine blue raspberry disposable)

the entire princeton polycule commune comes down with a mysterious illness. foreman insists that the diagnostic team treat them all for std's and send them home. one of the nurses (also a member of the polycule) tells kutner about her landlord cutting corners, leading house to realize that they were all exposed to toxic low-cost paint at a recent orgy

a millionaire's car crash is blamed on his malfunctioning tesla cybertruck but house is not so sure. they discover the man shows signs of lowered brain capacity and, after an mri, the fellows discover lesions on the millionaire's brain and treat him for cancer. he gets worse. house is at his wit's end and cannot figure out what is wrong. after looking at the millionaire's grindset tiktok, house realizes his brain capacity isn't actually affected and he's just an idiot. the lesions are because he has also contracted an infection from onlyfans bathwater.

#p #house md #lowered brain capacity ≠ stupidity of course. but i digress

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ladelinee · 2 months

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Summary: (𝘙𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥! ☺️) 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘌𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

Word Count: 3𝘒

Warnings: 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

🩵 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 🩵

You were on a beach in the Caribbean, the sun kissed your skin, turning it golden, and you felt the fine sand gently exfoliating the soles of your feet. You sighed, feeling peace and comfort. With a bit of trepidation, you walked towards the shore, unsure if the water would be too cold. As the waves broke and you approached, you felt the freshly wet sand and sensed that the temperature wasn’t too bad.

You started to slowly wade into the water, the waves dancing with you, letting your body be carried away. The water was crystal clear, and its blue hue was striking. It relaxed you so much that you lay back in the water and floated, your body undulating, the waves massaging you. You found peace in that sensation and closed your eyes.

Suddenly, your body began to move more and more, the sea became a bit murky, and the blue sky above turned dark gray. The wind began to blow strongly, making the waves swallow you. You fought for your life, and when you surfaced, you found yourself among icebergs.

At that moment, a distant but intense voice imposed itself on the scene.

"Damn it!"

You looked around but couldn’t find anyone. Your anxiety levels began to rise as you noticed the water temperature dropping drastically.

With a sudden jolt, you woke up, your breathing rapid and heart racing. The room was bathed in a bluish dimness, with soft dawn light filtering through the window. Your vision was blurred, but you could see Elvis moving around the room, cursing quietly. When he realized you were awake, his eyes met yours.

“Hey, honey. Sorry… I’ve just… uh…” Elvis spoke with a hint of nervousness in his voice, unsure of what to say or do. Suddenly, you felt him carefully pulling back the sheets, removing the hot water bottle that was meant to keep you warm. He looked at you with concern as he said, “Yeah, I’m just gonna change out the water real quick, okay darlin’?”

It suddenly dawned on you what was happening. The water in the hot water bottle had cooled, and it was causing your hands to ache again. As you tried to move the duvet a bit more, a sharp pain shot through your hands, and you thought to yourself “Oh no, not again…”

Since you were diagnosed with this condition, Elvis has been very attentive to you, sometimes too much. This condition wasn’t very serious but it certainly wasn’t comfortable. However, for Elvis, it felt like the end of the world.

This was going to be the first week you stayed at Graceland, at Elvis’ insistence, and everything was new to you.

The sound of Elvis' energetic footsteps against the carpet filled your ears, followed by the feeling of the mattress sinking on your right side. You knew he had sat down on the bed, and then the soft click of the lamp on his bedside table being turned on filled the room with a warm, gentle glow.

“All right, lemme see, darlin’” Elvis tenderly said as he searched for one of your hands. With the additional light, you could now see his face. His pitch-black hair was tousled, his usually bright blue eyes were partially closed and slightly squinted due to the sudden brightness of the lamp, and his eyes were puffy with dark circles underneath— signs that he hadn't gotten much sleep.

As Elvis gently held your hand, you could see the difference between your hand and his. Your fingers were white and had bluish tips, while his hand was perfectly tanned and much larger in comparison. The stark contrast was striking, highlighting the difference in your skin color.

“Oh, worse than I thought” Elvis said, inspecting each of your fingers held between his big hands. You could feel a significant temperature difference as soon as he touched you.

“Let’s forget about the hot water bottle for now,” Elvis said, setting it aside before getting back into bed. He positioned himself in front of you and pulled you closer. “Let’s remove that icy color and keep you warm. C’mere, darlin’” he said, opening the top of his robe and revealing his chest. With gentle hands, he took both of your cold hands and placed them against his warm chest. He then wrapped your hands back up in the robe, creating a snug cocoon of warmth around them.

You felt the rise and fall of his breathing, extremely comforting, his heartbeats were intense but steady. Gradually, your hands began to warm up with the contact of his skin.

“Rough night?” you asked amid the silence, seeing his puffy eyes while you waited for your hands to come back to normal.

Elvis curved his lips into a smile. “They ain’t never bad when you’re with me. In fact, I reckon I should be askin’ you that!” he replied.

You were well aware that Elvis suffered from insomnia, but his decision to stop taking his sleeping pills to ensure he could care for you in case something happened at night caused you to feel a bit guilty. It was a selfless gesture, showing how much he cared for your well-being, even at the cost of his own sleep.

But that was just the way Elvis was, or at least it would be until he adjusted to this new reality—or until he finished reading all the books he had requested his guys to buy for him about Raynaud’s phenomenon. Lately, you had seen him very worried and nervous, wanting to protect you but not sure how. For now, anyway, this was how things would remain until further notice.

"How are you feeling, baby?” Elvis asked, breaking the silence and gently covering the area where he had tucked your hands inside his robe. His voice was filled with tenderness and worry as he asked, searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

"It's going numb” you replied, describing the uncomfortable feeling. Although it wasn’t pleasant to feel that way, you felt a sense of relief knowing that this was usually the final stage. Soon, your fingers would regain their normal feeling.

Elvis looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you despite the concern that flickered across his own face. “Mmm, let’s have a look,” he said in a more cheerful tone, carefully taking one of your hands from his chest. As he intently studied your fingers, you noticed the tips gradually changing color, becoming red as the blood circulation slowly returned. However, the burning sensation was undeniable.

A variety of emotions swirled within you. On one hand, you felt an immense sense of protection when Elvis took care of you, yet on the other, you were reluctant to trouble him with these issues. You knew his busy agenda, and arguing with him was futile, as he would always prioritize your well-being over his commitments.

With a soft sigh escaping through his nostrils, Elvis carefully studied your expression and could instantly sense what was going through your mind. Then, with tenderness, he started kissing each of your fingers, his soft lips gently touching your skin. Gradually, the warmth of his breath and the affectionate contact with his lips helped your fingers regain their normal feeling, providing a soothing sensation as they slowly returned to their normal state.

You let out a satisfied hum, feeling a gradual wave of relief wash over you as a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Elvis stopped kissing your fingers and looked at you, with a smile on his face.

"I take it that means it's better" he said, his expression filled with warmth.

"Yes, much better. Thank you," you said, expressing your gratitude with a smile of your own.

"Now, darlin’, be sure to keep the hot water bottle close” Elvis suggested, carefully placing the bottle between your body and his. Once the bottle was securely in place, he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a soothing embrace. "I'll take care of ya" he mumbled, his voice firm and reassuring. "Go back to sleep, I’ve got ya."

“Hmm, I don't think I’ll be able to fall asleep again” you said, looking at the window where the first rays of the morning sun were shining through.

Elvis chuckled, continuing to trace comforting circles on your back as he lifted his head to look at your face, which was nestled against his chest.

“I ain’t feelin’ sleepy either, to be honest” he admitted, a small smile playing on his lips. “How ’bout we have a big breakfast?”

Your stomach rumbled in agreement, the thought of food already eliciting a satisfied response.

“Sounds perfect,” you replied, your voice filled with excitement.

Elvis then twisted his torso, stretching his arm towards the edge of the bed. With his free hand, he carefully picked up the golden phone on the nightstand. The cold metal felt smooth against his fingers as he expertly pressed the buttons on the phone, dialing the number he needed.

He brought the phone to his ear, waiting for a response, his gaze still fixed on you while he continued to trace soothing circles on your back.

“Mary? Hey, good mornin’, honey. We woke up a bit earlier than usual. No, no, just a few little hiccups, ya know.” Elvis chuckled, listening to what Mary, his maid, was saying. “Could you make us breakfast? Thanks, sweetheart. See ya downstairs,” he concluded, smiling as he hung up the phone.

Elvis smiled down at you, gently kissing your forehead.

“All right, it’s time to get ya ready,” he stated confidently, well aware of what was about to happen.

You tried to reassure him, replying, “Elvis, it's gonna be too much, I’ll be fine.”

But he wouldn’t hear of it. With a tender smile, he responded “When it comes to you, there’s no such thing as ‘too much.’"

He got out of bed and continued, his voice filled with sincerity. “My mama taught me to take care of the people I love, and you are a true treasure to me, little one”

You felt a warm blush creep up your cheeks, a smile playing on your lips as you shook your head. You slid a pair of thick, soft socks onto your feet and slipped into Elvis' oversized slippers, the familiar warmth enveloping your toes.

Elvis always had a knack for persuading you, no matter the situation. He watched you, with affection and amusement, as you clumsily maneuvered across the room in his enormous slippers.

Elvis walked over to the closet and selected one of his robes, carefully bringing it over to you. With a tender tone, he instructed, "Arms up!"

You obediently raised your arms, feeling the luxurious fabric envelope your body. As he secured the robe around you, you couldn’t help smiling when you notice the embroidered “EP” on the right side.

Next, Elvis reached for the mittens he had bought for you. They were pristine white, fluffy, and lined with soft fur inside, guaranteed to keep your hands warm and cozy.

“Elvis…” you said, holding out your arms so he could see what he was doing.

“What, darlin’?” Elvis asked with an innocent look. His eyes traveled up and down, scanning you. He burst out laughing when he saw you in the oversized slippers, robe, and mittens.

Elvis smirked enjoying your mood, as he gently touched the tip of your nose with his finger.

“I see what you mean, but trust me, you look adorable” he assured you, a hint of playful mockery in his tone.

You huffed in mock indignation, readjusting the loose robe draped over your body. "Oh, everyone's going to have a good laugh when I go downstairs like this" you declared, trying to sound annoyed despite the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

Elvis continued laughing, looking at your improvised outfit. “Come on, sweetheart, you need to stay warm. I promise I won’t let anyone laugh at ya, and if they do, I’ll take care of them myself.”

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this without playing along. Elvis always had a way of making you feel good. “All right” you said, giving him a playful warning look.

“We sure as heck need to go shopping soon, but darlin’, with you all wrapped up in that loose robe, you look like a gift I’m just itchin’ to unwrap.” Elvis added in a playful tone before heading downstairs.

You walked down the stairs together, Elvis’ hand still firmly placed on your back. As you approached the last few steps, you sensed activity happening in the living room. From halfway down the stairs, you could see people already gathered in the room, their voices drifting up the stairs and reaching your ears.

Marty, one of Elvis' Memphis Mafia friends, greeted you both as you stepped into the living room.

Elvis, with a hint of surprise, turned to the others. "Mornin', y'all. I'm surprised to see y'all up and about so early. It's only 7:30 in the mornin'." he remarked, his eyebrow raised in mild confusion. He tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he spoke.

“We haven’t slept yet, and since we heard you were up, we stayed here” Marty replied. Next to Marty was Billy, who was laughing for some reason unknown to Elvis.

Elvis didn’t like this at all.

His voice grew colder, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "Billy" Elvis said, reaching into the depths of his robe and pulling out a gleaming gun, "I’m gonna give ya 10 seconds to get the hell outta my sight before I turn that damn ass of yours into Swiss cheese." He pointed the gun towards the front door of Graceland.

Billy turned pale, his smile disappearing from his face as he slowly stood up, confused

“TEN! NINE..!” Elvis shouted, starting the countdown. His voice startled you.

You watched Billy run toward the front door, disappearing into the acres. Elvis followed him with slow steps, stopping at the lion statues at the entrance to see if Billy had managed to get out of his sight.

“THREE, TWO, ONE!!!” *bang* Elvis finished the countdown and fired into the sky, laughing heartily along with the guys who were watching through the window. He knew Billy would be terrified.

With a smirk, Elvis sauntered back into the house, returning to your side after his display outside. As he approached, he turned to you, a smug look on his face. "See, darlin’?" he said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I told ya I'd handle anybody who decided to laugh. Ain't sure if it was at you, but either way, I wasn't gonna take no chances."

You smiled, but you couldn't help but notice the odd feeling on your lips and the shiver that ran through your body. The cold air had made your lips turn a pale blue, and you were starting to feel colder by the minute.

Elvis’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Oh god, I’m sorry” Elvis apologized, thinking of a solution while hugging you. He then looked at the guys sitting on the sofa.

Elvis gave the guys a firm order, “Alright, everyone out!” The men, seeing what was happening, got up and left the room. Elvis turned back to you and led you to the sofa by the fireplace.

“Sit down, honey” he said, his voice gentle but worried as he helped you sit.

Struggling with the oversized robe wrapped around you, you finally managed to settle on the sofa. Elvis, always attentive, sat next to you, making sure everything was perfect.

A bit later, Mary, alerted by the guys, wheeled a small cart into the living room, turning it into a makeshift breakfast table.

As Elvis thanked Mary for her efforts, you were amazed at the spread: toast, pancakes, cereal, eggs… When you tried to pick up a fork, the mittens made it impossible.

“Elvis, I can’t eat like this,” you whispered, holding up your mittened hands for emphasis.

Elvis chuckled loudly after his brief conversation with Mary. “Looks like you’re at the mercy of a professional then. No complaints, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you’re fed real good,” he teased, enjoying the opportunity to personally feed you.

You both burst into laughter as Elvis, with little success, tried to feed you a toast with jam, each bite turning into a comical situation. After a while, Elvis finally gave up and gently removed the mittens, setting them aside and handing you a hot cup of coffee so you could keep your hands warm.

As you sat enjoying breakfast with Elvis by the fireplace, a cozy and pleasant atmosphere enveloped the room.

Elvis glanced at your lips, noticing their color had improved slightly.

“Your lips look a bit better,” Elvis said, looking at you closely. “Let me take a closer look real quick to make sure they’re okay.”

Elvis leaned in with deliberate tenderness, closing the gap between you. His lips touched yours, soft and gentle, offering a warm comfort to your chilled lips.

As you neared the end of your breakfast, a part of you wished for the moment to never end. The warmth of the fire, Elvis' gentle presence, and the comfort of the situation felt almost magical.

Elvis, finishing his last few bites, washed them down before speaking up, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance, "Well, we’ve got a meeting in two hours. Folks from Las Vegas are coming over."

You frowned at his words. “‘We?’ Elvis, we’ve been over this. I’d rather stay here” you replied.

“No, no, ya’re coming with me, darlin’” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “That way, I can keep an eye on ya.” As he spoke, he started massaging your hands, working to improve the circulation and warm them up.

You recalled how comfortable the trip from your house to Graceland had been. Elvis had arranged everything perfectly: the car’s heating was cranked up, there were blankets, a scarf, and hot water bottles ready. This journey to the meeting would be no different, yet you didn’t want Elvis to divert all his attention to you while dealing with business. You worried he might neglect his responsibilities, and that was something you couldn’t bear to forgive yourself for.

"Elvis, I’m staying here" you repeated, your voice firm. With a hint of reassurance, you added, "And I'm feeling genuinely good right now."

Elvis paused, his concern etched in his eyes as he asked, "Ya sure honey?" You nodded without hesitation.

He sighed, a hint of reluctance in his voice, “Alright” he said. “I’ll make sure the guys stay here with ya, and we’ll give Dr. Nick a call if anything comes up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You reassured him, your tone filled with confidence, "Don’t worry, I'll be right here."

Elvis then showered your face with soft, affectionate kisses, his arms encircling you protectively.

As he held you close, you whispered to him, "You know I love you, right?"

A warm smile tugged at the corners of Elvis' lips, his voice filled with tenderness, "And I love ya too, little one."

Tags: @elvispresleywife 🩵

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unidentifiedly · 3 months

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Doctor's diagnosis

House x reader

- In which House uses his doctor's privileges for his own purposes.

You and House were lying on your shared bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. You were both exhausted from a long day at the hospital, but House's mischievous smile told you he had something on his mind.

"Let's play doctor," he suggested, his voice low and playful.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. "Aren't we always playing doctor?"

House chuckled, shaking his head. "No, I mean a different kind of doctor. Lay back and let me diagnose you."

You complied, lying back on the bed as House moved closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. He reached for your reading glasses, gently placing them on your nose. "You look adorable in these," he murmured, his voice husky.

You laughed softly, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "House, what are you doing?"

"Just a little examination," he replied, his hands moving to your sides. He pressed his cheek against your chest, listening to your heartbeat. "Hmm, sounds a bit fast. Could be excitement."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "Maybe it's because you're making me nervous."

House's hands moved to your hips, his touch sending shivers through you. "Nervous? I thought you were tougher than that."

"I'm tough," you replied, your voice wavering slightly as his hands continued their exploration.

House's eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Then prove it."

Before you could respond, House's lips captured yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. You melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer.

As the kiss deepened, House's hands roamed your body, his touch setting your skin on fire. "I think I've made my diagnosis," he whispered against your lips.

"Oh?" you murmured, your breath hitching.

House's eyes glinted with mischief. "You're in need of some serious treatment."

You laughed softly, pulling him closer. "Then you better get to work, Doctor."

#house x reader #greg house #established relationship #HE IS ON MY MIND 247

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mist-the-wannabe-linguist · 2 years

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More Czech regional weirdness

After the sudden popularity of my Brno weirdness masterpost and on popular demand I decided to make another masterpost, this time featuring the third largest city of the republic, Ostrava, and associated regions.

Everyone who lives in or around Ostrava or who has ever visited is very much welcome and encouraged to add on to this post, let's make this the ultimate Cursed Place Account

(a pologies, I had to, the message is just literally perfect for this place)

Originally, Ostrava was a pretty regular small village on the northeasternmost edge of the region of Moravia, and it was only sometime in the mid-1800s when some pretty big black coal deposits were discovered. After that, Ostrava rapidly grew like an all-consuming beast, absorbing all the surrounding villages into one huge patchwork of semi-villages, miner collonies and massive fuck-off mining areas and factories.

Let's say the word 'clusterfuck' would be a fitting description of Ostrava.

Because of the heavy industry, the entire region became the most polluted area in the entire country and one of the most polluted places in Europe.

We would actually get smog warnings urging us to close our windows and go outside as little as possible because the pollution was too severe that day and it was just a normal part of my life growing up

The weird thing is - we actually have a surprisingly low percentage of lung cancer diagnoses compared to the rest of the country! There is an ongoing rumor that the habitants of Ostrava evolved a special gene that starts showing up after the third generation living here. This gene allegedly helps people's bodies to handle the everpresent pollution.

Mining was and kinda still is the defining aspect of this place

The blue marks are all the mines in the Ostrava-Karviná area

Here we actually have one of the first proofs of humans using black coal! Remains of mammoth hunter settlements from the Paleolithic were found, with remains of black coal in campfires

It's difficult to get large new buildings built because the soil is unstable. This is also why we can never have metro. Occasional mine collapses cause minor earthquakes sometimes. There is also a risk during floods that the mines could collapse and sink half the city. This has already happened in the nearby Karviná and Orlová

The leaning church of Karviná, which started sinking because of the collapsing mines underneath.

Halda Ema, beloved by locals, also sometimes called the Vesuvius of Ostrava, is not actually a hill! It's a gigantic pile of mined-out soil with coal residue that is still burning inside after decades.

That smoke you see is toxic methane fumes. The hill is a popular spot for the locals to go on walks and picnics, even in winter as the heat from the fire inside the hill is enough to melt the snow on the hill. The only requirement is that you don't light a cigarette too close to the smoke

We also used to have oil lagoons where factories were pumping tons of garbage. When they finally (partly) got rid of the lagoons, they found hundreds of bird skeletons sunk on the bottom.

After 1989 industry started rapidly declining here, which led to many, many, MANY abandoned industrial and industry-related buildings

Behold - an abandoned chemical plant. My father says that there's still pools of toxic sludge that you'll sink into like in a swamp and there won't be any leftovers to find after you

Vítkovice train station, possibly the biggest train station in the city, now all but abandoned after the nearby steelworks closed. You Do Not Want To Be There. Trust me.

Another train station has what I call the Seizure Walk

(photo by @hidden-but)

When you walk there at a particular speed the black and white stripes can cause you some pretty darn severe nausea

The walk also ends in The Limbo

(from @kohoutek-lucni)

There's also a tiny church on a street lamp

The fun thing is that you can always find the area on a map at least in terms of maps depicting pollution, carcinogens, or election results

Please do add more stuff!

#ostrava #weird places #czech #czech republic #čumblr #czech regional weirdness #east europe #if Brno is a fairy ring/alternate dimension then Ostrava is Silent Hill

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crxssjae · 12 days

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Three Letter Words, Please

Summary:

Sew their paths again, time to live the three words Cody ached to hear from Roman after three months apart.

a/n: First time writing a codyroman fic and personally, it's pretty fun. This fic set in Pre-SummerSlam 2024 before SummerSlam began.

You can read the other fics from my WWE masterlist here.

"Three Letter Words, Please" is posted on AO3 (here) and Wattpad (here)

Word Count: 1,007

Warning(s): 18+ only (minors DNI), NSFW, explicit language, smut, sprinkles of angst, some errors

__________

Does he feel the same?

Once reentered the company, everyone greeted a warm welcome back. After another simpering along, they exchanged embraces and discussions about what occurred during his three-month absence: storylines, plans, let alone hilarious travel moments tickled the bones with impression. Laughter from ear to ear, neither dismissed his happiness, they've earned it.

Cousins, friends, family, and Hunter were glad he returned. For Paul, an emotional, appreciative mess, went on a twenty-minute professional rant how much he missed his in-ring presence. Headaches were the most part, though worth understanding without asking why. He achieved the title "Wiseman" for a reason.

Anyone questioned whether or not the current Undisputed Champion noticed the news.

Surprise, Cody knew and pleased in thoughts while professional wise concealed. Wry smile, hums under his breath, tilted his head with a ponder, pretended those antics were innocent. If anyone mentioned the same name, his cycle replayed.

An asshole, a good asshole. Rumors came full circle, indicating he's diagnosed with mood swings. Insufficient like he taught any better assumed behaving like a good boy. Those close to Cody unfazed behind his true actions for twenty years or more, the current reasoning hasn't been given.

Grave mistake or a good luck charm?

Brought into a mixed situation, avoided reflecting the second choice to test the waters for the first. What could've done not being hard-headed calling himself a "genius".

He should've said no. Again, hard-headed.

Thickened air of intoxicating musk, now beneath him on the couch; clothes strewn the floor. Lamp across the table dimmed low, half of the space shaded close to pitch black. Heavy breaths echoed in his locker room, blocking the silence. Neither gave a damn about the occurrence outside, occupied themselves with craving.

Cody stared into his gaze, their emotions mirrored. Half-lidded, glassy, desire. Bareness squished together, dark hair locks dangling and tickling his skin. The one he waited after for such a while: Roman Reigns.

Nails grazed Roman's back left visible marks. Cody's arms encircled, unable to let loose on Roman. Face buried, breathy grunts muffled in Cody's neck while his hips rutted. Upsurge of pleasure done the best for Cody, can't seem to let go.

Three months of emptiness.

Three months devoid closeness.

Regardless of the absence, Roman forever found multiple methods of pleasing. Damn him.

Although lust overtook distress, Cody pondered with doubt.

Does he know?

From Road to WrestleMania 39 to WrestleMania 40, both confided in the public eye after intertwining hands and warm cuddles. Slow, steady, this led into sexual desire behind closed doors. Neither forget affection or second decisions.

Eyelids shut tight, the sensation ignited Cody's abdomen. An appetite he can't handle. Roman's whisper of sweet nothings ear to ear, an addiction Cody became attentive per night or day.

"Damn, baby." Roman's husky voice spiked Cody's body. "Eager as hell waitin' with your legs spreading wide earlier."

Elicited a squeak, Cody bit his lower lip to hide any more noises, face flushed when Roman emitted an amused chuckle. Two times worse the embarrassment.

Few words stumbled, impossible to respond. Only whimpers.

That's because you were out for so long, I had to touch myself— oh shit! His brain jolted. Eyes rolled back in the head. One of the spots Roman penetrated made his back arched from the furniture. So g-good…

Roman snickered. "Thinking too hard. Guess I'm on the lead." Large hands slipped from thighs towards the waist and gripped him into place. "You can do better than whine."

"I'm— I'm trying if you stop teasing," Cody grumbled, legs tightened at Roman's waist. "I swear, one antic from you to get us caught—"

"Relax, baby, damn." He stifled another snicker bubbling his chest. "We're not getting caught on my first day back, sure as hell won't be ruined. But I promise you," A gentle nibble to Cody's earlobe, warmth of his breath tickled, "I'm here now."

To leave me again?

Once more, guilt panged the heart of Cody. Eyes closed, tried his hardest to repel the worries, the predictions between their relationship, to focus the present in front of him.

Behind Roman's words gave incertitude depending on how it swayed until it died down. Cody may handle their one year long-distance relationship, but the chills anticipated and questions if Roman cared.

A palm caressed his cheek; sudden fondness grounded in place. He took sight again, and blinked.

Concern etched the expression. Malice downplayed, nothing to shame. The usual look seen through the psyche, of how his true feelings were revealed from the public.

Roman knew.

"Afraid if I'm gone… again?” He said, no amusement in his tone of voice.

Cody silenced himself from speaking so he could continue.

"You're afraid if I'm gone, if I disappear again, if having sex with you was a facade of avoiding you, I wouldn't care, right?"

Nothing shut down the genuine heart in Roman. Cody can't get past the honesty. Nonetheless, the misgiving is still unforgettable.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Cody! Always ruin the moment, always overthinking!

Roman pressed his forehead against Cody's. Their breath mingled, it didn't help any if silence crawled in the room.

"I want to hear it," Cody begged, voice cracked. "Just one time."

"Hear what? What do you want me to say?" Roman asked, tongue lapped over his lips.

"How do you feel," Now his turn cupping Roman's face, the beard grazed the palms and fingers. "How much you miss me, wanting to touch, kiss, anything I know. And… how you want to tell after being gone." Cody looked him in the eyes, one tear rushing down his cheek. "One time…. please, Roman?"

The room muted except their synced soft breaths. A pure confession. After not having each other's side: one had a break, another tried to step up the company along the legacy as the Undisputed Champion.

Back together again, if anymore breaks hogging Roman's schedule, many chances and relief are made.

Roman took a deep breath. Cody, now with a smile, hearing his boyfriend's true feelings with three words.

"I miss you."

__________

Thank you for reading!

Tagging: @harmshake @afterdarkprincess @wrestlingprincess80 @alyyaanna @stripeydani

#roman reigns #codyroman #romancody #roman reigns fanfiction #cody rhodes #cody rhodes fanfiction #codyroman fic #codyroman smut #wwe fanfiction #wwe smut #crxssjae writes

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lillie98 · 3 months

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An excerpt from a Fic I wrote a while ago centering on Autistic!Mike. I wrote it from my perspective as a late-diagnosed female who found euphoria and purpose from this one little word. I hope you take the time to read it and understand the life-changing power of diagnosis. Autism is not a tragedy. Rather, it is a difference in the Human Condition that deserves celebration.

"Hey…Will, I almost forgot. I need to tell you something important". Will immediately flinches awake and startles, scanning the room for threats.

"What? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Mike assures him, running his hand down Will's cheek. Embarrassment and shame course through him. He wishes Will’s nervous system didn’t overreact this way. He speaks quietly and clearly, emphasizing his words. "I'm okay. We’re safe.” Will leans into Mike’s touch and anchors himself in the present. He is safe, Mike is safe, and they are together. His eyes slip closed as he takes a few steadying breaths. He then shifts to his side to see Mike better, turning on the small lamp on the nightstand and propping himself up on his elbow. Mike looks anxious. Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he stares at the ceiling. Will places his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

"Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me, okay?” he reassures Mike. “I won't be mad. We'll work through it together. You know how much I love you.” Will's words ease Mike's anxiety. Here goes nothing.

"I talk to Robin a lot–just like you–but we don't just talk about boyfriends. We…we talk about…other things, too.”

"What kinds of other things?" Will probes. Mike swallows hard.

"We…we talk about…fuck, this is tough….about my…my brain.” He can't believe he said it. Will is even more confused. His brain? What about his brain? The last time he checked, Mike's brain was perfect. Why does this involve Robin? Mike cannot make eye contact. Will eyes stare directly into his soul. If he looks back, he will lose his sanity. His hands white knuckle the sheets–anything to ground himself.

"My brain is…different from most people's.” Mike’s not sure how to explain this without sounding completely insane. “I have difficulty connecting with people and holding on to relationships. I'm blunt and straightforward, and people think I'm rude. That's why making friends is hard for me. People don't understand how to interact with me.” The words are slow and halted, forced out like a reluctant child. Will hangs on every one. He has yet to see the whole picture but will keep listening until he does. Mike continues as bile creeps into his throat.

"I also struggle with change. I need routine and structure; it keeps me safe. When that structure changes, it takes me longer to adjust. Like when you and El moved away, or Max joined our Party.” Words come faster now. He’s held this pain inside for too long. “I don't understand why things change and how everyone moves on while I'm stuck in this perpetual loop. I get scared that everything will change because one thing is changing, and it’s too much to handle. I don't want to be hostile, but my brain tells me to protect myself. Routines also help me not feel overwhelmed by the world. Everything is loud…and bright…and fast. It's terrifying.” Tears spill out, emotions too much to contain. “If I stick to my routine, some of that stuff fades into the background. But as soon as it changes, that all comes rushing back in. My body shuts down, and I can’t stop it. I lose control, and it's scary, Will. It's…It's so scary!"

Mike breaks down and rolls into his boyfriend’s waiting arms. Will is dumbfounded. He had no idea. How has Mike survived this long? He rubs deep circles into Mike’s back, attempting to ground him. He wishes Mike had told him sooner. He would have helped him through it, been there for him when it was all too much. How did he miss it? Something so central to Mike's being unknown to the people he loves most. Will's mind drifts back to their childhoods when Mike would fall apart on the floor. Will would hold and rock him until he calmed down–not dissimilarly to what he did last week at the hospital. Then it clicks. Mike is describing those moments. Nights spent on the kitchen floor crying over a scratchy shirt tag or "wrong foods" touching. He got angry because Will canceled plans they made a week ago, even though his PTSD flared up and he was too weak to go out. His head swirles with examples, and each one makes more sense than the last. He holds Mike's face, wiping tears with his thumbs.

"Mike, I understand. I see how scary those moments are for you. I may not feel what you feel, but I see your pain, and that’s enough. You are not broken, and there is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand me?" Mike tearfully nods. "I love you so much, and I am honored that you feel safe enough to share this part of yourself with me. I will always be here to help you, just like you help me. We need each other, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. I do have a question, though. Is there a name for this, and why do you discuss it with Robin? Isn't that something a doctor tells you?"

Mike laughs at Will's innocent questions. "You should talk about it with a doctor, but most don't know much about it. It's called autism, and I talk about it with Robin because she has it, too. She's the one who saw it in me. The first time she explained it…I cried, Will. I had never heard a word describe me so perfectly.” As he remembers the moment, new tears form, and a smile radiates through his body. “It was like…I had a missing piece, and Robin found it. She unlocked me. I finally have permission to be myself. All of these struggles, all of this pain, it's real. It has a name. I've never felt this way, and I want you to know so you can feel it, too. I love you so much, Will.” Autism. Will rolls the word around in his mind. He's never heard it before, but it makes sense. It explains Mike. His bluntness, his temper, his everything. He pulls Mike close and hugs him tightly, tears mingling in their embrace as they celebrate the moment. It is not sad. Instead, it is euphoric.

#stranger things 5 #stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #byler endgame #stranger things headcanons #byler is requited #autistic joy #actuallyautistic #autistic mike wheeler #stranger things analysis #mental health #late diagnosed autistic

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bumpkinspice0 · 1 year

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Parallels Chapter 5

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI!!)

Word Count: 5969

Summary: An anomaly finally makes her way into you dimension and that comes with more than you thought.

Warnings: Canon typical violence (No blood or anything), un-beta'd as hell, S M U T, fingering, Tension, P n V sex (make sure you wrap it before you tap it folks), Praise kink, multiple orgasms, Miguel doesn't use stairs, don't look at me. Small note: I'm making a taglist for this fic! Just comment or message if you want to be added or just interact with this post!

Previous Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

Chapter 5

Fury

Nothing compared to the highest rooftops of New York in the dead of night. Serenity and stillness above the constantly bustling chaos just below— The perfect hiding spot and vantage point. There was so much happening on the ground that people never bothered to look up all that much. Well, maybe they did a little more since you came into the picture.

It was a long journey but you eventually won the hearts of your fellow citizens. After years of fighting it couldn’t be denied that you were only here to help, despite what the Daily Bugle preached every Sunday.

“All units be advised,” the comm crackles in your ear. “Disturbance in Washington Square Park. Suspect reported to be superhuman.”

The largest victory in the past few years was probably getting the cops to finally trust you. Well, trust was a strong word. You could finally get in and fight a threat without having to worry about dodging gunfire or a helicopter chase afterward. The city's precincts were a good mix of welcoming your help with open arms or begrudgingly working with you. Still, it was better than what it had been.

Regardless, the NYPD were your eyes all over the city and you were the last call they hoped they’d never have to make.

“Call in the spider.”

That’s your cue— and you were finally close for once. Washington Square Park. No more than 5 minutes as the spider swings. You jump from your perch by the river and start making your way there. As you swing more reports come in.

“Suspect armed and dangerous. Explosives used.”

“Immediate area evacuated.”

“Suspect is airborne. Repeat, suspect is airborne. He’s got wings, fella’s.”

Oh, this was ramping up to be a really good night, but the next report nearly sends you tumbling.

“I don’t believe it– it’s— the Goblin. It’s the Green Goblin.”

Norman? No, he’d been dead for years. Killed by his own machines. This had to be a sadistic follower. A copycat. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d dealt with someone following in the footsteps of one of your mortal enemies.

Just another fun perk to this job.

You swing past the police barrier, landing in the circular concrete center of the deserted park. It was completely dark. They must have taken out all the street lamps. You couldn’t hear that god-awful maniacal laughter, but you smelled the residue from that stupid glider. The chemicals from some pumpkin bombs too. They were close, and they’d likely seen you swing in.

“Here, Goblin, Goblin, Goblin,” you taunt as you circle the center fountain. “If you come out we can play nice and maybe talk about our feelings.”

“ Spider-Girl , ” And there was that horrible, scratchy voice only someone with diagnosed insanity would think is cool. It definitely didn’t belong to Norman Osborn, though. You turn in its direction, only greeted with the sight of dark looming trees. “ Love the new suit. ”

“Oh, this old thing,” you mockingly bash, scanning the grassy area, “Just had it lying around, ya know. Not sure it’s really me though.”

“ Where am I? ” the faceless voice sneers, “ It was daytime. I was flying, then— You. You did this, didn’t you? ”

They were agitated— likely manic and confused, how could they not be if they’d somehow gotten their hands on the Goblin formula. You were the only target they had, and they likely hated you before all of this happened. You opt for the negotiating route.

“Look, buddy. We don’t have to fight,” You slowly raise your hands as a small peace offering, “If you’re confused, we can just—”

The figure bursts from the darkness, grabbing you by the throat and soaring into the night air. So much for negotiating. As you fly past the surrounding skyline you finally get a good look at your villain.

This goblin was a woman— with the most comically ridiculous pointed goblin ears you’d ever seen. She didn’t ride a proper glider but surfed on what looked more like a rocket. She wore head-to-toe metallic purple with some basic armoring around her mid-section and shoulders. All of her gear was clearly professionally made.

But there was something else about her. A faint aura. The way her body moved. The lines of her sadistic face— Something not of this world.

She was an anomaly.

Of course, how did you not think of it before? The one night you didn't wear your watch. It would have alerted you right away. You’d never had an anomaly enter your dimension before. Every one of them you’d faced up until the point was in someone else’s world. Other dimensions already felt so strange and off-kilter to you, you never stopped to think about how truly out of place the anomalies were. They all looked alien when the entire world was alien.

But this was your neck of the woods. This was your home and she was just so clearly not part of it.

“ How did you do this? ” she steadies her glider and holds you out over empty air.

“Would you believe me if I said this wasn’t your dimension?” You wheeze out in her grasp.

Through some divine comedic timing, she glitches. As her hand phases between worlds, you fall from her grasp. You tumble a few dozen feet before catching yourself on a building. Clinging to the brick, you look back up at your new goblin assailant.

The glitching comes to a shaky stop and she steadies herself on her rocket glider again. She takes a small moment to look down at her hands, a wave of shock overtaking her green face before it settles into fiendish joy.

“ So... I can travel between dimensions? ” she says more to herself than to you.

“ Travel is a strong word,” You get her attention.

She looks at you, “ You’re not my Spider-Girl? ”

“It’s Spider -Woman, actually.” you ready yourself to pounce at any moment.

“ How many of you are there? ” She asks, anger dotting her words.

“Oh yeah sure, just let me just give you a quick overview of the multiverse,” Without giving her time to react you shoot a web to the tip of her rocket glider, thrusting it off kilter in one motion. She goes flying. You jump after her, “That’s a terrible glider design by the way.”

“ Insolent brat! ” She screams, reaching out her hand. You reach for her, only to instantly be met with open air as she’s swept away by the glider. She can summon her dumb rocket- surfboard.

Of course.

You bank to her right, shooting web to at least immobilize her hands. Any web that gets near her is immediately slashed by blades now protruding from her wrists. You aim for her glider again, but she easily bobs and weaves past all of your shots now that she knows what to expect. She was better on that thing than you thought.

You jump, sticking yourself to the underside of the rocket glider. If you can’t stop her, then you’ll just have to dance with her.

“ You think you're a match for the Goblin QUEEN? ” She sneers, whipping around wildly to fling you off.

“Oh, apologies, your majesty. ” You rip off a panel of the flying device, grabbing at any cables and wiring you can, “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty.”

She grunts in frustration, whipping you to the left and slamming you into the nearest building. In the midst of the searing impact, you lose your grip on her.

“ Pathetic.” She swings around to hover in front of you, “ You’re not my Spider, but you’ll do for now. ” She barrels toward you at full force, a massive blade unsheathing from the front of her glider. Without time to jump, you catch her glider— holding her at arm's length while the blade extends out to mere inches from your face.

The brick around you cracks and crumbles as the full force of her glider pushes down on you.

“ I’ll kill you, then I’ll harness this power and kill ALL of you,” Oh great, she was monologging , “ Every Spider, dead by my hands. This is what I was born to do!”

“M-might wanna check that ego, lady!” you grunt, hiking up your feet to push back on the body of her glider. It was awkward but you had the leverage— you just don’t know how long you can hold it.

You kick your legs up, using her own force against her, and send her spiraling backward. You immediately get out of your cornered position and head back towards the open park. If she was covered in knives and reportedly using explosives, best to keep her away from any buildings. Make her focus all of her attention on you. You stand in the center circle again as she hovers overhead.

“ You can’t run, Spider-Woman, ” She taunts, “ And you can’t win .”

You don’t time have for a witty remark before she’s charging at you again, her glider's blade front and center.

You’re about to act when a bassy boom crackles and rips through the air, giving you both pause.

Then you feel it— A buzzing at the base of your skull.

Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding.

The portal forms just to your right. His webs appear first, red treads shooting from the golden light. They latch onto her glider. The Goblin, shocked, attempts to correct her course, pulling Miguel the rest of the way out of the portal with her. He stands strong, several strands of webs in each hand. He whips his lassos downward, sending her flying off the glider. Before she can summon it back he whips his arms again, redirecting it straight into the ground. It explodes instantly.

He drops the webbing and shakes off his shoulders. He turns to you, sleek mask obscuring his face. He was here. He was actually here.

“Uh, Thanks,” You say, “Was trying to get her off that stupid thing for like 10 minutes now.”

“Don’t mention it,” Though you can’t see it, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Two of you now? ” your assailant broods from the shadows. You and Miguel immediately stand back to back at the sound of her voice, “ No matter, you’ve stopped nothing. You can’t stop Fury. You can’t stop destiny. ”

“Oh, she’s a monologuer,” Miguel scoffs.

“Mhm, she’s already vowed to kill all of spider-kind.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he tuts back.

“Are all of you always so arrogant?” She sneers.

“Pretty much,” You answer.

What happens next you still can’t fully articulate. It was a matter of milliseconds, yet it felt as if the world moved at half its normal speed.

You feel it before you see or hear it. She throws three pumpkin bombs. Before the devices even leave her hands you know exactly what direction they're coming from in the darkness— And seemingly so does Miguel. You move together in perfect unison, dodging the explosives as they implode on the ground. She starts circling the two of you, throwing bomb after bomb. Still, not one touches you. Here in a complete darkness, it’s like you could feel every move she was going to make.

“Damned Spiders,” She grunts in frustration as she throws another pumpkin bomb into the concrete clearing. This one doesn’t explode on impact though. You and Miguel pause.

“Smoke!” He shouts, just a second too late. Pink gas explodes from the device. You’re able to escape only after having gotten a lung full of the nasty stuff. You cough and wheeze, barely able to swing to safety in the sparse trees. Miguel is nowhere to be seen, but you can sense him nearby. Maybe this spider-sense thing was coming in handy for once.

Goblin laughter from behind sends a shiver up your spine. You turn to see her perched in an oak tree. Just a few yards beyond her, a broad figure lurks in the settling pink mist. To catch this one, you had to be smarter. You’d have to lure her in— and part of you thinks Miguel has the same idea.

“Not bad, for a Psychopath,” you dust your legs off.

“ I think you mean visionary ,” She croons. “ You and your brutish Spider-man are no match for- ”

“Say’s the lady with no ride and a quickly dwindling supply of Spirit Halloween props.” You glance over and Miguel crouches down to all fours— Ready to pounce at exactly the right moment. Her guard is still up, if he jumped now he’d be met with a grenade directly to the face. You could distract her. Get all of her attention on you again. She obviously liked to talk, so…

“How do you even become Queen of the Goblins ?” You ask, leaning against a tree. “Is there a king? Is it David Bowie?!”

“ Silence! ” She screams. When in doubt, always go for the ego with super villains, “ I was chosen by Norman Osborn. Chosen at birth and raised for this purpose. ”

“Norman Osborn is dead.” you sneer, “And he certainly isn’t bestowing his messed up legacy on babies.”

“ In your reality, maybe. In mine, he’s a god, ” She crouches down, “ But you’ve opened my eyes to the possibilities, dear. Osborn lives, somewhere out there. I’ll find him. I’ll rally the goblins and we’ll finally kill you all.”

“Norman Osborn is dead ,” You repeat, “He always dies. Always . And it’s always a Spider standing over him.”

“ Not anymore.” You see her face contort in anger. Attacking her goblin cult leader must be the way to go.

“You know why?” You step toward her, “Because he’s weak.”

“Shut. Your. Mouth. ”

“Just a weak, pathetic, ordinary , man.”

“ Shut up! ”

You ready yourself, “Make me.”

She barely gets a foot off her branch before Miguel pounces from behind. All in an instant, he grabs her, pinning her arms to her chest— a portal forms above you, and Miguel, Goblin Queen in hand, fly’s through it.

It blips closed before you can follow. You instinctively reach for your watch, only to realize again you did wear it tonight. Of course, that’d make everything too easy. Why would you wear it if you weren’t planning on an interdimensional battle tonight? A mistake, you assure yourself, you’ll never make again.

The brief thought of hurrying directly home and following Miguel flashes through your mind. Even if you could somehow get back to your Brooklyn apartment in a matter of minutes, you still had other duties to attend to. The sound of several officers entering the park brings you back to reality. Miguel was a pro— he could handle it from here. You needed to let your people know the situation was taken care of.

You speak with the Sargent and Captain at the scene, spinning some lie about her being a deranged follower and one of her bombs malfunctioning, and vaporizing her instantly. It was absolutely ridiculous but they trusted you to never lead them astray. Better to lie here than release the secret of access to the multiverse. The threat to your city was gone. That’s all that mattered.

You, fortunately, manage to escape a press statement this time, regretfully leaving that task up to Captain Stacy. He was better with the cameras than you were anyway.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. when you finally get back home, sneaking into the building through your rooftop perch. Honestly, it’s an earlier night than most. Your back aches from being slammed into a brick wall and your head is still spinning from whiplash. A hot shower and your bed sounded like paradise.

Your building was an old warehouse renovated sometime in the 2000s. It used to be a massive bakery. You swear you can still smell freshly baked bread in the bricks some 20 years later. You fucking loved your apartment. Vaulted ceilings, massive industrial windows, and a lofted bedroom. You were able to afford it out of sheer luck.

Some business tycoon's daughter was kidnaped. When you returned her safely he handed you a briefcase with hundreds of thousands in cash, refusing to take no for an answer. You felt dirty taking it but you were flat broke since starting college and the medical bills from your nightly activities were piling up. You were younger then— and desperate.

Jack seemed amazed you were even feeling remorse for it at the time.

“You’ve saved this city how many times?!” he’d scold you. “I think you can have something for almost dying for the people of this town on a bi-weekly basis.”

Part of you agreed and part of you felt you were straying from the path— whatever that meant. Jack begged you to get something nice for yourself— so, you got this place and vowed never to take money for your job ever again. You fell in love as soon as you saw it. Your safe haven. Spider HQ, as Jack affectionately called it.

Miguel had an entire tower, you could have more than a shoebox apartment.

He was probably back at the tower now. You grab your watch and check the villain logs. Lyla kept a detailed list of who’d been captured and where. And there she was, right at the top.

Fury the Goblin Queen: Earth-982

Status- Captured: Earth-727 at 2200 hours

He handled it. Nothing else to worry about. You let out a heavy sigh and peal off your suit, sports bra, and underwear. A scorching hot shower and some ibuprofen were calling your name.

You’re about to climb the steps to your bathroom when you feel a slight tremble in the walls along with a buzzing in your head.

Again? Right now? You’re suddenly very aware of your complete nakedness and quickly grab one of your long abandoned t-shirts from a kitchen stool to cover up with. The baggy shirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs but it’ll have to do.

The golden portal formed in your living room, a still fully suited Miguel emerging from it. It closes behind him with a deep rumble.

“Thanks for waking all my neighbors up,” you pinch the bridge of your nose.

His mask fades away, revealing that stupid handsome face, “You didn’t follow.” he simply says.

“Didn’t have my watch. I won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t check in, either.”

“Didn’t think I needed to,” you groan, rubbing the back of your stinging neck, “I just got home after defusing the scene for 2 hours. Sorry if it slipped my mind.” The last part comes out more bitchy than you intend but you were fucking tired. And he comes to your home— To what? Berate you about protocol? Fuck off.

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says, earnestly. Okay, well now you do feel a little bit like a bitch.

He could have just called or asked Lyla to check up on you, be he came himself. He was here, in your apartment. The realization makes your spider sense spike.

He’s here and you're both alone.

“I’ve… never fought with you before,” He says, relaxing his posture, “You did good.”

“You too,” you say passively. You lean against the kitchen counter, letting the following silence linger into uncomfortable territory. What else was there to say? He came to make sure you were okay, the villains locked up and your dimension isn’t crumbling. Still, that dreaded sixth sense pulled at you to keep him here. Just a little longer, “Has it ever felt like that before?” you finally ask.

“Has what?” he furrows his eyebrows.

“Fighting… with another spider,” You clarify, “When we were in the clearing— When she was throwing the bombs. The way we moved, it felt so—”

“Instinctual,” He finishes, taking a step toward you. “No, it’s never felt that way. It’s like you knew what to do. Like you knew what I was thinking.”

“Yeah,” You shy away from his gaze. You suddenly feel the gravity of it all. While you were grateful for the benefits of the spider sense, something was wrong with you. With both of you. This wasn’t a normal spider-sense. Whatever this was, was like a brick through the window of your daily life. Something was triggered in you, and you couldn’t turn it off. Now you’ll probably never be normal again— not that you really were before.

Everything felt perfect before. The city finally accepted you, a new job you were proud of, and new friends just like you. People that could understand in a way no one else could. You’d found a balance and a new passion for being Spider-Woman. Now, for the first time in years, you cursed your abilities. You doubted yourself. An outsider again, even amongst your own kind.

“Hey.” Miguel’s voice brings you out of the spiral. He’s standing directly in front of you. When did he get so close? “You okay, little spider?”

The nickname makes your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, I—” You stop yourself from rambling, bringing your hand up to your cheek “This is kinda fucked up, isn’t it? You and me?”

He snorts a small laugh, “Yeah, kinda.”

“Whatta we supposed to do, Miguel?” you ask yourself, more than him. Even if his test showed something, then what? Just learn to live with it, you suppose.

“Business as usual,” He reiterates from the other day in his room. Why did business as usual feel so difficult then? You’re not even sure what that means around him. A silence stirs between you two again, but this time you feel something building. Your mind screams at you to touch him. To let him take control and ravish you. You squeeze your legs together, doing your best to hide it even though it’s no use. If you felt it, he felt it too.

“I should go.” He finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sure,” you nod. Neither of you moves. You see the hunger behind his brilliant red eyes.

You hesitantly reach out, running a hand up his broad chest. You needed something— Just a little of him. His breath hitches at the contact but he doesn’t shy away. His suit’s technology ripples in the wake of your touch, illuminating and fading away to show the rich, tan skin underneath— before phasing back in an instant. He grabs your wrist, halting your movement at his stomach. You can feel his heart rate rising under your touch.

He pulls you in, lips crashing in a frenzy of movement. You throw your arms over his shoulders as he pins you against the kitchen counter. His arms cage you in as his massive body overwhelms you.

Every move you make is feverish and desperate, begging for more of him. His tongue selfishly delves into your mouth and you moan at the taste of him. The sensation sends your head reeling. He bites at your lower lip before ghosting down to your neck. He was hungry— so were you.

Your head is spinning. All your pain and exhaustion now completely forgotten and replaced with pure, unbridled lust. The connection screams in gratitude, finally getting what it wanted.

“Miguel,” You sigh into his hair, as he leaves a trail of hickeys down your shoulder.

“I know,” He moans without halting his work, “ Lo sé. Yo también lo siento. ”

His bare hand snakes up your leg and hitches around the hem of your t-shirt. He pauses when he feels nothing else there.

“How scandalous.” He smiles against your skin, running his calloused hand across your bare hips. You shiver in response, suddenly unable to articulate language. He cradles your head with his other hand as he buries his nose in your hair, “Oh god, you smell so—you’re so—”

He runs his open hand over your bare cunt. You gasp and arch into him, rolling your hips over his fingers. Greedily rocking back and forth against his rough hand, you coat his fingers with your growing arousal. He moves his hand gingerly as you do so. He gently runs his middle finger along your seam before thrusting it inside.

You swing your head back with a moan, clawing at his shoulders. He takes the opportunity to devour your neck again while working his hand in and out of you. You’re at his complete mercy. Whatever he wanted from you, he could have— you’d happily give it.

His mass threatens to topple you over the counter. You hook your leg around his hips, opening yourself to him more. You feel his entire body vibrate with a moan as his lips proceed to explore every single inch of you that they can. His thumb comes up to work against your clit and it sends you to a new level.

“P-please!” You gasp. You’re not entirely sure why you say it.

He pauses all of his movements, glowing red eyes meeting yours, “Please what?” it’s more of a demand than a question.

Tell me what you want.

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with your mouth, “Please fuck me.”

Then you see a shift in him. Like his eyes glaze over and somehow become more animalistic. It sets all of your hair on end and a new wave of arousal washing over your senses.

His voice drops an octave, “Where’s—”

“Upstairs.” you barely pant out, glancing up at your bedroom just above you. He follows your eyes, quickly taking the hint.

“Okay, little spider. Okay,” he ever so slowly draws his fingers out from your slick heat. You whimper at the sensation. His hands trace over your soft thighs before hooking under them. He lifts you like nothing at all and your lips come crashing back to his. You entangle your limbs around him as he walks you both out of the kitchen and to the open living room. He doesn’t go towards the stairs though, instead walking to the opposite wall. Before you can correct him, his hands are off you— talons digging into your living room wall.

He scales the bricks as you cling to him, not stopping your hungry kissing for a single beat. His powerful limbs move under you with brute force but his torso still holds steady for you to carry yourself on. A small reminder of just how strong he was.

He hoists you both over the railing of your loft and carries you to the bed, dropping you into the messy, unmade sheets. His hand comes to the collar of your shirt, ripping it down the middle. You shrug off the shreds and briefly wonder if you’ll ever be able to do this without ruining any clothes.

He takes a moment to drink in your naked form, eyes slowly traveling down the curves of your body. You squirm under his gaze— Your breasts heaving up and down in anticipation.

“Miguel,” you reach out to him.

Come here. Please.

His head twitches, eyes darting back to your face. His small trance broken, he smiles down at you. The edges of his suit start to fade away in a pale blue glow until there’s nothing left but a pair of black boxer briefs, his form silhouetted by the streetlights from the window. He hastily removes the underwear, freeing his throbbing hard cock. You drink him in, in all his glory.

He trails his massive hands back up your thighs and over your torso as he crawls on top of you. His hands are scorching and rough. He pauses at your breasts, running his thumbs over each pebbled nipple.

He takes one into his mouth, kneading the other roughly. You squirm under him, gasping at the contact. His cock twitches against your stomach. He seems to revel in it— watching you fall apart by his hand. You can’t say mind much either.

“Miguel, please,” You beg, pulling at his hair. He lazily comes off your breast, lulling his tongue over your nipple before rising completely.

“So impatient , ” he murmurs. He brings his hand down and runs his fingers through your wet folds, slowly gathering your arousal. He sits back, towering over you. He strokes his massive length, covering himself with you. His gaze burns into you as he puts on the show— small gasps escaping him with every stroke.

Look at what you do to me.

He crawls down your body. You bring your legs up from under him and hook them around his waist. He reaches down and guides his cock to your entrance. The blunt tip presses dauntingly against you and then you, only for a moment, worry you can’t take him— Then he rolls his hips forward. Your face contorts into a blissful silent scream as he begins stretching you to your limits.

“Oh god,” He moans as he slowly takes you inch by inch. He rolls his hips lightly before burying himself to the hilt. You’re legs are already quivering around him. “Relax for me.” He whispers into your ear.

He starts the pace slow, drawing out almost completely before rolling back in. Each dauntingly slow stroke of his cock was a wave of sensory overload. He had you stretched to near painful limits but with each steady thrust, it melted into pure pleasure, your body relaxing around him.

A little faster now, you start to roll your hips with him. Once your rhythm is set, he brings his starved mouth back down to yours. You moan into him, feeling it reverberate in both your chests. You consume each other greedily.

Your sense is singing in absolute ecstasy.

It’s never felt this way before. You’d had a meager handful of lovers in your life, often leaving you wanting and disappointed— But this? This was something entirely different. Something so deep-rooted and primal. It scared you. It excited you.

“ He pensado en esto durante tanto tiempo.” He murmurs into you, “ Te sientes asombrosa.”

You absolutely do not have the brain capacity to even attempt to understand him right now. Still, the way he so lovingly says it makes your heart swell.

“You sound like sin,” He grunts against your neck, “It’s fucking beautiful. Eres hermosa, mi arañita. ”

Your growing arousal makes you more vocal with each movement— the coil in your belly already tightening more and more. Your sinful screams bounce off the walls of your apartment and back to you.

He’s leaving a growing trail of marks across your shoulders, evidence that he’s been there. You can’t say that you disapprove of the reminder. He’s so vigorous in all of his movements with you, it was getting close to overwhelming.

You’d thought of this— you’d dreamed about it for months now and he was incomparable to whatever you could have possibly imagined. Not just because his dick was proving to be something out of this world— well, you suppose it was— but because it was just him. His smell, his sound, his taste— he overwhelmed your every sense as he made love to you.

He hits something new and deep inside you, and you jump under him. He takes notice. Of course, he does. He devastatingly slams his hips forward into the same spot again. Electricity surges through you.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? You like that?” He chuckles, thrusting into the same hypersensitive spot over and over. A few more thrust and it was your undoing.

You can’t even warn him before it hits you like a freight train.

You claw down his back as your orgasm overtakes you. Limbs numbing and mind blacking out to nothingness for brief seconds, it was almost too much. Quivering beneath him, he works you through it. Each thrust extends your blinding pleasure just slightly longer before it subsides into maddening overstimulation.

“Good Girl,” He moans against your ear, “S-so, fucking tight. So good.”

He doesn’t slow his pace, continuing to fuck you through your prolonged high. He takes full advantage of it. You gasp for any air you can, every nerve in your body threatening to burn up in the euphoria.

“One more,” he grunts, “I know you have one more for me.”

He nuzzles into your neck, teeth bearing down on the soft flesh there. The pearl gleam of his fangs flashes in your mind, and you know you should be afraid— but you're not. The idea of him drawing blood is strangely pleasing. His tongue licks up along the reddened mark his teeth have left there.

Then he shifts you— untangling your legs from him and pulling your hips up off the bed. You plant your feet as he holds your shaky hips. He rises and starts to thrust down into you, bringing his fingers to your clit, and rubbing small circles over your already fried nerves. God, he looked fucking magnificent towering above you— His face pure lust. Eye’s lidded and glossy, sweat pecking at his brow.

You grasp at the sheets, trying to find any sense of stability. Another wave is washing over you, “M-Miguel. Miguel, I’m gonna—”

It rips through you quicker than your first, but no less powerful. Your voice catches in your throat as you gasp for air, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s it. That’s it,” he chants as crawls back over you, pulling you closer, “Fuck, you feel so good when you—”

His steady pace becomes sporadic as he chases his own relief. You feel his hips start to quake and his eyes go completely red.

“W-where?” he gasps.

“God— inside!” you scream impatiently. You can inform him of your birth control after, though he seems to take the hint.

He cums with a string of grunts uttered into the sheets next to your head, hips shuttering still as he pushes as deep inside you as you can. You feel him throbbing against your walls as he fills you. Every muscle in his body is quivering and tense and then… he relaxes completely. You hold him close, arms and legs wrapping around him. You bury your nose in the nape of his neck, memorizing his musky scent.

You both stay there for what felt like hours, in unmoving silence. Breathing each other’s heavy air, clinging to the other’s body. Truth be told, it was probably less than a minute, but it stretched on for eternity.

He’s the first to move, rising up to rest his sweaty forehead against yours, “Holy shit.”

How romantic. But that pretty much summed up your feelings too.

“Holy shit.” you chuckle lightly in agreement. You notice while coming down from your sexual high your spider sense has also been tamed into silence yet again. That was to be expected but there was something else this time. A new level of satisfaction. You can’t help but wonder what it’s like on his end, “What’s it feel like... For you?”

“It’s…Peaceful. Satiated and content.” he says, rolling onto his side. Your breath hitches at the loss of him. “It felt satisfied before when we… but now…”

“It’s different.” You finish his line of thought. It was vague and incredibly obvious, but how else could you possibly describe a sensation you’d never felt before? Yeah, it was different, but how? You just simply didn’t have the words— not yet.

It was everything and nothing you’d ever known before. He made you feel that way.

“Will you stay?” you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself. He’s obviously taken aback.

“I don’t—”

“Just- just for a little while.” You quickly try to backtrack a little. It feels needy and clingy but you feel like if he left you’d be lying awake for hours with your spider sense screaming at you. Just hold you for a little while? Is that so much to ask? You’re worried you just massively overstepped a boundary… but then his expression softens into a faint smile.

“Sure, little spider. For a little while.”

_____________________________________

Lo sé. Yo también lo siento- I know. I feel it too He pensado en esto durante tanto tiempo- I’ve thought about this for so long Te sientes asombrosa.- You feel amazing Eres hermosa, mi arañita- You’re beautiful, my little spider

For the love of god, please let me know if any of this is wrong.

Fury the Goblin Queen is a character from the Mayday Parker Spider-Girl comics! They were my favorites growing up and I thought Fury was cool as shit. She surfs on a fucking rocket, like come on. Too bad she was raised in a cult though.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse

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