dolliewu

22 18+ blog of reblogs and fic recs of multifandoms. masterpost.

[youngkingdomnacho]

Me when Tumblr refreshes and I lose the fic I was reading:

[scarsw1fe]

Attention

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: After teasing Natasha during a mission with moans over comms and bratty defiance, Y/N pushes things too far once they’re back at the Tower

Word count: 1.2k

⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗ ⧗

The comm cracked softly in Y/N’s ear as she crouched behind the stone balcony on the west side of the compound, eyes trained on the second floor. The perimeter lights glowed dim, and aside from a soft dripping of water, the mission was dead quiet.

Too quiet.

She pressed two fingers to her earpiece and purred, low and breathy, “West side’s clear. Gonna move in… mm tight fit through this window.”

A pause.

Then Natasha’s voice in her ear, sharp. “Cut it out, Y/N.”

Y/N bit back a grin.

“Oh? Am I distracting you, Agent Romanoff?”

There was silence on the other end. No static. No breath.

Y/N crawled forward through the open window, slipping easily into the hallway. Her gear clung to her body, black and fitted, her chest slightly heaving from the quiet adrenaline of the break-in. She knew Natasha was posted two floors up, watching the heat signature. She also knew Natasha could hear everything she said.

She whispered again, louder this time, “God, it’s hot in here. I need to get out of these clothes.”

She heard it.

That one second delay.

The breath Natasha took before responding. The calm snap beneath it.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, baby?” She replied sweetly.

“You better watch yourself.”

Y/N turned a corner and caught a glimpse of Natasha a second later—standing by the stairwell exit, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes like fire. Their eyes met for only a second before Y/N brushed past her, chest grazing Natasha’s shoulder on purpose.

“Why should I?” She whispered, close enough to feel her breath.

Natasha’s voice dropped lower, a growl nearly under her breath. “Because you’ll regret it.”

Y/N leaned closer, lips nearly grazing her ear.

“Promise?”

Natasha didn’t respond.

But her eyes followed Y/N’s ass all the way down the hall.

⧗ ⧗

The hallway was quiet as Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, her skin dewy from the shower, hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. The towel wrapped around her was barely long enough to reach mid-thigh, and the knot at her chest was loose, practically begging to fall apart.

She padded softly down the hall toward the kitchen, still warm from the water, the air cool against her thighs. The entire tower floor was still and dim—except for the soft sound of water pouring.

Natasha stood by the kitchen island, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand, sweatpants slung low on her hips, hair slightly tousled from running her hands through it too many times. Her eyes flicked up the second Y/N walked in.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just walked straight to the fridge—slow, innocent—and opened it. The cool air hit her bare thighs and she shivered slightly, smiling to herself.

Then, without a glance behind her, she bent down.

Deep.

Slow enough for the towel to lift with her movement.

Just enough to show the bare curve of her ass—and more.

Much more.

There was a sharp clink behind her—glass meeting countertop. But Natasha didn’t speak.

Y/N stayed down just a little longer than necessary, then slowly stood upright, still facing the fridge. She reached for the fridge door and began to close it.

Until Natasha’s body hit hers from behind, pushing her forward, slamming her softly but firmly against the cold metal.

One hand flattened on the fridge beside her head. The other gripped her hip hard.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Natasha's voice came, low and dangerous against Y/N’s ears.

Y/N smirked, lips parting slightly, eyes half-lidded from the chill and heat colliding in her body.

“Just getting a drink.” She whispered.

Natasha pressed her hips against her ass. “You’ve been pushing me since the mission.”

A pause.

“You really want me to lose control, baby?”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Then she tilted her head, just enough for her cheek to brush Natasha’s.

“I think you already have.”

Natasha’s hand slid down her side, palm flattening over the towel's loose knot.

“Careful.” She murmured darkly. “You’re not gonna like what happens when I stop holding back.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“I will.”

⧗ ⧗

Y/N barely had time to breathe.

Natasha hands fisted the towel and yanked, hard, ripping the soft fabric loose in a single pull. It fell to the floor like it didn’t matter. Like it never mattered. And now Y/N stood naked in front of the fridge, her body flushed and dripping, her nipples tight from the cold metal against her chest.

Behind her, Natasha’s breath hitched.

Then her hand slammed between Y/N’s thighs.

“You want my attention so bad?” She growled into her ear. “You’ve fucking got it.”

Two fingers shoved inside her without warning—deep and rough, the sound of it slick and filthy. Y/N cried out, hands bracing against the fridge as her knees buckled from the force.

“Fuck, Natasha.”

“You don’t get to say my name like that.” Natasha said. “Not after what you pulled. You think I didn’t hear those little moans through comms? You think I didn’t notice how you rubbed up against me in that hallway like a whore?”

Her fingers slammed into her again, merciless, curling just right to make Y/N see stars.

“You’ve been begging for this since we left that damn compound.”

Natasha free hand wrapped tightly around her throat, pulling her up from the fridge and forcing her back against her chest. Y/N gasped, her back arching, her tits bouncing with every punishing thrust.

“Look at you.” Natasha growled into her ear. “So fucking wet I can hear it every time I fuck into you. Dripping down your thighs. What would the others think if they saw you like this? Bent over, choked out, pussy wide open and begging for it.

Y/N moaned something incoherent, head lolling back against Natasha’s shoulder. Her walls clenched tighter, breath catching.

“I know you’re close.” Natasha whispered, voice pure venom. “Go ahead. Cum for me. Make a fucking mess.”

Her fingers curled harder. Pressed deeper.

Y/N came with a sharp cry, body locking up as her orgasm tore through her. Her thighs trembled violently, slick pouring over Natasha’s hand and down her legs. Her chest heaved, mouth slack, vision blurring.

But Natasha didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

She fucked her through it, harder, relentless, her grip tightening at her throat again just as Y/N’s body started to twitch from the overstimulation.

“Too much?” Natasha mocked against her neck. “What, now it’s too much? You weren’t saying that when you were bending over for me in that towel like a desperate little slut.”

Y/N gasped, body writhing, moaning and whining from the intensity. Her second orgasm was already building—impossibly fast, raw and loud and out of her control.

“I’m not stopping.” Natasha hissed. “Not until you cum again. Not until you cry. You asked for this, baby.”

Her fingers were drenched now slamming into Y/N with vicious purpose, the heel of her palm grinding against her clit as her body shook with another climax.

Y/N screamed, loud and guttural, completely overwhelmed, cumming again with a sob. Her legs gave out enough, but Natasha held her up by her throat and between her thighs, owning every inch of her.

And still, she didn’t let go.

She leaned in, lips against her temple.

“Don’t tease me like that, baby.” She whispered. “Unless you want me to ruin you like this every fucking time.”

[undressingherr]

“SOFT DRUG DEALER BILLIE ⊹₊⟡⋆”

HEADCANNONS ✶

WARNINGS : soft drugdealer!billie eilish x fem!reader | drugs, switch!billie, smut, fluff, possessive relationship undertones, mentions of guns, mild violence implication

- this keeps getting requested, so here you go.

DEALER!BILLIE who looks like she just walked out of a book store instead of the life she lives. dark brown hair, blue eyes that don’t miss anything, dimples that show at the worst times. people trust her too easily… and she uses that.

DEALER!BILLIE has nights where she barely talks. sits on the edge of the bed, head in her hands. if you come up behind her and hug her, she leans back into you instantly, like she was waiting for it.

DEALER!BILLIE billie’s pale fingers tremble slightly while counting a massive haul, voice harsh with suspicion about tainted product, blue eyes scanning every bill. you steady her with your touch, massaging her shoulders until dimples crease her cheeks in relaxation.

DEALER!BILLIE late at night, billie tucks her gun under her pillow like a guardian, her dark brown hair laid out on the sheets as she spoons you from behind, pale arm draped protectively over your waist. she's been fuming about other dealers encroaching on her turf all day, as her lips brushed your shoulder with soft apologies for the stress she brings home.

* DEALER!BILLIE after billie came home from working all day, you're lying naked on the large hotel bed with billie straddling your hips. she dips her head to your breasts, where a thin line of white powder waits, eyes fluttering shut as she inhales deeply, a soft moan escaping her lips from the rush. then she crawls up, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss, tasting of salt and sweetness, murmuring against your lips how perfect you are.

DEALER!BILLIE she’s on her knees in front of you in a fitted black suit, makeup soft, hair slightly messy in a pretty way. she looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

you’re counting money out loud, as she gently takes your heels off. each time she removes one, she presses a soft kiss to your ankle. “keep counting,” she murmurs, eyes not leaving you. she gets like this—quietly obsessive.

DEALER!BILLIE who wears tight dresses sometimes—rarely, but when she does, it’s like seeing a completely different version of her. soft curves, bare skin, hair styled instead of hidden. she gets shy about it too. “…don’t look at me like that,” she mutters, even though she walked out just to see your reaction.

DEALER!BILLIE who gets quiet when you tell her she’s a good person. like she doesn’t believe it. “…you don’t know everything,” she says, but there’s no bite to it.

DEALER!BILLIE who ended up arriving home later than usual. too late. billie came through the door in all black, ski mask half way off—as if she needed air to breathe, with black with gloves on. her eyes saw you first before she pulls it off fully, messy hair falling..

she looks too pretty for the moment. your eyes drops. her hand’s low at her side, hiding something. “billie… what is that?” she turns quick, brushing past you.

she looks so pretty for the moment. your eyes trailed lower, noticing her hands were on her side, hiding something. a rifle gun. “billie… what is that?” she turns quick, brushing past you.

she slips the gloves off, putting everything out of sight before coming back to you, hands softer, holding your arms. “…hey,” she murmurs. “i’m okay. you’re okay. that’s what really matters” and just pulls you in before you can ask more.

DEALER!BILLIE who has a beautiful, almost gentle soul under everything. she notices small things, if you ate, if your tone changed, if you’re quiet for too long.

DEALER!BILLIE who likes skincare routines but acts like she doesn’t. you’ll catch her in the mirror trying products she “borrowed” from you.

DEALER!BILLIE who gets quiet when she’s overwhelmed, sitting on the floor counting money just to feel like she has control again.

* DEALER!BILLIE in the lighting near the bedside lamp, billie's legs hook tight around your shoulders, pulling you deeper as your tongue works her wet folds, her pale thighs trembling with your work. she's a little rough, fingers tangling harshly in your hair to guide you, moans spilling out ragged and praising, while her gun tucked in her bra shifts up and down with her heaving breaths, the metal glinting against her chest.

DEALER!BILLIE is the type to go from “stop fucking with my money” on the phone to laying her head in your lap five minutes later like nothing happened.

* DEALER!BILLIE who’s strap thrusts further within you, with each rough snap of her hips, turning you into a moaning mess, whimpers spilling out as she clamps a crisp hundred-dollar bill—dusted with white powder—over your mouth to muffle the sounds.

DEALER!BILLIE who isn’t used to being seen soft, feminine, and gentle. you make her feel like she’s more than the life she lives.

DEALER!BILLIE you watch her when she sleeps sometimes. the same girl who can turn cold in seconds… now curled into you like she belongs there. you brush a strand of hair from her face, careful not to wake her. she shifts slightly, pulling closer, with a arm tightening around your waist like she’s holding onto you even in her sleep. you lean down and kiss her forehead gently. “you’re so pretty,” you whisper.

DEALER!BILLIE “i don’t wanna do this forever,” she says, laying beside you, your fingers playing with her hand tattoo. “i want something… normal. somewhere far.”

“then let’s go,” you mutter. she huffs softly, shaking her head. “…it’s not that simple. this life don’t just let you walk away.” then her hand finds yours, squeezing gently.

-

Tag list - @bilsafterdark @anonymousbillie @cumvisitmeinjail @amoravelee @m4ybejojo @hekofe @fawngirleilish @zxillie @downbad4bil @rfc483 @n0tsleep1n @spiraleilish @hornierthanever0 @ylxiru @goofienostalgic @pommranii @47lake @cowmath

let me know if you wanna be added or removed ✧

[statementofthefuckingproblem]

RESTRICTED ACCESS: Harder

au: you are a woman of composure, calm, poise. but inside that specific folder in billie's phone, a restricted access to anyone, contains multiple videos of you that is only for billie's eyes to see.

contains: g!p billie, filming of sex, blowjob, face riding

an: not proofread. Part II of Restricted Access

CLIP 9: Red

➀ Video ▹ 1:12

the video opens with your soft, struggled whine. filmed on billie's phone that you bought her just earlier cause she threw her old one at the mirror and shattered it dead.

on the drive to her house, she said she wanted to bless it. you raised a brow but didn't question.

and look where it got you.

she's holding it high, looking down at the two of you in the reflection of the soundproof glass. the room is bathed in deep crimson. billie is sitting in the producer's chair with you straddling her.

she's holding the phone in one hand, filming your face as you realize what’s happening beneath you. her cock is out, fully erect and pulsing, trapped between your grinding hips and her lap.

"look at the screen, baby," she rasps, her voice a low and teasing.

billie tilts the phone down so the camera catches the rhythm—the way her cock disappears and reappears as you slide over the head of it.

she’s smirking, looking totally relaxed while you’re falling apart.

she lets out a witty, breathless laugh when you let out a loud sob of frustration.

"I hate you." you managed to stutter.

"Mhm." billie hums mockingly. leaning over to pressed a kiss on your sweaty temple.

she drops the phone onto the desk—the camera pointing at the ceiling—and you just hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of her finally sliding all the way inside you, followed by her low, satisfied "fuck, you're so wet."

CLIP 11: Sit. Down.

➀ Video ▹ 1:34

a static shot from the side. you are hovering over billie's face, but you’re clearly hesitant, bracing yourself with your hands on the mattress.

billie's hands come up to grab your hips. she's looking up at you from the pillows, her blue eyes dark and intense.

"stop holding yourself up," she grumbles, the sound muffled by your proximity. "i'm not gonna break, baby. Put your weight on me."

you try to sink down, but you’re still shaking, overthinking it.

billie lets out a huff—that classic, "scolding" tone. "Dude, seriously? Trust me. Sit. Down. All the way." she reaches up and pulls your arms out from under you, forcing you to collapse onto her face.

the audio changes instantly to the sound of her tongue working frantically against you. you let out a sob, your body finally going limp against her. you feel her hum, vibrating against your sensitive clit.

the way she made eye contact with you — eyes half-lidded, blown. she glided her tongue through your slit, flicking it making you shudder.

"Shit—" you gasp, gripping the headboard.

"yeah? you like that?"

"fuck you." oh, you were frustrated. she let out a small, amused chuckle against your inner thigh.

"baby, you already are."

your hand shot out to grip her hair and she winced when you tugged. "Okay, fuck that hurts—"

"finish what you started, Eilish." and there goes that voice. that same voice you use to dominate board rooms and executives.

billie liked it. fucking loved it.

she grips your thighs, keeping you pinned there, her muffled voice saying, "there she is. that's my girl."

CLIP 13: Needy

➀ Video ▹ 5:32

you are holding the phone this time. it's a messy, high-angle shot looking down at your own body.

theframe shows your legs wrapped around billie's waist.

she's trying to pull away, her face soft and concerned. "baby, we’ve been at this for an hour, your skin is literally raw," she’s saying. but you aren't listening.

you're pulling her back by her shirt, your face a mask of needy determination. first day of ovulation is always brutal.

you force her back into you. the camera shakes violently as her cock slides back in, hitting your sweet spot with a squelching wetness that sounds like a splash. you let out a sob of relief, your hand dropping the phone onto the bed so the camera is just filming the ceiling, but the audio is crystal clear.

you hear the bedframe creaking and the sound of skin-on-skin contact. you're making these high, repetitive "uh-uh-uh" sounds with every thrust.

your nails clawed into billie's skin, her pale arms covered with trails of scratches. some were even bleeding slightly.

billie's voice is a wreck, hissing every time the cool air of the AC hits her arms. "Okay, okay…god, you’re gonna be the death of me."

the clip ends with the sound of a heavy, final thud and a long, shared groan of absolute exhaustion before the camera was pushed off the bed.

CLIP 8: Shy?

➀ Video ▹ 4:51

billie is standing in front of a brightly lit vanity mirror, filming the reflection. you're tucked between her and the counter, hidden mostly by her oversized hoodie, until she pulls it up.

billie looks into the camera with a witty, half-lidded smirk. "check out my little shy baby," she mumbles.

she moves the fabric, revealing you on your knees, your face buried in her lap. her cock is thick and heavy, and you're swirling your tongue around the head with a needy focus.

you realize you're being filmed and freeze for a second, your face turning bright red.

billie just chuckles and strokes your cheek. "don't stop, mama. It's just for us."

you let out a tiny, soft whine and go back to it. but now you’re being bold, making eye contact with her through the lens as you swallow her deep.

the sound is messy and wet. you're drooling slightly, the friction creating a loud slurp-squelch every time you move.

billie's eyes go wide, her composure finally cracking.

"oh, fuck... okay, that's it," she gasps, reaching down to pull you up by your waist.

the video ended when the phone was long forgotten, facing up to the ceiling, and the words "it's okay baby, i'll go slow." was heard before the screen went black.

CLIP 15: she grumpy as hell after wtf

➀ Video ▹ 2:47

one thing, you're always the meanest after sex.

billie is filming you in the hotel bathroom. you've just showered, and you’re standing there with a towel around your head, looking incredibly small and grumpy because she won't give you your hairbrush.

a little punishment because you won't talk to her after you two pulled a 365 days yacht scene. you couldn't feel your legs — at all.

billie is holding the brush above her head as if her 3 apples tall frame is going to do shit to your 5'10 height. "give me a kiss first. a real one. not the 'I'm embarrassed' peck."

you blink. face blank.

you're standing there with your arms crossed over your chest, lowkey on the edge. "give me the brush, billie. I have a call with your label in twenty minutes."

"Kiss. First." she leans up, her eyes sparkling with wit.

you finally give in, reaching down to pull her up by her collar, giving her a deep, possessive kiss that catches her off guard. when you pull away, you snatch the brush from her hand.

you walk out of the bathroom with a "thank you," leaving her standing there stunned.

billie looks at the camera and whispers, "she's so mean to me. I love her so much."

the clip ends with her following you out, already planning how to make you pissed.

(might be the last part. next update is pretty…yeah)

TAGLIST: @byeilish @ellae1l1sh @bunnyxslutt

[seewhoyouwanttosee]

GOOD GRACES - JACK ABBOT X READER

☆ WORD COUNT: 3.7K

☆ SUMMARY: The one (1) time Jack Abbot snapped at you, and the four (4) times you made him pay for it.

☆ CONTAINS: Younger, fem!reader, Jack is chronically offline in this one, unrealistic state of calmness in the ED. Mentions of an intubation.

☆AUTHORS NOTE: Felt like writing something light hearted, since I am incapable of writing anything that isn’t angst. It’s in my blood, okay? Hope you enjoy it<333

☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @angeliicide

-1

“No, I am your attending and you listen to me!” Jack bellows, his voice bouncing between the confined walls of the trauma room.

You freeze, warmth creeping up your neck in humiliation. Putting the intubation tube back down on the tray, you step away from the patient. The monitors are beeping, a series of noises alerting you of the patient’s ever-decreasing vitals.

The room doesn’t stop when you do— instead, Jack takes over from where you were standing, and you’re promptly brushed aside as everyone continues to work around you.

Wordlessly, you rip your gown and gloves off, throwing them harshly into the trash before shoving the doors open, disregarding the curious looks at the sight of a doctor storming out of the department.

You don’t stop until you’ve reached the ambulance bay, only then letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

It had been a simple procedure– a fucking intubation. You had done hundreds of them, only this time something had gone wrong and the patient had been put in jeopardy. All because you had panicked like a damn intern on their first day.

As a senior resident you had more authority than the people that had been in the room with you at the time, and it had been your call. You could admit that you messed up– you should have done better, not made rookie mistakes at such a critical time.

Still, Jack had never pulled rank on you– not like that, and especially not in front of others.

You know it’s silly, being this affected by a simple scolding. Had it been a med-student and you were the one supervising, you would have done the same.

But coming from him?

It stung a lot worse than you thought it would.

The automated doors in the bay slide open, and you can hear the slightly uneven steps, already knowing who it is before turning to face him.

Jack stands a couple feet away, hands crossed over his chest and looking slightly more regretful than when you had last seen him.

Yeah, when he had yelled at you–

Shaking your head to get rid of the bitter thoughts, you clear your throat–  a tense smile etched onto your face.

“I was just getting some air,” you explain, though you doubt he actually cares.

Jack nods, running a hand through his locks before they land on each end of the stethoscope wrapped around his neck.

“Yeah, no– that's fine,” he mutters, and another moment of silence follows.

Your lips part like you’re about to speak, anything to fill the awkward pause that had ensued, but Jack beats you to it.

“Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you in there,” he sighs out, “...I shouldn’t have done that in front of everyone,”

You purse your lips at his apology, still feeling that small fire in the bottom of your stomach from the verbal lashing you had gotten.

…Sorry?

Yeah, he will be.

“It’s really fine, Doctor Abbot,”

Jack’s head jerks up at that, and you force your face to remain passive, despite the urge to smirk growing stronger at his reaction. He exhales, slow and measured, like he’s actively choosing not to react. His hands drop from where they were earlier now settling on his hips instead.

“...I understand if you’re still upset–”

“I’m not upset,” you cut him off, voice bright and the expression on your face seems unbothered– but for some reason, it still feels…

Off.

“Oh. That’s– yeah– uh, that's good. But I mean, if you were–”

“I’m not,” you once again don’t let him finish his sentence.

Jack nods, a flash of what you can identify as irritation crossing his face, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. 

“Good. Great– just…head inside when you’re ready then–”

You instantly straighten up, eyes widening as soon as he says the last word.

“Oh of course, Doctor Abbot. You’re the boss!” you say compliantly, giving him a final smile before heading back into the emergency department.

“No, I didn’t mean–” Jack’s words die on his tongue as he watches your retreating frame making its way back inside the building. “...right away,” he sighs out, rubbing his face as he groans.

He had a bad feeling about this.

1. 

The sound of your melodious laughter echoes in the otherwise calm central station. The sky had fallen, the chairs were manageable, and for once, there were even some empty beds, ready to be occupied if necessary.

Jack had treated himself to some cafeteria coffee instead of his usual cup from the shared breakroom down here, and when he returned, the sight of his residents and med-students surrounding the hub greets him.

There, right in the center of attention is you, hands waving frantically as you share a story about god knows what. Just from watching, Jack could tell it must’ve been something dramatic, that stuck in your head. Or not. You had a habit of making things up in the name of a good story,

And a good story it must be, since there isn’t a single pair of eyes aren’t on you. Shen is leaning across the counter, that trademark orange straw in his mouth as he sips on his watered down Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Parker is sitting in a chair, elbows resting on her knees as she laughs at something you’re saying. At least Crus is pretending to work, standing by the computer and typing one word per minute, listening more than he’s charting, and Nazely…well, she’s just staring at you.

Jack doesn’t think twice of it when he comes to a halt by the rest of the nightcrawlers, pretending to look at some labs on a spare ipad.

Only that it goes completely silent when he does.

Jack glances up from the ipad, his eyebrow quirking up when the noise suddenly disappears– like someone hitting the mute button on a television.

Huh, he thinks to himself– then, he’s distracted by the fact that he grabbed the wrong ipad. Turning around, Jack makes it about ten feet away, before the laughter and storytelling is back.

He stops, turns around and stares towards the direction of the ruckus.

Walking back to the hub, the commotion stops. Jack feels his eye twitch when he watches it happen again– like clockwork— whenever he steps just far enough. 

One step closer– silence.

Three steps back, and the laughter is back in full force. 

Jack just stands there for a second, staring at linoleum floors, wondering if years of PTSD has finally made him lose his mind.

“…The fuck?” he mutters under his breath. Finally, he exhales, shaking his head once. “No,”

He walks back to the hub, picks the ipad up again, even though he doesn’t look at it.

“What are we talking about!” he exclaims forcefully, and watches as five pairs of eyes land on him. Just as Shen is about to say something, you frown, suddenly looking down at your wrist watch.

“Crap, I forgot to run those labs I ordered–” you huff, not sparing him a glance as you walk past him.

Parker stifles a laugh behind a weak cough, and Jack whirls around to glare at her.

“What’s so funny?” he sneers, straightening up as his narrowed gaze flits between his residents.

A hush falls over the area.

“…Sorry man, you’re on your own,” Crus gives him a regretful smile, patting his shoulder before leaving.

“There’s something going on with her,” 

Parker Ellis flinches, nearly dropping her tub of leftover chinese food as she stands by the microwave in the breakroom.

“Holy shit–”

Jack stands in the doorway, arms crossed and gaze unyielding— like he hadn’t just nearly scared the life out of her.

“I mean– you saw that, right?” he scoffs, following Parker as she sets her steaming lunch box onto the table. Pulling out a chair, her face twists up in disbelief when Jack slumps into the seat. Her hands shoot up in exasperation, barely able to hold back the irritation growing at sight her aloof attending.

“Sure, yeah– join me, why don't you?” she mutters under her breath, already pulling out a second chair and sitting down in it.

Jack ignores it, because he has bigger problems at hand. Like why you’re suddenly nowhere to be found, when just a day ago, he couldn’t get you to leave his side.

“She just left as soon as I joined you guys to what– run labs? We don’t run labs!”

Parker thought the mandated thirty-minute break was to rejuvenate them, so that they to would be able to provide the best care they possibly could for the patients– not to help her fifty year old boss figure out why his crush was avoiding him. She sighs, shaking her head as she stabs the single piece of broccoli in her chow mein, blowing at the steaming vegetable, far too hungry and tired to think about what she’s saying. 

“I mean, you did kinda rip her a new one in front of half the staff,”

Jack stills in his chair, before spluttering a flustered breath.

“I’ve scolded you plenty of times too,”

“Uh-huh, yeah, no– not like that. Besides, you know how she gets when it comes to you,” Parker rolls her eyes, wincing as the broccoli burns the roof of her mouth.

Jack's interest piqued at that and suddenly he’s sitting straighter, chest puffing out slightly at the words.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean–” she says while chewing her food. 

“Parker,” Jack warns, and the night-shift resident groans, putting her utensils down.

“She like, idolizes you, Abbot,” Parker begins, holding the older man's gaze while she speaks. 

“...She does?” he asks, his chest swelling with pride and doing a terrible job at hiding it.

Parker resists the urge to roll her eyes once again at how easy men are.

“Mhm,” she confirms, before sighing loudly, shaking her head dramatically. “I just feel bad for her, man,”

“Why?” the attending leans closer, practically falling out of his chair in suspense.

He had to know what you thought of him.

“Well…she did say thought it would be better if she switched to the day shift for a couple of weeks, you know– to not make you feel uncomfortable because you dislike her.”

The words are registered in slow motion, Jack’s ears starting to ring. He’s so dumbfounded by the sudden revelation that he misses the way Parker smirks at his reaction to her words.

Hook, line and sinker.

2.

“Shen, I need you to do something for me,” 

Jack finds him sitting on a rolling chair by the nurses station, loudly slurping the drops of coffee left in the plastic cup. Glancing up from his phone, the younger male grimaces, already planning his escape.

“Uh, actually I forgot about this one thing I need to–” 

“You do this for me and I’ll pretend I didn't see you on ‘flip-flop, instead of charting,” he says, pulling his own phone out as he squints at the screen, pressing some buttons with his index finger.

John gapes, then closes his mouth again– trying to gauge whether he was being messed with or this was actually real life. 

“...Tik-Tok,” he says slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child.

Jack grunts, peering up from his phone momentarily to try and understand the nonsense he was spouting.

“What?” he barks, before going back to his phone.

“It’s called Tik-Tok,”

Jack waves a hand dismissively, not even looking up.

“Yeah, whatever– Kick-Flip. Listen,”

John stares at him, eyebrows furrowing as he whispers to himself in disbelief at his aloofness. Jack was not that old.

“…That’s not even close,”

“Shen,”

John straightens in his chair immediately, shoving his phone into his pocket and finally accepting defeat.

“What do you need,” he sighs.

Jack glances around the nurses’ station, making sure you’re not anywhere nearby, before pushing his phone into John’s hands.

John blinks when he’s met with the Dunkin' Donuts website, orange and pink hues blessing his eyes.

“What is this?” he asks apprehensively– was this some kind of trap? 

Jack sighs, good leg bouncing impatiently.

“What do you mean what is this, it’s that shitty coffee place you like so much,” he retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

John leans back in his seat, giving Jack a head-to-toe scan to see if he can pinpoint any sudden illnesses in his boss. When he’s unable to find anything out of the ordinary, except maybe an extra sour mood, he relaxes.

“You want to order some ‘Dunkies?”

Jack gives him a disappointed look– Dunkin Donuts did not need an even worse nickname. 

“I’m trying to make up for something, alright? I know you know her order, so just do this for me,”

The puppy dog eyes John gives him makes him shiver in discomfort, and has him rubbing his eyes tiredly, waving a hand in defeat. Anything to stop him from looking at him like that.

“...Order something for yourself as well,”

In hindsight, Jack should have known better than to leave his phone, which has his wallet automatically linked already, unattended in John Shen’s hands. 

Because the station was now buzzing with nightshift staff, nurses and doctors alike– every single one of them giving him a “thanks”, paired with a pat on the back as they grab a donut and a coffee– not just regular, but iced ones as well, some with extra shots, some with oat milk, others with various amounts of syrups– from the cart that had magically appeared when not one, but two Postmates drivers walked in through the ambulance bay. 

“Is there no more 'glazed’?” someone calls out, and Jack physically has to bite his tongue. There were at least a dozen boxes of donuts currently residing in the emergency department. 

“We got chocolate ones in the breakroom!” Shen confirms so confidently you’d think he’s calling out codes. Which they should be doing. 

Because it's a hospital.

You return after a brief check on your patients in triage, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Shen spots you before you even have the chance to ask what the hell is going on. He grabs a cup from the cart– your cup, of course.

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding it out.

The tired smile you were sporting earlier, now turns into something more genuine at the sight of your favorite drink. Your entire face brightens, and Jack makes a mental note to have Shen text him your order before he leaves in the morning. 

After seeing your smile, he doesn’t even remember what he was mad about in the first place. 

3. 

The coffee had done its job in making you feel better, but it wasn’t like you knew Jack had bought it for you– in contrast, Jack had been forced to watch as you gave Shen a hug for, quote: “...Getting me my favorite”.

And for a moment, it was great. You were caffeinated, the patients had been dealt with and everyone had a bed.

Until it was time to chart. The computer was acting up, and the hospital's supposed 24/7 on-call engineer was in fact not working 24/7–  forcing you to use outdated, medieval, inefficient methods. 

Writing them by hand.

You sigh for the nth time, dropping the pen in your hand and flexing it as you try to prevent a cramp from forming. Behind you, footsteps approach, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.

Jack stops beside your chair, glancing down at the mess of handwritten notes, the stack of half-filled charts and the pen you’ve started glaring at.

“Is the computer still not working?”

“I’m about to develop carpal tunnel and will be forced to stop practicing medicine, meaning my student debt will be for nothing,” you mutter dramatically, face scrunching in discomfort as you press into a particularly sore spot on your palm.

He’ll take that as a yes. 

Jack watches the way you bite your lip the next time your digits dig into your palm, before deciding he can’t just stand there.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down beside you, holding his hand out to you.

“Let me see,”

You blink at him, head tilting slightly.

“...What?”

“Your hand,” he responds immediately, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls it into his warm palm. He applies steady pressure along your palm, thumb digging into your tendons.

Your eyes flicker across his face, taking in the way his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, the way his jaw clenches slightly.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does– it really shouldn’t.

You swallow, forcing your stare away, instead of at him.

His thumb travels over the wide expanse of your palm, each finger straightened by it, before it presses over your wrist. Jack feels your pulse throb under his touch.

Eventually, his fingers slow their motions, before they finally still completely. It still takes a while until Jack lets go of your hand, placing it back in your lap.

“Take a break,” he says, voice deeper than it had been earlier. You look up, eyes locking with his hazel ones.

Wordlessly, you nod, unable to find your voice and disregard his directive.

When you return a couple minutes later, your desk is free of the stack of charts that had earlier been occupying the space.

4. 

By some miracle, you manage to slip away to the roof to watch the sunrise on the horizon. The city is half-asleep beneath you, the proof being in empty streets and lack of on-coming traffic being heard. Looking straight ahead, the first light, a line of orange, breaks through the endless dark blue that had occupied the sky at night.

You rest your hands on the railing, letting the cool metal ground you as you take a deep breath of the fresh air– the first of the new day.

Deciding that you’ve been slacking off enough, you turn back to head into the hospital again and finish the last of your shift.

Though when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Jack leaning against the wall, eyes already locked in on you.

You halt for a moment, before walking up to him slowly.

“Didn’t hear you come up,” you say quietly, slightly embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable state.

“I haven’t been here that long” he says, though his amused gaze betrays his words. 

You hold back a smile, shaking your head instead. A soft breeze can be felt, tousling your tresses before you firmly tuck some behind your ear. Still, the wind is relentless in its pursuit of messing up your hair.

Jack watches the action, only to finally reach out himself and brush the stray strand out of your face properly.

You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity you’ve ended up in, and you blame the early hour and the pretty sunrise for being the reason you've let your guard down. 

“Parker told me you’re asking to be moved to day-shift?” he says quietly, his hand dropping back to his side. “I just wanted to say that, you know…”

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling incredibly silly for having such a hard time talking to you when you had a sunrise behind you. “If it’s because of me, then–”

His sentence trails off when he hears a soft giggle bubble past your lips.

Not because he forgets what he was saying, but because he hears you laugh– that same, soft melodious laughter he had been denied all night. 

Beautiful, but completely the wrong timing for whatever serious point he was trying to make.

His eyes narrow slightly, flitting across your face warily.

“What?”

You shake your head quickly, still smiling like you’re trying to hide it and failing miserably.

“Jack–”

Jack isn't completely settled, but nonetheless exhales through his nose, already regretting thinking about this moment all night, when your idea of the heart-to-heart you’re about to have clearly wasn’t on par with his. 

“I’m serious,” he says, not listening to you “If you’re switching to day-shift because of–”

You laugh again, interrupting his apology.

“Jack, I’m not switching to days,”

His head lifts so fast you’re afraid he’ll get whiplash. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, recalling what Parker had said in the breakroom just a few hours ago.

You can’t stop the wide smile forming on your face, feeling guilty at the confused look on his face, but so incredibly content that you had pulled it off for an entire shift.

“I’m so sorry, Jack–” you manage to get out through your fit of giggles.

Just then, something clicks in his mind.

The color drains from his face, his eyes widening in disbelief. 

No–no way– Jack refused to believe he had been tricked.

“Oh, oh you’re a sick, twisted person–” he begins, spluttering in bewilderment. “You did all this because I scolded you?”

You let out another laugh– still riding the relief of it all, the ridiculousness of the entire night finally catching up in full force.

“Nuh-uh, not because you scolded me,” you correct, still smiling as you step closer. “You yelled at me, Abbot,”

Jack is stunned.

“...I bought the entire department coffee,”

“Okay, that was on Shen, not me–” you retort, still smiling.

“I wrote all your charts by hand!” he exclaims, crowding you until you’re pressed against the door.

“...That one might be on me,” you admit reluctantly, though you don’t look regretful in the slightest. You smile again, entirely unbothered, even as the door presses lightly into your back and he’s very much in your space now– blocking any way exit, not that you’re concerned with finding one.

“But I didn’t make you do the charts,” you add cheekily.

“I thought you were about to quit,” he huffs, though not actually upset– his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a reaction he doesn’t want to give you.

Despite being happy with the outcome of your plan, you can’t help but feel slightly bad for him.

So just this once, you’ll make it up to him.

Pushing yourself onto your toes, you press a single, gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment just to hear his breath hitch.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” you say quietly against his cheek.

Then, you’re pulling away and giving him a cheeky grin, before finally turning on your heels and walking back into the hospital to finish the last of your shift. 

The door closes behind you, leaving him alone on the roof, for once not for a bad reason. 

He presses a hand briefly to the spot on his cheek like he can still feel the aftermath of your lips against it, then he shakes his head, unable to hold back the smile forming on his face.

“Fuck me,” he mutters breathlessly, before finally following you back inside. 

☆END NOTE: This really was fun to write, also because I write better when there’s no pressure from people waiting. Like, no one asked me to do this, therefore no one will be disappointed! Also guys, I’m lowkey a one-shot warrior– I always choke on the follow up fics. Still, your comments and kind words on my other fics really mean a lot to me— I literally read every single one of them a hundred times each. Thank you so much<333

[talesofesther]

When the world got dark, you were light

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You knew the risks of your job, the risks of playing hero. Doesn't mean you were ready to face them, face the consequences of an accident. But maybe, the one good thing that you found in all of this, was Natasha.

Requested by anon

A/N: This request was brilliant, I'm happy to be working on it. I didn't put the request here (it's linked above) because it contains spoilers for how the fic will end, so it's up to you if you wanna read it or not. But anyway I really hope you guys like this one, it'll have two parts. <;3 My knowledge on some of the matters included here is limited, but I did try my best to portray it well, so keep that in mind.

Masterlist

The quiet rumbling of the car's engine and the low rock music playing in the background were the only things you could hear. The soft cotton of your clothes and the leather of the car's seat were the only things you could feel. The scent of fresh coffee and the distant smell of rain falling on the pavement were the only things you could smell. But you couldn't see how the rain started to increase, or how the scenery passed by as you reached the Compound. You couldn't see Tony's light frown as he fidgeted with the radio or the many concerned glances he shot your way.

You couldn't see anything.

You closed your hands into fists, nails digging on skin. With your heart racing, you could feel the familiar panic and anxiety settling in, they were old friends though, you knew how to deal with that.

It's week three. You knew the risks of your job, the risks of playing hero. Doesn't mean you were ready to face them, face the consequences of an accident. But no one was, Tony worked nonstop for days and nights trying to find a solution, to a point where you had to beg for him to get some rest. The team was respectful of your space, helping in any way they could and only mentioning your new condition if you talked about it first.

The first nights were definitely the worst. Because when you wake up and open your eyes but the darkness never goes away, the feeling of being endlessly trapped in a nightmare gets too real. After the first four or five nights, you started to get used to it, accept the fact that you would never wake up and see the sun seeping through the curtains again.

The first days were spent with you mostly crying and having anxiety attacks, Tony was never too far away, doing his best to try and ease the rapid heartbeats. No amount of comfort seemed to be enough though, but you did your best to focus on your best friend's antics and forget about reality.

And now, three weeks after your first day back at the Compound, after spending twelve days at the hospital and going through every imaginable possibility of getting your sight back, you felt numb. Accepting wasn't the exact word, you would never be able to totally accept it. But you were getting used to it, you had to, giving up was never an option. But you missed it so much already, to be able to see the sunrise, to walk in the kitchen and smile at the sight of everyone eating breakfast together like the weird family you were. You never did take any view for granted, but now you felt like you had, like you didn't enjoy it all enough.

"We're here, darling." Tony's gentle voice brought you back to the present, announcing that you were back at the Compound.

You heard as he got out of the car and opened your door for you, you could tell by the soft change of tone in your eyes. That was the only thing you could still make out, a subtle difference between light and darkness. unbuckling your seatbelt, you reached out for his hand. Tony grasped your hand in one of his own and brought his other arm around your shoulders, guiding you inside.

There were times were you insisted you didn't need help, because you knew the layout of the Compound from the inside out. But you came to realize that when you can't see a thing, your spatial awareness is all kinds of messed up. But you were getting better, small victories.

The ding of the elevator let you know that you had reached the joined kitchen and living room, your favorite place, the place where everyone came to relax and chat with each other. You could feel other presences in the room, feel the eyes lingering on you. Tony guided you to one of the chairs on the kitchen table and you sat down, managing a smile as you greeted whoever was there. "Hello guys."

"Hey Y/N, how are you feeling?" Bucky's welcoming voice sounded from your side, and you felt his strong hand on your shoulder. You hated the fact that, in some ways, your friends seemed to be walking on eggshells around you, but you couldn't blame them, everyone felt somewhat responsible for what happened. Even though it was just an accident, nobody was really at fault.

You smiled at him. "I'm fine, it felt good to go out a bit."

A shiver passed through your body when you felt a gentle touch of fingers on your hand, you had an idea of who it was and presumed she was sitting in front of you.

"I made dinner, if you're hungry."

Natasha. Oh, how you loved her voice. Since day one she held your attention, she was gorgeous, no doubt about that. But it was her personality who had you hooked, she was just so captivating in her own reserved way. You considered yourself to be lucky enough to call her your friend, even if the two of you were not that intimate, she seemed to enjoy your presence.

You missed her touch when she removed her hand from yours, but you could feel that her eyes remained on you. "Thank you Nat, dinner sounds good."

________

On that same night, Natasha got up from her bed, with a hand on her forehead she tried to even out her breathing. It wasn't the first time and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

She looked at her clock and saw that it read 2:07 AM, letting out a sigh she put on a hoodie and decided to get some water.

Her bare feet carried her through the empty Compound, in some ways she enjoyed the night, it was peaceful while everyone was asleep. She flicked on the light in the kitchen and grabbed a glass, the fresh water always felt heavenly on these nights.

However, her attention shifted once she heard a thud coming from the living room, and right after, the voice of someone cursing the couch. Making her way there, Natasha saw you standing by the said couch, one hand loosely placed at your side, which probably collided with the couch.

"Y/N?" Her voice was soft, but it still startled you.

"It's me, Natasha." She looked at you with a sympathetic gaze, a strange kind of hurt gripped her heart whenever she saw you after the accident. She always liked you, she thought you were so pure and happy all the time, even if she didn't admit it to herself. But you changed after what happened, and she was surprised to feel a sense of protectiveness surge towards you.

"Nat?" You looked in the general direction that her voice came from. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, no. I was already up." She took slow steps towards you, even in the darkness of the room she could see your apprehensive expression, your eyes searching for her even though you knew you wouldn't find her. Nat extended her hand and gripped yours, gentle fingers closing around your own so you could feel where she was.

"You okay?" Your question made Natasha raise her eyebrows, she should be the one asking you that, but you seemed to always know when something was bothering her. A tender smile graced her lips as she looked down to your joined hands, but when a twist of feelings settled on her stomach she let your hand go.

"Yes, it was just a bad dream."

Nodding your head slightly, you shifted on your feet. Her presence made you nervous sometimes.

Natasha looked back up to you. "And where are you going?"

"Outside." You gulped as the words got stuck in your throat, you've always loved to watch the stars. "Just needed some air."

For some seconds Nat's gaze remained on you and she didn't say anything, her slightly furrowed brows gave away her worry. Why she felt like that, she couldn't say. "I can take you there if you want."

"No, it's fine. I can manage." As much as you knew that no, you could not manage, you still refused help on most things. Trying to feel some sense of independence and that you could still do everything that you always did by yourself.

"Are you sure?" Nat's voice was stern, but not in a bad way, in a worried way.

You let out a breath. "No."

Her grip on your hand was steady as you two walked towards one of the bigger balconies, and you didn't say anything when you stopped walking and she was still holding your hand.

"The sky is clear tonight, lots of stars." Natasha said as her eyes roamed the sky above you, a gentle, cold breeze was making her red hair flow slightly.

You looked up as well, even if you couldn't see stars. A smile came to your lips at Nat's sweet attempt to describe the ambient for you. "I used to love watching them, you know." You turned your head towards her. "The stars."

Natasha could hear the grief in your voice, the loss of what to do to make it better. And she herself had no idea of what to do in situations like this, she didn't know how to provide comfort. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Still, I'm here if you need anything." Her words surprised herself almost as much as they did you. But they held honesty.

________

It was on the fourth week that your worst nightmare happened, you dreamt about the accident, but it felt worse somehow.

You woke with a gasp and you felt wetness cascading down your cheeks, your eyes were open but the constant darkness was sending you into a panic, making the air in your room feel heavy and don't make it to your lungs fast enough. You could feel cold sweat running down your spine. So you did the first thing that came to your mind.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, please call Natasha for me." Your voice was so desperate that you thought the AI wouldn't understand you, but not even five minutes later a worried redhead was bursting through your door.

"What happened, is something wrong?" Her eyes searched for any signs of trouble but she only saw you sitting on your bed.

"Nat I'm- I'm so sorry I didn't mean to bother you. But I had this dream about what happened and I panicked." You gulped as the words quickly left your mouth. "I just- I didn't want to be alone and all I could think about was you." When you said the final quiet words you realized too late that your panic took away any ability that you had of thinking before speaking.

Natasha felt her cheeks burn upon hearing you. So you thought of her in a vulnerable moment, what did it mean?

But she did understand the weight of a nightmare, so she moved to sit beside you. When her body was close enough to yours, she felt how you were still shaking, your hands trembling around your covers. Without thinking too much about it, she enveloped you in a hug, not too tight, in case you felt trapped. "Close your eyes, just focus on me okay?"

You let out a humorless chuckle. "It won't change much."

"Close them anyway?" Her hand was drawing random patterns on your back.

So you did, and you were surprised to notice how it did help you focus on her. You let your head fall on her shoulder, you could smell her faint perfume. You could feel her arms around you and her steady body pressed to yours. All you could feel was her.

________

For the next two months, Natasha started to become a constant. Her presence didn't make you nervous anymore, it brought peace. The whole team was always there for you, everyone doing their best to cheer you up on a bad day, and it did mean the world to you, to see how much they cared. But Natasha was, most of the time, the only one that could take your mind off of things, the only one that managed to bring a smile to your face. Funny enough, your accident was the thing that finally brought you two closer.

Natasha watched from afar as your hands slowly felt around the counter for the coffee pot, an easy smile came to her lips. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but her feelings for you started to grow. The realization made her hands sweat and her stomach turn, she never meant for this to happen, but it's not like she had any choice either. It was scary, to feel drawn to someone like that, to feel your heart speed up every time your hands met. Nat wouldn't have it any other way though, it felt good to feel love, even if she did wonder day and night if she was deserving of such blessing.

A gasp and then the sound of glass shattering was enough to make Natasha quickly get up from her chair and rush towards you.

You gripped at your hair in frustration, cursing everything that came to mind and slamming your hand on the counter, successfully cutting it on one of the glass shards that lay there. You were getting better as the days passed, but then the simple act of trying to brew coffee would go terribly wrong and you felt like you were taking a thousand steps back.

Two steady hands suddenly clasped around your wrists, stopping you from moving around and hurting yourself more. You were panting, a few tears slipping from your eyes.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, don't worry about that." Natasha was close, you could feel it.

"No, it's not okay Nat, I can't even make a damn coffee on my own." You argued back as you tried to free yourself from her grip, but she didn't move.

Nat froze at how desperate you sounded, she opened her mouth and her words got tangled in her throat. Her grip on your hands wavered. "You will be able to, just give yourself time." She hated how her voice cracked.

With a harsh movement, you freed yourself from her hold. "Bullshit, all you guys say is for me to take it easy, give it time. It doesn't work, nothing will." Deep down in your mind, you knew that it was oh so wrong to take out your frustrations on her, but your control slipped this time.

"Just leave me alone." With heavy steps you pushed past her, your shoulder harshly bumped into hers but it didn't make you stop. Luckily, by now you had pretty much memorized the path around most of the Compound, and as everyone always had a mental note to never shift the placing of furniture too much, you managed to get to your room and slam the door.

Natasha stood in the kitchen, a lump forming in her throat as she tried to gulp down her own tears. The way you ran away from her so fast felt worse than a knife to the heart, it was a kind of pain she hadn't felt before. She wondered if she pushed your boundaries too much, or if she was being too invasive in some way. If all this time you were just tolerating her and she was the one assuming you could possibly like her back.

She scoffed. Yeah, like I have anything worth falling for when you take away the appearance.

Her mind was quick to make up the thought that she was too stained to be deserving of your love anyway.

—⧗—

Read part 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

[urjustsosweet]

F.ᐟCK AROUND & FIND OUT ( b. eilish )

𝒷𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑒 x f!r ❛❛ what's the saying again? play stupid games, win stupid prizes? well, you're about to find out just what that prize is.

・・・watch out! smut , strap (r receiving) , language , spanking , brat taming? , use of pet names and y/n

⌲ comments ···

y/n 1h · pinned she's lying guys her dicks about this big 🤏 billieeilish 1h @ y/n not what you said last time user01 1h HELLO?!?? user02 59min 🤨🤨📸 user03 59min okay freaky user04 58min not in front of the 124m followers...

you've never regretted anything in your life more than deciding to type out that comment. within the hour, those 8 words had almost as many likes as the post itself and it'd already began to make its way around every social media site possible.

editors on tiktok were already using it for their intros, it trended faster than you could say 'x' on twitter, and billie's reply only blew up the whole situation a hundred times as big as it should've been.

but of course, the way she'd texted you right after maybe, just maybe, made the whole thing worth it.

so naturally, with that ominous text and you being you, there's no way you were going to pass up the opportunity. you're sprawled out across your bed, grinning as you repost a couple tiktoks and like some interesting instagram reels just to test the waters a little.

ones that talk about not being able to finish or the importance of personality in a relationship, to be exact.

you can already imagine her reaction--the way her jaw would clench, her narrowed eyes, how she'd be bitter about it for the next month--as you smile yourself to sleep.

and it's never ceased to amaze you just how quickly the fans work, especially when it comes to you and billie. the next morning, you're bombarded with enough notifications to make all your apps lag and your phone start to grow hot the minute you open it.

damn. there's hundreds of users stitching your repost, their view counts and likes climbing by the second and it's so funny you're tempted to like all of them:

user05 she still got that big dick energy tho! #billie eilish #y/n

user06 helppp this is reminding me of that one time billie reposted the same shit when she was with jesse 💔

user07 it's not the size of the boat it's the motion of the ocean 😔☝️

in the first 24 hours, it's already become the new running joke in the fandom where people are dissing billie's "strap game" and she still hasn't said anything yet...which is weird.

you thought there'd be a text or call waiting and you were expecting her to half laugh and be half offended. but there's absolutely nothing and you're starting to wonder if she's just going to give you the silent treatment.

probably not, though. every time in the past she's tried to, she lasts a good thirty minute before she breaks and comes running right back.

you're still contemplating all the possible scenarios as you unlock the door, walking back home from the gym. and the sight before you is a possibility you never saw coming.

billie's lying on the bed, a massive bouquet of flowers lying on the nightstand table...alongside her strap. "surprise," she smirks, standing up to walk over.

you can only stand there dumbfounded. is she not supposed to be in new york doing sound check or something right now? there's already fans starting to camp near the venue and she's here?

"billie? aren't you performing tomorrow?"

"mhm," she hums, taking your bag off your shoulder and dropping it to the side with a definitive thud. "but i got somethin' more important to do right now."

she places her hands on your hips, walking you backwards to the edge of the bed as you grin. "more important than work?" you tease.

her hands come up your sides, working the zipper of your hoodie down. "well," she murmurs, pushing the fabric off your shoulders, "my girl's reposting shit about me being bad in bed. you think i'm just gonna let that slide?"

you opt out for a shrug just to rile her on even more, "i dunno. i thought it was pretty funny."

the effect is instantaneous. billie's left eye twitches as she throws your hoodie behind her and it falls all the way to the opposite side of the room. "funny, huh?" she repeats, her voice dropping to a whisper.

her hands fist in your top and with one sharp, effortless motion, she has it over your head. "let's see how funny you think i am in a minute."

before you can think of a comeback, let alone say it, her mouth is on yours, tongue already past your lips and leaving you breathless. one of billie's hands tangle in your hair, tilting your head back for better access, while the other palms your breast through your bra.

she breaks the kiss, leaving you gasping and still processing what the hell is happening. "bed. on your knees and face the headboard."

whatever ego you had earlier completely disintegrates with that command. you scramble onto the bed, back facing towards her as you hear her click the harness on.

"you talked so much shit," she says, nonchalant, her voice right beside you.

you can feel the bed dip down as billie kneels, fingers sliding down your spine and hooking into the waistband of your panties before she yanks them down immediately, all the way down to your thighs.

"strap game this, small dick that," she says, followed by a stinging slap to your ass.

"you were so brave behind the screen baby," she grins, her fingers tracing the reddened mark.

"i--"

before you can let another word out, two of her fingers slide through your folds and you groan into the sheets. "look at you now," she says and you can hear the smile in her voice, "soaked for me, for the strap you made fun of."

she brings her fingers to your mouth. "taste."

you part your lips as she pushes them in, your eyes fluttering shut. "atta girl," she purrs, taking her hand back and pressing the tip against you.

"is this okay?" she asks, her voice soft.

when you nod she laughs out a "you gonna take back what you said?"

of course you still shake your head, "no--it's still funny."

billie only laughs. "alright, have it your have way."

she thrusts in, filling you completely in an instant and the pleasure's so intense and so good you already take back everything you said.

"still funny?" she grunts, her hands gripping your hips hard.

she doesn't wait for you to answer, grinding her hips hard and deep, each one punctuating her words. "you think--" followed by a sharp push until she's all the way inside, "--i'm--" another jolt of her body, "--bad--" again "--at this?"

you shake your head no, moaning as she fucks you with a brutal, focused intensity. your arms are close to giving out as you fall to your elbows, ass in the air and fully at her mercy.

billie leans over you, chest pressed against you back and mouth at your ear. "look at how you're taking me, ma," she groans, "look at you. a mess on my cock."

you can only whimper in agreement, the defiance fully fucked out of you. she pulls you through your first orgasm with no mercy, speeding up her rhythm even as you clench around the silicone, chanting her name into the mattress.

she doesn't stop, not for a second, not even when your legs start to tremble beneath you and your body starts to jerk. "fuck," you breathe, "please bils, it's too much."

"hm? thought you said you couldn't finish," she laughs.

here we go with the pettiness.

"i obviously can," you whine, moving too much for her liking.

"watch that attitude," billie warns, holding you down by your hips.

"i'm just gettin' started. you don't get to come once and call it even. we're going until the only thing you remember is what this--" she says, thrusting as far inside you as she can, "--feels like."

you can barely hold yourself up now and billie pulls out suddenly, the emptiness between your legs a mix of relief and torture. before you can protest, she's flipping you onto your back, looming over you as her hair falls around her face.

"what's wrong?" she grins, "you tired already?"

she places your legs just above her shoulders, folding you nearly in half, and the angle hits even deeper, a spot inside you that makes you arch off the bed with your eyes screwed shut.

"i--ngh--i can't," you pant, hands fisting in the sheets.

"yeah you can," she slows her pace a little, "c'mon, look at me angel. one more, okay?"

billie's fast, rough thrusts turn into much gentler grinds that push you even closer and closer. her hands come up to your face, tilting your head for a messy, breathless kiss as you moan.

you clench around her strap with a wince, the orgasm pure pleasure, and her movements slow to a stop before she pulls out. you can hear the harness fall to the ground with a soft thud and she collapses beside you, pulling your body against hers.

it's silent for a moment, but of course that never lasts long with billie.

"so...did you come?" she jokes with a grin.

"obviously not," you laugh, "i was just acting--don't wanna hurt that big ass ego y'know?" you point at her chest.

"uh huh," billie hums, not buying it for a second. her hand drifts down your side as her knee gently nudges right between your thighs.

you can't help but flinch away from her touch with a gasp and she raises her eyebrows, the fattest, shit-eating grin spreading across her face. "'obviously not,'" she mimics your voice perfectly, "you're a horrible liar, you know that?"

you bury your face in her neck with a laugh and her arms tighten around you. "truce?" she says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "or do i need to remind you again tomorrow?"

you look up at her, at the playful glint in her eyes and the genuine softness right behind it. "truce. only cause i can't feel my legs anymore and you're supposed to be working."

"good." billie smiles, "speaking of work, y'know i cancelled soundcheck for this, right? you owe me."

you run your fingers through her hair, "yeah? what do i owe you?"

"well, for starters, those reposts and likes better be gone or next time i'm not going easy on you. and second--" she pauses as you laugh out a, "two wishes? damn, that's greedy."

billie rolls her eyes, still grinning though. "second, you can cuddle me until my flight," she says, throwing her leg over yours.

and as you drift off, tangled under the sheets with her in the dark, a slow, satisfied smile spreads across your face. maybe that comment wasn't so stupid after all.

tags :: @fein4lararaj @mystiquemm @lover-girl-reversed @aka-persephone @24kbils @dragoneyelashart @ariieeesworld @cantlandonmyfeet @bitchesbrokenpromises @idkbruhdoyou @deardariaa @biloverd @wewerewildandfluorescent @vivinquisha @vanillakirstein @lovelyy-moonlight @angelgxo @sillybaby-sylver + taglist

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Special Privileges

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Chief Resident!Reader

When the ED finds out about you and Robby, the whispers and side-eyes start piling up. After an exhausting HR meeting, Robby reminds you exactly where you belong. With him.

warnings/tags: smut, porn with plot, minors DNI, handjob, unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, pussy eating, lots of praise, kinda protective!robby

A/N: Arianaaa what are you doing here???? I know The Pitt isn’t one of my fandoms, and it’s not where most of my mutuals are, but I felt inspired and ended up writing something anyway. It’s my first time writing for Robby and I only recently started the series, so it’s probably shit, but I wrote this specifically for me, myself, and I, and I figured why not share it?

The first HR meeting came one week after you and Robby stopped hiding. 

There was no big announcement, just the two of you walking into the Pitt together, brushing your shoulders, looking like two people who’d woken up in the same bed. By the shift’s end, when you left holding hands, walking toward your car, the gossip had already caught fire.

You’d both known the risks: the sideways comments, the bureaucratic headaches. But after six months of secrecy, after deciding to move in together, sneaking around like teenagers felt ridiculous.

It all went south quickly, because the next morning, the murmurs started. Not loud or outright hostile right away, just sharp enough to disrupt the rhythm of the ED. 

You were in bay 6, supervising the placement of a central line on a septic patient. The resident was doing well, she had steady hands, but every time you leaned in to give some direction, you caught the way the other residents glanced over. One of them muttering to another, low enough that it was meant to be private but wasn’t: “Of course she gets the plum procedures. Sleeping with the chief attending will do that.” Your shoulders stiffened for half a second, but you didn’t react. You were ready to face some shady comments, and you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let it affect you. But damn it, it was hard not letting it get to you.

Later, in the break room during a rare five-minute lull, it got more direct. You were refilling your water bottle when two nurses walked in, and you managed to catch a little of their conversation before they abruptly stopped once they noticed you.

“…just think it’s unfair for the rest of the residents. He’s the chief attending. And now his little girlfriend gets all the high-acuity patients? Come on. That’s favoritism, plain and simple.”

It keeps happening throughout the day, getting worse when an intern questioned you for having two trauma 1 cases the same morning. And suddenly, the interns you were supposed to be teaching, the ones who were meant to learn from you, were doubting every single one of your orders, as if you didn’t know what you were talking about, as if you were only there because you’d slept with Robby.

"Just saying. People are talking. You get all the complex cases lately. Like that GSW yesterday? I could've handled that, but it went straight to you." One of them said.

You kept your voice professional. "The GSW went to me because I was the chief resident on shift. Now focus, you have the chance to learn, but if you want to miss it then I'll do the procedure myself."

He muttered something under his breath as he finished, but the seed was already planted in the minds of all the residents, especially those who didn’t really know Robby, who didn’t understand he would never compromise anyone’s education, no matter who he was in love with.

"She's chief resident, yeah, but come on. Sleeping with the attending? No wonder her evals are glowing. I bet her reports are padded."

"Look at her latest report. Perfect scores again. Meanwhile, the other us are struggling to get by. If that's not favoritism, I don't know what is. And assigning her the lead on that multi-trauma? Please. Someone should say something."

Dana overheard the interns talking, and slammed her tablet down. "Ladies, if you've got a problem, take it to admin. Otherwise, shut it and get back to work. We've got patients dying while you're busy gossiping."

You felt the eyes on you all afternoon, and suddenly, the place that, up until today, had felt like a second home, where you’d always moved like a fish in water, now felt like you were being slowly kicked out.

Thankfully, the people you were closest to: Mel, Santos, Whitaker, Dana, never stopped looking at you or treating you the same. They knew you, and they knew Robby. They had your back, and more importantly, they made you feel normal when everyone else made you feel like an oddity.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Mel was explaining while you both worked through charts on the computers. “The regulation isn’t specific enough when it comes to cases of fraternization between a chief attending and a chief resident. You can allege—”

“What’s up, Melancholia?” Trinity said as she approached the two of you. “Hey, Chief Slutty.” Chief Slutty, the affectionate nickname Santos had given you. “Jesus, I can’t believe people are still going on about this shit. Why do they care so much who you’re sleeping with? Every time I close my eyes I picture you and Robby going at it, and I want to rip my eyes out.”

“Some of us would like to rip our ears off when it’s three in the morning and we can’t sleep because some people are… very enthusiastic,” Whitaker added as he passed by, pushing a patient in a wheelchair. Everybody knew about Santos and Garcia, except, of course, nobody cared, since Garcia wasn’t a chief attending. Lucky them.

“Oh, deal with it, Huckleberry. You’re not even paying rent,” Santos shoot back before looking at you. “I was meaning to ask, any chance you can get your boyfriend to write me a killer recommendation later?”

“Believe me, I know what it’s like, people thinking you got here because of who you’re related to,” Victoria chirped as she stepped out of Trauma 2, pulling off her latex gloves and tossing them in the bin. “Don’t listen to them. Only you know how hard you worked for this.”

You offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your friends did their best efforts in cheering you up, and even though Robby tried to comfort you once you were back home, you still felt uneasy.

“They’re talking,” you said quietly. “A lot. Favoritism. Unfair. Wrong. That I’m getting special treatment because we’re…”

He didn’t look up from his phone, only exhaled through his nose. “I know.”

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t bother you?”

“It bothers me that it bothers you.” He leaned on the couch, readjusting his glasses, finally putting down his phone to look at you. “But I’ve been here long enough to know how this place works. People talk. Always have. When I got chief, half the attendings said I wasn’t ready for it. When I started pushing for better trauma protocols, they said I was power-tripping. Now it’s this.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They’ll get bored. Or they’ll get used to it. Either way, I’m not changing how I run my department because of what they say.”

You nodded slowly. “And me? They think I’m riding your coattails.”

“Well, it’s not my fault I’m extremely popular, and a damn good catch,” he said with a smirk, nudging you with his foot.

“Robby,” you started.

“Listen to me, you’re one of the best residents I’ve ever worked with. You were before we started this. You still are. Anyone who can’t see that is either blind or jealous. And if they want to question your competence because of who you’re sleeping with, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

You felt the heat flooding your face, just as much as when he’d first complimented you on our first day at work. “You really don’t care?”

“I care that it’s making your day harder.” His hand found yours, squeezing it briefly before letting go. “But I’m not sorry. I’m not going to pretend we’re not together just to make them comfortable. We’re adults. We’re professionals. We follow the rules, no sex in the hospital, no conflicts on shared cases if it comes to that. Beyond that? They can gossip all they want. Besides, it’ll be a nice change of scenery to have Gloria bugging me about something other than patient satisfaction scores,” he chuckled to himself. “Being nagged for having amazing sex with my amazing girlfriend doesn’t sound so bad.”

His bad attempt of being funny made you roll your eyes. “Stop. It’s not funny.” You playfully swatted at him. “Now I’m going to feel like every time you fuck me, it’s not because of me, but just to indirectly piss off Gloria.”

“Can’t a man do his two favorite things at the same time?” he said with a half smile right before you threw a pillow at his face.

Things got even worse by Wednesday, when you were running a chest tube on a pneumothorax patient. Robby was there, supervising, watching your technique with approval. The intern assisting you, a new guy named Mark, kept glancing between you and Robby like he was waiting for something to happen.

The tube was placed, the patient was stable, and you were securing it when Mark finally opened his mouth.

"Guess that's another perfect procedure for the chief resident," he said, just loud enough for the three of you. "Must be nice having the chief personally oversee everything. Some of us have to actually earn our stripes without a boyfriend doing us favors."

The words landed like a slap. Robby turned slowly. "Excuse me?" His voice was low, the kind that made people lean in to hear it.

Mark flushed, and he doubled down. "I just said—"

"I heard what you said." Robby stepped forward, not raising his voice, no matter how pissed he was. "You want to repeat it? Louder? So everyone can hear how little respect you have for your chief resident and the work she does?"

Mark opened his mouth, but closed it right away. Robby didn’t give him time to recover. "You're new, but you’ve been here long enough to know how this department works, Mark. You want to question a procedure? Fine. You want to question my judgment on case assignments? Go ahead. But the second you imply that she didn't earn her spot because of who she's sleeping with, you're not just talking shit about her. You're talking shit about me, about this program, and about every patient who walks through those doors expecting competent care."

Mark's face was beet red now. "I didn't mean—"

"You meant exactly what you said." Robby stepped closer. "You think favoritism got her here? Look at her numbers. Look at her complication rates. Look at the patient satisfaction scores that are higher than yours and mine combined. She's chief resident because she's the best doctor in this class. Not because I enjoy sleeping with her."

The bluntness hit you like a shockwave. Mark flinched, and you could see the heat crawling up his neck. Robby kept going. "If you can't handle the fact that two consenting adults are in a relationship, that's your problem. Not hers. Not mine. But if you ever, ever, question her competence again in my hearing, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your rotation doing nothing but rectal exams and bed baths. And I will make sure every attending in this hospital knows exactly why."

Mark stared at the floor, swallowing hard. "I… I'm sorry."

Robby didn’t soften. "Apologize to her. Not me."

Mark finally looked at you. He looked completely miserable, like a little kid who just got scolded. "I'm sorry, Dr. That was out of line."

You nodded once. "Accepted. Go help with the MVC patients. We don't have time for this."

During the rest of the shift, you heard the echoes of Robby’s words filtering through the department:

“Did you hear what he said to Mark? Called him out right there.”

“‘I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your rotation doing rectal exams.’ Jesus.”

“He basically told the whole room he’s sleeping with her and doesn’t give a shit who knows.”

By mid-afternoon, the story has spread to every corner: trauma, the hallway beds, even the pharmacy techs are repeating variations of it. Some people sound impressed. Some sound scandalized. But apparently, everyone had an opinion. on your sex and romantic life. The ED wasn’t that different from highschool.

As the shift wound down slowly, the board got cleared, and the last critical patient got transferred to the ICU. Everyone was tired, coats already half-on, bags slung over shoulders.

But when the last update was done, Robby didn’t dismiss the group. He stayed standing, “I’ve got something to say,” he started. “And I’m only saying it once, so listen up. For the last few days, there’s been a lot of talk in this department. About me. About your chief resident. About whether she’s earned the position she’s in, the cases she runs,and the evaluations she gets. Let me be crystal clear: the answer is yes. She has. Every single time. I’ve been running the ED here for many years. I’ve watched every one of you come through these doors, some of you as interns, some as attendings. I know what competence looks like. I know what excellence looks like. And I know favoritism when I see it, because I’ve fought against it my entire career.”

He paused for a second.

“What I do not do is hand out special treatment because I’m sleeping with someone. If anything, I’ve been harder on her to make sure no one could ever question it. And still, people decided to run their mouths. To imply that her work, her outcomes, her patient care, are somehow tainted because of who she’s in a relationship with.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. Mark was in the back, staring at the floor like he wanted it to swallow him. 

“So let me make this easy for everyone. She is the chief resident because she’s the best doctor in her class. Her numbers are the best. Her patients do better. Her families remember her name. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the data. Take it up with me. But do not question her competence again. Not in my hearing. Not in this department. We’re all tired. We’re all burned out. We’ve all seen shit in these halls that would break most people. The last thing we need is to start tearing each other down over personal lives that don’t affect patient care. If you’ve got a real concern about bias, about fairness, about anything that touches a patient, bring it to me. Bring it to Gloria, though I doubt you’d want to. Bring evidence. But if you’re just looking for something to whisper about because you’re jealous, insecure, or bored? Keep it to yourself. Or find a new place to work.”

He looked around one last time, landing his eyes on you for half a second, long enough for you to see the quiet pride there, the protectiveness, before he looked away again.

“That’s it. We’re done here.”

Robby knew he had let his emotions win in that moment. He shouldn’t have said the things he said, or at least not in the way he said them. His speech was the match that struck the fire. Because on the morning of Tuesday, you were called to the HR office.

You sat, smoothing your scrubs unconsciously, folding your hands in your lap to steady the faint tremor. 

"For the record, this meeting is being recorded for documentation purposes. Date: January 10, 2026. Time: 10:22 a.m. Present: Sarah Smith, HR Director, Finn Rivera, HR Assistant.” You shivered when she said your name next. “Chief Resident in Emergency Medicine at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."

Sarah adjusted her glasses, opening a folder. "Dr., we're conducting an investigation due to a formal anonymous complaint regarding potential favoritism and conflicts of interest in the Emergency Department. The allegations involve your personal relationship with Dr. Robinavitch and its possible impact on departmental fairness, evaluations, and assignments. We'll go through a series of questions to gather your perspective. Please answer as fully and honestly as you can. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

You shook your head, and Finn started with the basics, looking at the tablet in his hand. "To confirm, can you describe the nature and timeline of your relationship with Dr. Robinavitch?"

You took a measured breath. "We're in a romantic relationship. It began about six months ago. We started as colleagues, and it developed naturally from there, outside of the hospital. We've always kept it professional at work."

Sarah nodded, jotting a note. "And how would you characterize the start of the relationship? Was it mutual and consensual from the outset?"

"Absolutely," you said it firmly. "It was entirely consensual. We were both single adults, and no power dynamics were abused. We talked about the potential complications early on, given our roles, and decided to proceed carefully. There was no pressure from either side."

Sarah's pen scratched across her pad. " Have there been any instances where you felt the relationship was not fully consensual or where professional boundaries were crossed?"

"No," you replied immediately. "Never. We've been very intentional about consent and boundaries. If anything, we've over-communicated to make sure neither of us feels pressured."

Sarah's tone shifted slightly, more probing. "Regarding the consensual nature, given the inherent power imbalance between an attending and a resident, have you ever felt that Dr. Robinavitch used his position to influence the relationship, even subtly? For example, implying better opportunities or evaluations in exchange for personal involvement?"

You met her gaze with security, leaving no room for argument.  "No. Never. It was consensual because we’ve always treated each other as equals outside work. No quid pro quo, no manipulation."

Finn scrolled on his tablet. "Moving to the professional side, the complaint alleges that since the relationship began, you've received preferential treatment, such as being assigned more high-profile cases, higher performance evaluations, and perhaps leniency in feedback. How do you respond to these claims?"

You leaned forward slightly. You’d worked your ass off to get where you stood now, and you’d be damned if you let anyone underestimate you, thinking you’d earned your place by sleeping with someone instead of the endless nights of study, the brutal shifts, and the hard dedication it actually took. "I respond by saying they're not accurate. My role as chief resident already involves leading on high-acuity cases, that's part of the position, assigned by the program director based on seniority and performance. I've handled tough traumas because I'm available and capable, not because of favoritism. My evaluations have been strong since my intern year, from multiple attendings, not just Dr. Robinavitch. If you compare my pre-relationship evals to now, there's consistency. In fact, he's given me more pointed feedback recently."

Sarah tilted her head. "Can you provide a specific example of a case where you believe the assignment was merit-based rather than influenced by your relationship?"

"Sure," you said. "Take the multi-car pileup two weeks ago. I was the senior resident on shift, so I took the lead on the most critical patient, a pedestrian with abdominal evisceration. Dr. Robinavitch supervised, but he didn't hand-pick me, the triage nurse assigned me based on protocol. We stabilized the patient and got them to the OR. My outcomes on that case were with minimal complications. If it were favoritism, why would he push me harder in debriefs? He doesn't let me slide, he expects more because he knows I can deliver."

The interview stretched on for nearly forty minutes more, asking you of examples of critical feedback from Robby, and instances of perceived shielding. You provided dates, patient outcomes, and even suggested they pull resident feedback surveys where you'd been rated highly by peers.

An hour later, they called Robby in. 

"Dr. Robinavitch, thank you for coming on short notice. I'm Sarah Smith, HR Director. This is my assistant, Finn Rivera. Please, take a seat."

Robby took the offered seat across from them, keeping his back straight, resting his hands loosely on the table. He wasn't here to fidget or defend himself or the relationship, he was here to state facts.

"For the record," Sarah began, her voice sounding practiced, "this meeting is being recorded for documentation purposes. Date: January 10, 2026. Time: 11:20 a.m. Present: Sarah Smith, HR Director, Finn Rivera, HR Assistant, and Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Senior Emergency Attending and Chief Attending Physician at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."

Robby nodded once. "Understood."

Sarah adjusted her glasses, glancing at the thin folder in front of her. "Dr. Robinavitch, we're here today to discuss a formal anonymous complaint we've received regarding potential favoritism and conflicts of interest within the Emergency Department. The allegations center on your personal relationship with the current chief resident, and how it may be influencing departmental operations, including case assignments, performance evaluations, and overall fairness to other residents and staff."

Robby's expression didn't change. He'd expected this exact script. "There are no explicit rules in this hospital regarding fraternalization between chief attending and chief resident. The complains should be marked as unsubstantiated."

Sarah nodded, her tone neutral. "We're aware of that. However, following your public comments during last night's sign-out, where you addressed the department directly, additional concerns have been raised. Multiple staff members have contacted us expressing discomfort with what they perceive as a power imbalance. Some feel it creates a hostile work environment, where raising legitimate issues could lead to retaliation, based on your statements. Our role in HR is to conduct a thorough, impartial investigation to ensure compliance with hospital policies and to protect all employees."

“All of this is bullshit. This place would have more stars in Google than Disneyland if instead of concerning with what competent workers do in their personal lives,” Robby said. “They’d concern with the fact that people have to wait twelve hours just to be seen by a doctor, or with the current shortage of nur—”

“Dr. Robinavitch, I understand your frustration, but we’re here to address the nature of your relationship with your chief resident,” Sarah said, trying to calm Robby down before he launched into a full-on rant about every fucking thing that was wrong with the hospital. “If you have any other concerns, you can direct them to Dr. Underwood.”

Robby let out a laugh that lacked any real amusement. “Oh, that’d be just fantastic. Brilliant idea.”

Finn tapped his tablet, pulling up notes. "Dr. Robinavitch, could you please confirm the nature and timeline of your relationship with the Dr.?"

Robby met his eyes steadily. "We're in a romantic relationship. It started approximately six months ago. We kept it private initially, but it's become public knowledge in the last few days."

Sarah made a quick note on her pad. "And prior to this relationship, what was your professional dynamic with her?"

"She's been a resident in the program for four years. I supervised her as part of the attending rotation, same as every other resident. She was appointed chief resident last year based on her performance evaluations from the entire faculty, not just me. That decision was made before our relationship began."

"The core of the complaint alleges that your partner has received preferential treatment since the relationship began. Examples include being assigned disproportionately high-acuity cases, receiving inflated performance evaluations, and being shielded from constructive criticism that other residents face. How do you respond to these claims?"

Robby exhaled slowly, keeping his voice level. "They're unfounded. Let's break it down. First, as chief resident, she's expected to lead on high-acuity traumas, that's the role. Assignments are based on resident availability and skill level. Her complication rates are the lowest in her class, and her patient throughput is the highest. I assign her tough cases because I trust her not to screw them up, which protects patients. If other residents feel they're not getting enough exposure, they can request more rotations. No one's come to me with that until this anonymous complaint."

Finn scrolled on his tablet. "We've pulled some data on case distributions over the last six months. She  has handled 28% more level-one traumas than the average resident. Does that not suggest bias?"

"No," Robby countered. "It suggests she's reliable. Check the outcomes, her mortality rates on those cases are 15% below the department average. He patient satisfaction scores are 92% higher than the rest of residents. That's not bias, that's excellence. If I were playing favorites, I'd be assigning her the easy stuff to pad her stats. Instead, she's getting the grind because she can handle it."

Sarah tilted her head slightly. "And the evaluations? The complaint notes that your written assessments of her performance are consistently outstanding, with minimal areas for improvement noted."

"Pull the full set," Robby said. "Compare my evals of her to those from other attendings, even the surgical consultants she rotates with. They're aligned. Now compare my evals of her from before we started dating to after, there’s no change in tone or scoring. If anything, I've documented more constructive feedback post-relationship to ensure transparency. For example, in October, after a multi-vehicle crash, I noted in her report that she could improve on delegating ancillary tasks during codes to free up her focus on critical interventions. That's not 'inflated', that's fair."

"Have there been instances where you've intervened in criticism directed at her from other staff?"

"Only if it's unfounded or unprofessional," Robby replied. "Like yesterday, when a resident made a snide comment implying her skills were due to who she sleeps with rather than her merit. That's not criticism, that's sexism. I addressed it publicly last night because the gossip was spreading and affecting morale. If someone has legitimate feedback on her performance, they can bring it to me. But baseless attacks? No. That undermines the team."

Sarah's expression remained neutral, but she leaned forward. "Regarding your speech at sign-out, several witnesses described it as confrontational. You mentioned disciplinary actions, like reassigning duties, for anyone questioning her competence. Some staff feel this creates a chilling effect, where they might fear retaliation for raising concerns."

Robby tightened his jaw. "I said consequences for unfounded gossip that questions her competence based on our relationship, not for legitimate concerns. But what I've seen is whispering in hallways, second-guessing her calls in front of patients, implying she's 'sleeping her way' to success. That's not a 'concern', that's sexist bullshit. And yes, I'll shut it down hard. A hostile environment? That's what the gossip creates, for her, for me, for anyone trying to do their job without personal lives being dissected."

Finn cleared his throat. "Do you believe your relationship could compromise your objectivity in supervising her or the department as a whole?"

"I've asked myself that," Robby admitted. "Multiple times. And the answer is no. We keep boundaries. If a conflict arises, like if she were up for a promotion I directly influence, I'd recuse myself. She's in her final year, so she'll be out of residency soon anyway."

Finally, Sarah leaned back. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Robinavitch. We'll review all materials, including the data you've referenced, and follow up with recommendations. In the interim, please continue your duties as usual, but remain mindful of how perceptions can impact the work environment."

Now, Robby has his hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles going white, he’s that same controlled tension you’d seen in the ED many times before when a patient was crashing and he was the only one who could keep it together. You keep glancing at him, he was staring straight ahead, like he’s still seeing whatever went down in the HR office. 

You can’t stand the silence anymore. “Robby.” He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. “Talk to me,” you say, softer. “Please.”

He flicks the turn signal, and takes the exit toward home, but still doesn’t speak.

You reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. “You’ve been silent since you came back. What happened up there? What did she say to you?”

“Same they said to you, probably. I told them it’s bullshit. You’re the best resident we’ve got. Told them your numbers speak for themselves, patient satisfaction, outcomes, complication rates. Told them to pull every report I’ve written on you, before and after we started. There’s no difference. I’ve been harder on you, if anything, to avoid exactly this.”

“You’re pissed,” you say quietly. It’s clear in his tone, even if he tries to soften it for you.

“Yeah.” The word comes out rough. “I’m fucking pissed.”

You nod, letting that sit. “At the hospital? At the person who complained? At me?”

He shoots you a look, almost startled. “Not at you. Never at you.”

“Then talk to me. I can take it.”

He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. The sudden silence is deafening, but neither of you moves to get out. Robby scrubs a hand over his face, his beard rasping against his palm. “I’ve spent years building this place. Years of fighting for better protocols, better staffing, better outcomes. I’ve taken every hit, budget cuts, admin bullshit, burnout, families screaming in my face. I’ve never once compromised patient care.”

You stay quiet, letting him go. “And now? Now someone’s trying to turn what we have into a fucking scandal. Like you didn’t earn every case you’ve run. Like your evals are fake. Like I’d risk the department, the patients, everything, just to hand you favors.” He laughs once, humorless. “I’ve had attendings question my decisions before. Residents push back. Families threatening me with lawsuits. But this? This feels… personal. Dirty. Like they’re trying to drag you down to make themselves feel better.”

You reach for his hand on the gear shift, lacing your fingers through his. His grip is tight, almost too tight, but he doesn’t pull away. “I hate that they’re making you doubt yourself,” you say softly. “Even a little.”

“I don’t doubt myself.” He turns to look at you. “I doubt them. I doubt the system that lets one anonymous asshole throw mud and force me to defend something that’s none of their goddamn business.” He exhales, and you can see how some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "How'd yours go?"

"Long. They asked about everything, the timeline, how it started, if it was consensual from the beginning. Like they were checking for some hidden coercion or something."

Robby narrowed his eyes. "Consensual? They went there?"

"Yeah. I told them it was mutual, that I made the first move outside work. No pressure, no imbalance exploited. But it felt… invasive. Like they were dissecting us." Your voice cracks on the last words, and suddenly the frustration boils over with unexpected tears that prick in your eyes. You blink them back, but they come anyway, spilling over as you drop your head into your hands.

"Hey." Robby's pulling you into his chest in a second. His arms are solid, cupping the back of your head with one hand. "Hey, talk to me."

You shake your head against his shirt, but the words tumble out anyway. "I'm just… so frustrated. So fucking angry. I worked my ass off for this. Years of med school debt, rotations where I barely slept, and proving myself every single shift. I earned chief resident. I earned those cases, those evals. And now? Now it's all being discredited because we're together? Like none of it matters. It's bullshit. It hurts."

The sobs come harder now, muffled against him. He holds you tighter, rocking slightly, stroking slow circles on your back. "I know. I know. Fuck them, you know you earned this. The people who matter in the ED, Dana, Yolanda, Cassie, we all know it."

You pull back just enough to look at him with tears streaking your face. "What if they don't believe us? What if this tanks my fellowship apps? Or worse, what if it makes people think I'm not good enough? I've fought for every inch in that department. The late nights studying protocols, the extra simulations, even when I was exhausted. And now some anonymous coward gets to smear it all?"

Robby's touch is gentle as he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs. "Listen to me. You're not being discredited. Not by anyone who matters. Your work stands on its own, patients alive because of you, families grateful. Think of that family that sends you flowers and cupcakes every year after you saved their child, think of all the life’s you’ve positively impacted. The data backs how professional a doctor you are. HR will see that. And if they don't? We'll fight it. Together."

You sniff, leaning into his palm. "I just… I hate feeling like this."

"You're stronger than this shit. Better than it. And fuck anyone who tries to make you doubt that." He pulls you close again, kissing the top of your head, holding you until the sobs ease into shaky breaths. 

Eventually you pull back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart."

"Don't apologize." He brushes a strand of hair from your face. "You needed to let it out. Hell, I wanted to punch a wall after my meeting."

You manage a watery smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah,” He says, pressing slow and open-mouthed kisses along your neck and cheek, making you shudder from head to toe.

The heat blooms instantly in your lower belly. Just that simple touch, the heat of his lips against your skin, is enough to set your whole body alight with arousal.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t fracture your fifth metacarpal. I wouldn’t want these hands in anything less than perfect condition.”

“Oh, I know how much you like these hands,” he says, downright smug now. He slides his palm to your waist and squeezes, making you jolt against the passenger seat. “Want me to remind you exactly what they can do?”

You nod, too breathless for words. The second your head dips, he’s already moving, stepping out of the car. “C’mon. Inside the house. Now.”

You follow on legs that feel unsteady, knees weak, every step making you feel the wetness between your thighs. You can feel how soaked you already are, the slickness coating your panties, spreading with each movement. Just the promise of him, of what’s coming, has you aching.

As you cross the threshold, Robby lands his hand on your ass in a quick and playful smack. You jolt forward on your feet with a startled laugh that melts into a needy sound.

He doesn’t bother with the stairs, he’s too desperate for that, too impatient. He curls his fingers around your hip, guiding you straight toward the couch in the living room.

Only when you’re both stretched out on the couch, you under him, caged by his body, does he pull back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze drags over your face, your neck, down the line of your body still fully clothed in the soft T-shirt and leggings you threw on after your shift. There’s something reverent in the way he looks at you, like he’s memorizing you all over again, even though he’s seen you like this dozens of times.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and  with the way he says it…  the way his eyes darken further, it makes heat pool in your belly.

He starts slow. His mouth finds yours in a deep and languid kiss as he slips his fingers under the hem of your shirt. He pushes it up inch by inch, trailing his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat as more skin is exposed. When the shirt is bunched under your arms, he pauses to tug it over your head, tossing it aside without looking. He immediately moves his hands back to you, sliding his palms over the newly bared skin of your waist, your ribs, brushing his thumbs all over the undersides of your breasts through your bra.

Robby kisses his way down your sternum, leaving a trail of wet kisses, pausing to mouth at the swell of one breast over the lace. You instantly arch into him, threading your fingers through his dark hair almost unconsciously, and he hums in approval, the vibration making you twitch under him. With efficiency, because he’s always efficient, he reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with one hand, drawing the straps down your arms slowly as he kisses every inch of skin he uncovers.

When your breasts are bare, he stops, allowing himself just a second to look at you. His breath stutters out, and you feel his hands tremble slightly as they cup your tits, using his thumbs to circle your nipples until they peak under his touch. “Jesus,” he breathes almost to himself. “Look at you. Look at this body.”

Then his mouth is on you. He takes one nipple between his lips, sucking gently at first, barely flicking his tongue. But the tenderness doesn’t last long, he goes harder as his impatience grows, grazing with his teeth just enough to make you gasp. His hand works the other breast in tandem, kneading your soft flesh, rolling and pinching until you’re writhing beneath him, rocking your hips up against his thigh, where it’s pressed between your legs.

He switches sides, giving the same devoted attention and murmuring praise against your tits between kisses. Words like perfect, gorgeous, mine fall from his lips like he can’t help himself. He moves his free hand lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, mapping every inch like he’s starved for it.

Eventually, he moves lower, kissing down your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel, making you shiver. He hooks a hand into the waistband of your leggings, and he looks up at you, locking his eyes on yours as he peels them down slowly along with your underwear, until you’re completely bare beneath him.

He sits back on his heels for a moment, just drinking you in. The hunger in his expression is raw. It’s the same hunger you saw the first time you laid naked in front of him. “Fuck,” he says quietly, “I could look at you forever.”

You feel yourself flush under the intensity of his compliments, but there’s no embarrassment, only desire. He runs his hands up your calves, behind your knees, along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, parting them gently. His touch is everywhere, exploring your body as if it were the first time he’s ever seen it, worshipping you like you were divine. When he finally slides his fingers between your legs, you’re already soaked, and he groans at the discovery, dropping his head to your thigh as he presses an open-mouthed kiss there. 

“All this for me?” He murmures against your skin, and you can only whimper, a sound he takes as a “yes”. He starts maddeningly slow, dragging the flat of two fingers up through your slick folds in one long pass. He parts you open, spreading your swollen lips wide before sliding back down, coating himself in your wetness. Then he circles your clit with tight little spirals as he watches your face while he touches you. 

He pushes those same two fingers inside you, stretching you open until your walls flutter around the intrusion. He curls them on the withdrawal, dragging over that spongy spot that makes your back arch off the couch. He keeps his thumb pressed on your clit, drawing those circles that give you overwhelming pleasure.

His forearm comes down across your right thigh, pinning it firmly to the couch, forcing you wide open for him. The position leaves you completely exposed, glistening and helpless, and he groans at the sight. You buck your hips uselessly against his hold. 

“Stay still, baby. Let me play with this pretty pussy.” His pace stays torturously controlled, and when he finally lowers his mouth between your legs, you nearly cum right then.

His tongue is fucking molten. Robby starts with wide and sloppy drags at first, coating your entire cunt in wet spit as he laps you up like he’s starving. Then he narrows in, curling the tip over your swollen clit, flicking just hard enough to make your thighs jump. 

“Please… right there, baby, please…” Your throaty moans come straight out of your chest. “Your tongue feels so good!”

He curls his two fingers deeper inside you, grinding his knuckles against you every time he thrusts into you. Robby groans against your pussy, like he’s getting off on the taste alone. Suddenly, he's yanking you down onto his face so there’s no escape, so he can bury his nose against your mound, fucking you with his fingers while his lips suck messily around your clit.

“Taste so goddamn sweet I could stay here all night.” He pulls away just for a second, just to admire his wrecked you look. “Keep those thighs open for me, baby.”

Every time you try to squirm, he growls and pulls you back harder, smearing your slick across his chin, his beard, his whole face glistening with you. He’s relentless and greedy, moaning louder when you clench around his fingers, like he’s chasing his own release just from drowning in your cunt.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

You’re trembling now, your thighs shaking around his head, and your fingers twisting tight in his hair as the pleasure takes you higher and higher. He doesn’t let up, he keeps devouring your pussy until you arch your back off the couch as the orgasm crashes over you in waves.

You gush against his mouth, and he flattens his tongue wide to catch every hot pulse of your release. Robby laps at the flood greedily, with long drags up your soaked folds, gathering the slick that’s dripping down your ass and pooling beneath you. He seals his lips around your clit again, coaxing out the last trembling spurts while you whimper and twitch.

Then he dips lower, pushing his tongue inside your fluttering hole to taste you one more time, slurping noisily at the creamy sheen coating his chin and dripping from his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re boneless and totally oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair to pull him up.

Only then does he back up your body, kissing every inch along the way, until he’s hovering over you again, his beard glistening with your arousal, and his eyes dark with satisfaction. You pull him down into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Your hands frame his face, brushing your thumbs over his wet facial hair, “You’re amazing. God, Robby… you make me feel so good. Every time.”

He exhales sharply, his eyes are full of pride, the satisfaction of a man who knows he succeeded in deeply satisfying his woman. He kisses you again, slower this time, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You smile into the kiss, sliding your fingers down his neck, over the collar of his T-shirt. He’s still fully clothed, and suddenly that feels unfair. You tug at the hem. “Your turn.”

He sits back on his heels, letting you pull the shirt over his head. You take your time, tracing the lines of his chest as they’re revealed, his broad shoulders, the muscles earned from years of hauling patients and running around the ED. You move your hands lower, untying the drawstring of his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. He helps kick them off, and then he’s bare above you, unapologetically himself. You drop your gaze to appreciate his naked body, and the heat floods you all over again.

His cock is thick and long, the veins are standing out in pulsing ridges along the shaft, the fat head flushed dark  and already glistening with precum that beads at the slit and slowly drips down the underside. It rests against the plane of his lower belly, the tip kissing just below his navel, smearing a shiny wet trail there. The dark, trimmed, but still wild, hair at the base is the same texture as the beard on his face, unkempt and curling slightly where it meets the root.

You wrap your hand around him, your fingers barely meeting around the girth. The skin is hot and smoothl, and he’s throbbing hard against your palm like it’s got its own heartbeat. You feel every ridge, every vein, the way it twitches and swells thicker in your grip. A fresh bead of precum wells up and slides over your thumb as you stroke once, lazily.

He jerks his hips forward involuntarily, fucking up into your fist like he can’t help it, chasing the pressure. The motion makes his balls draw up tight, brushing the heel of your hand.

“Fuck… your hand,” he rasps, one hand hovering over yours like he’s fighting not to grab your wrist and make you move faster. His cock pulses again, and another thick drop of precum spills over your knuckles. He shudders when you squeeze just right at the base, milking another low moan out of him. “Baby, you’re killing me.”

Robby doesn’t let you tease for long. He leans down, kissing you hard. “Need to be inside you,” he says against your lips. “Need to feel you around me.”

Without a word, he stands up and slides his strong arms under your thighs. He positions you near the edge of the couch, as he stands between your spread legs. You whimper, letting your thighs fall open wider on instinct. 

He doesn't give you time to beg. Robby just steps closer, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and the other sliding under your ass. He lifts your hips off the couch in a single effortless motion, bringing your pussy to the same level as his member. Your lower back arches off the edge of the couch, keeping your shoulders, neck, and head still pressed into the cushions, but your legs dangling uselessly in the air except where he holds you up.

The position is obscene, it feels vulnerable, you’re completely at his mercy. Your pussy hovers just above the couch, exposed and dripping. 

He drags the swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds, letting the fat tip catch on your entrance, then slide up to nudge your oversensitive clit, smearing your slick all over him until his shaft glistens. Then, without warning, he lines up, notches the blunt head against your fluttering hole, and thrusts in hard. 

Your back bows off the couch like you’ve been electrocuted, a cry tearing from your throat as your cunt is forced to take every thick inch at once. The stretch is fucking devastating, it always is with him, it makes your walls clamp down instinctively around the invasion. He bottoms out right away, slamming his hips flush to yours, the coarse hair at his base grinding right up against your clit, rasping over it with every tiny shift.

He stays buried deep, unmoving for a long second, letting you feel it all, the throb of his cock stretching you wide, the way his balls press tight against your ass, the way your pussy ripples and squeezes around him like it’s trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time.

He’s breathing hard through his nose like he’s savoring the moment. “So tight… You have no idea how good you feel.”

"Fuck—Robby—" You cry out, but he doesn't give you any more time to adjust. He starts fucking you immediately, with punishing snaps of his hips that drive him deep every time. 

Each thrust jolts your whole body, making your breasts bounce, tipping your head back against the cushion. The angle is devastating, he's hitting that spot inside you on every stroke, dragging the head of his cock against your G-spot relentlessly.

You can't keep quiet, the whimpers and moans spill out of you, the words tumbling between gasps. "S-so—good—fuck—ha-ah-rder—please!"

He drops his gaze to where you’re joined, fixating his eyes on the filthy sight of his cock splitting you open, glistening with your slick every time he pulls out slow, only to slam back in deep, stretching your pussy wide around him. Your arousal is coating his shaft, dripping down his balls with every thrust.

His stare lingers there a moment longer, watching how your lips cling to him, how your clit peeks out every time he bottoms out. Then he drags his eyes higher, llanding on your tits, on the way they’re bouncing hard with the force of his hips. One hand leaves the grip on your hip, sliding up until he cups one breast, his palm engulfing it completely. His swipes his thumb over the stiff peak, sending a jolt straight to your core. 

“Look at you,” he rasps. “These tits… fuck! Moving just like that while I fuck you. You’re gorgeous. You’re so beautiful. I’ll never get tired of watching you.”

He speeds up gradually, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, mixed with your gasps and his groans.  Robby digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass as he holds you exactly where he wants you, lifted and open, helpless to do anything but take it. The couch creaks under the force, the cushions shifting beneath your shoulders.

"Look at me," he orders you, "Watch me fuck you. You feel how sloppy this pussy gets when I’m fucking you?”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, and his face looks flushed as he pounds harder into you. The sight… the way his cock disappears into you over and over, it makes you clench hard around him.

"Fuck! yeah, just like that," he groans. "Squeeze me like that."

You do, and your walls start fluttering and gripping him on every withdrawal, trying to swallow his cock, to keep him deep inside you and milk his load. Your hands scrabble at the cushions, digging your nails into the fabric, then up to his forearms, clinging as he fucks you harder.

He angles his hips higher, tilting just right so the ridge of his cock drags relentlessly over that swollen spot inside you. The pressure makes you curl your toes, and your vision blur at the edges. You bite your lip to desperately muffle a scream, but it still rips out anyway, way too loud, echoing off the walls like you’re trying to wake the whole damn neighborhood.

“There?” Robby snaps his hips faster, keeping that same angle that has the head of his cock punching right up against your cervix, a kind of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. “Right there, baby?” 

"God! Yes! Robby! right there—don't stop! Right there!" You scream, and he doesn't stop. If anything, he goes harder, thrusting into you with bruising force, making his balls slap against your ass on every thrust. The angle also makes your clit rub against his pelvis every time he bottoms out, sending bursts of pleasure spiking through you.

"Your pussy’s so fucking tight," he pants. "So wet… you’re dripping down my thighs, making a big mess—" You can feel it, your arousal is slicking his cock, coating his base, dripping down to where his fingers grip your ass. The couch is probably ruined, but neither of you cares. "Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit, cum on my cock."

Your hand flies between your legs, finding your swollen clit and circling it fast with your fingertips. The added stimulation shatters you, your cunt clamps down hard around his cock like a vice. 

“Fuck… yeah, rub that clit for me. Make yourself cum for me. You don’t know how pretty you look like this..”

"R-robby—I'm—g-gonna—"

"Do it," his thrusts start to turn erratic, he’s losing the rhythm as he chases his own edge. "Cum—let me feel it… fuck—"

You shatter. The orgasm rips through you, harder than the first, making your walls clamp down on him like a vise, pulsing in tight waves. You cry out his name, arching your back so sharp your shoulders lift off the couch as your fingers keep rubbing frantic circles over your clit to drag it out.

He groans loud, his hips stuttering as your contractions squeeze him. "Fuck—fuck—take it—Gonna pump you so full."

He buries himself deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he cums hard inside you. You feel every single fat rope of his thick load painting your walls, filling you up until it’s too much, until the pressure builds and you can feel the warmth spreading and coating every inch of you. His cock jerks with each release, the head pressed tight against your cervix like he’s trying to pump it straight into your womb. He grinds in filthy circles, rolling his hips to milk every last drop out of himself and into you. 

You can feel the heat of his cum starting to leak out around his buried length, mixing with your own mess, dripping down your ass and soaking the couch beneath you. He doesn’t pull out, just keeps you pinned there while his cock softens, but still remains thick inside you, plugging you full while he catches his breath.

For a long moment neither of you moves, but after a couple of minutes he slowly lowers your hips back to the couch, careful now, easing out with a low hiss. You feel the warm trickle of his cum leaking out, pooling under you, making an even bigger mess.

Robby exhales against your neck, scraping his beard against your tender skin. “You’re fucking incredible,” his words go straight into your bones. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good you make me feel.”

Suddenly, everything else just… dissolves. The remarks from the other residents about you and Robby, the tedious HR meeting, the people who doubted your worth and your hard work. All of it vanishes.

“Better?” he whispers, brushing his lips to your ear.

You huff a quiet laugh against his skin. “Yeah. Better.”

You stay like that, wrapped around each other, the anger and sadness from the day burned away, at least for tonight. Tomorrow will bring whatever it brings. But right now, it’s just you and him.

A/N: Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll write anything else for Robby, inspiration works in mysterious ways, so we’ll see.

If you’re a moot, hi🫶🏻 If this is your first time seeing me, I usually write for Joel Miller and Tom Hardy’s characters, and I also have an updates account @cinnxmxngxrlupdates

Hope this wasn’t so bad lol

dividers by @/omi-resources

[ovrhaetedd]

racer!billie headcannons

racer!billie au

racer!billie x gf!reader

cw: crash, injury, anxiety, panic, pain, insomnia, trauma, intimacy

a/n: this is my first time doing headcannons so im sorry if theyre trash which they prolly are

racer!billie — who comes home after winning a race completely wired at 2am, pacing the house while talking to herself about every corner she nailed

you who sits on the kitchen floor with her, sharing cereal straight from the box, letting her lean her head on your shoulder until her adrenaline finally fades

racer!billie — who swears she doesn’t have superstitions, but refuses to start her car if you forget to kiss the top of her helmet

you who teases her every time she admits it but always leans down anyway, careful, because you know it’s serious

racer!billie — who complains dramatically during every post-race stretch

you who patiently stretches her sore muscles, brushing hair from her forehead while she whines, whines, whines… and secretly loves every second of it

racer!billie — who showers with you after long race days, letting you wash smoke and oil from her hair

you who presses a kiss to the top of her head while she rests against your chest, breathing slow and warm and safe

racer!billie — who hides a ring under her helmet padding for weeks, fingers shaking as she finally shows it to you

you who bursts into laughter and tears when she finally gives it to you, hands trembling, and of course you say yes

racer!billie — who sneaks you behind the transport trucks after a big race, helmets still on, breathless and grinning

you who presses her against the metal of the truck, kissing her through the visor, laughing under your breath because she’s impossibly alive

racer!billie — who leaves the podium celebration halfway through a massive win just to take you on a midnight victory date

you who carries the takeaway fries and walks barefoot on the beach with her, sand sticking to your toes and her hand in yours, laughing because this is somehow better than champagne and trophies

racer!billie — who explains why she races for the first time, the only place she feels fully alive, the only place that challenges her and makes her heart beat like it’s breaking and soaring at the same time

you who squeezes her hand and whispers, “i understand,” knowing that she always comes back to you no matter what

racer!billie — who can’t sleep the night before a big race because her body is still pulsing with adrenaline

you who lies beside her on the couch, humming softly, stroking her hair, whispering reminders that she’s human and loved, letting her come down from the chaos

racer!billie — who hides every small bruise and cut from crashes, pretending she’s fine

you who notices the slight limp or flinch, sits her down anyway, cleans and wraps the injuries, teasing her gently when she tries to act tough, and presses a slow kiss to say thank you without words

you who waits every race, every city, every podium, always the same ritual, helmet kiss, hand squeeze, whispered “see you after”

racer!billie — who races hard but comes back to you every single time, every track, every lap, because you are her constant

racer!billie who sometimes cries quietly in the dark after a particularly intense race or near-miss, heart still hammering

you who holds her, whispers through every sob, reminds her that she is loved and safe, until she can finally breathe again

───────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────────

a/n: lmk if u wanna be on or off my taglist

taglist: @bilsluvbird @playfetchbabe @cmee1 @cookispark @g0ldwingedwildfl0w3r @b1lsblohsh @miloeilish @tinyumbrellaz @ilomilobabyy @overseasandhavingdreams @emi-inspace @sluttyangelgirll @bitches-broken-hearts @megansstrap

[lvrsnt]

TIEBREAKER

remus lupin x fem!reader x sirius black ( aka poly!wolfstar x reader )

a joke from sirius has you playing tennis with no panties on, though nobody's laughing when you end up fucked dumb in both holes at the end of your game ( 4.1 k ) ( mdni 18+ ) a/n: embarassingly this is my longest fic and also the one that took me the least amount of time to write...oopsies! also this had no intention in being so challengers coded but thats just the way the cookie crumbles 🤷🏻‍♀️ im having major writers block with all my st stuff so heres a little woflstar breather for all my marauders followers !!! ( divider by @cafekitsune ) tags: very very very brief moment of eviil walburga black mention, the black family are rich and evil, yes wolfstar and r broke into the black estate and destroyed every single room no we will not be talking about it, modern!au, prankster sirius black though thats just normal sirius black, flashing? panty stealing and panty fucking, everyone is sweaty, slightly voyuerism, oral (m receiving), object fucking-ish (tennis racket), fingering, anal, double penetration, unprotected sex, pup nickname, sirius is a massive slut, minor blood mention??

Sirius’ old house is disgustingly huge, all high arched doorways, sleek matte trims, guest bedrooms the size of your current apartment. You’ve seen it in the winter, cold and desolate with traces of the abuse Sirius endured at the hands of his mother. Her oil portrait that would cost you a fortune to repair and the Black family a mere graze off their bank account sits crooked in the hallway you’ve broken into, crude doodlings splattered over strokes of Walburga Black’s pinched face, courtesy of a wide-tipped sharpie pen dug out from Orion Black’s pristine office.

In the summer, when the whole Black family has retreated to the South of France and the house lays empty, it almost looks…home-like. The sunlight streaming into the windows and the Sirius’ messes of rage, anguish, mirth and pleasure littering the rooms give it a more lived-in quality, despite the estate's age of almost 300 years. Now, with its only inhabitants being the three of you, it reads more like a lavish house listing on a real estate website than a building featured on a news article that makes the Black’s sound more important than they already are. 

Sirius tells you that the tennis courts are a new addition, though, a couple metres away from the stables where he had his first kiss with a stablehand. He’s sprawled out on a lounge chair, looking far more comfortable in the torn apart Black estate than he ever had been in his 18 years of hell. Red athletic shorts he pulled from his old bedroom sit low on his hips and a pair of black sunglasses push his raven-black hair back. The box of his old school trunk lays open as Sirius plucks items out one by one, tossing the things he has no desire for over his shoulder and the ones he’s keeping at the foot of the chair. 

You’re not all for breaking and entering, robbing, trespassing on private property, whatever stamp on your record Regulus hissed through a phone call when he realised Sirius had used his keys for a little more than “I just need to get the last of my shit, Reg. And then I’ll never go back,” but this certainly feels worth it.

Remus returns from the main home pushing a beverage cart that looks comically small shadowed by his height. He’s in a similar outfit predicament to Sirius: thin, sweat-proof shorts and a bare chest sheening with the whitish tinge of sun cream. He holds a plastic cup (leftover crockery from the small party Sirius had thrown two nights before) filled half-way with his choice of drink in between his teeth, nodding his head to the sounds of The Doors playing through a bluetooth speaker on the top half, the sound sending a buzz through the expensive glassware. 

You lean against the tennis netting, tight enough to support your weight, as you let your sweaty hair fall out of your ponytail and down to swing in and out of your vision. It kisses your cheek as you call out to Remus. “What’cha got for me, Moons?” you ask, squinting to block out the sweltering sun.

He chucks you a can of something icy cold to press to your burning neck and then something similar to Sirius who misses completely, letting out a shout as the beer clatters to the ground, the spray of liquid splashing over the lean muscle of his body. “Moony!” he cries out, voice half-drowned out by your laugh as he jumps out of his seat, promptly kicking away the can farther down the large court with the toe of his flip flops. It spins out before coming to a stop, spray calming down as cider flows weakly from the lip.

You crack open your own beverage slowly, taking a long sip and turning to Sirius with your best that’s what you get! look. He gives an affronted harrumph, sulking further into his seat as Remus comes around to hand him another. He bends forward to press a light kiss to Sirius’ temple and then scrape the skin of his face teasingly with his teeth.

The sun beats down on you and you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other in your denim minishorts. They sit low waisted and kiss the top of your thighs, but they’re thick and itchy, and you can feel the beginnings of a chafe begin to form. You hadn’t thought about proper lounging around gear like Sirius and Remus had, and you’re reaping the consequences in your outfit fairly inappropriate for a tennis game.

Remus tosses you a tennis racket, and then digs deep into his shorts pocket to search for a second item. A ball of something blue soars through the air and then into your free hand. You hold the racket in between your legs to unravel the crumpled up thing slowly, realising that this is supposed to be the athletic gear you had requested: a thin tennis skirt shorter than your forearm that could easily be considered modest for a young child, but worthy of a public indecency fine on your figure. “Remus, what the fuck is this?”

Sirius lets out a low whistle and a wolfish laugh as he plucks the fabric from your hands, pulling the waistband as far as he can in between lithe fingers. “It’s a little modest, don’t you think?” he asks Remus sarcastically, thick eyebrows raised, “They’ve even got little built in panties!”

Remus blinks at your incredulous expression. “You said you wanted something lightweight to move around in.” he shrugs. It’s not in Remus’ nature to play dumb, but when he does he really really goes for it. You grab the scrap of fabric from Sirius’ big hands to further inspect it. You’re not really in the mood to journey back up the hill  and into the estate to find better clothing, and it’s not like a public court where half of your ass can be seen by the general public. Remus and Sirius have seen you in no clothing at all, anyways.

“Where’d you even get that thing anyways?” Sirius asks.

Remus deadpans. “Your mothers wardrobe.”

“Very funny,” Sirius jeers before pausing, “Wait, seriously?”

You leave the quarreling boys on the courts to pull open the doors of the on-court changing rooms, relishing in the cool air that dries your sweaty skin as you kick off your shorts and underwear. A whole estate with a private court and changing rooms is your fucking dream, and you feel a small tinge of envy for the Black family. But you’ve met Sirius’ mother (against your wishes and his) and you’ve heard enough stories to know that most of them border on evil. If money really does buy happiness, the Black family would have to become sextillionaires to pull the sticks out of their asses.

You pull the small curtain around you to step into the smaller changing areas, thumbing distracted circles at the razor burn on the top of your thigh. The door of the room hits the concrete wall as one of your two boyfriends strolls in. From the Led Zeppelin whistle cutting through the air, you can already tell it’s Sirius.

“Let’s get a move on, darling,” he calls out, flicking on the tap to probably wash off the sticky cider on his bare chest, “Don’t want to keep Coach Black waiting.”

“You’ve never even played tennis.” you scoff.

“Is something I’ll be saying to you when I see your first serve,” Sirius drawls, effectively poking at your competitive side to coax you back on to the courts. You hear the door creak open as he tells you, “And I want to see that skirt that Moony picked out for you. See if it’s suitable to wear at the home chapel when I have to repent for what I’m going to do to you and Moons in the dining hall later,” and then it shuts and you’re left with your own racing thoughts.

All you can do is roll your eyes, clench your thighs together at the last comment and step into the skirt. You blink down. There’s a clear circle where you can see the clean tiled floor with none of the built-in panties Sirius had boasted about. 

You pull them up, grateful for the stretchy waistband, and give yourself an experimental twirl in the mirror. At your full height, the hemline barely grazes the three-quarters of your ass, and when you bend at the waist, your whole cunt will be on display, already slightly glistening with slick as you crane your neck to get a good look. 

As expected, when you step out of your mini-fashion show you’re met with an empty wooden bench, your panties and shorts missing and 100% being twirled around Sirius’ index finger as a sick show of victory to Remus.

You don’t even bother to pretend like you have any modesty as you step back out, ignoring the way that Sirius wolf whistles and how his lounge chair has been dragged suspiciously around to your end of the court. When you ready your stance, you’re certain to give Sirius an eyeful of his next meal.

Remus has the audacity to blush when you pick up your racket, shifting his from one hand to the other like it wasn’t him who picked out your outfit in the first place. 

“You wanna play or what?” you ask boredly, though internally you’re applauding yourself for the smooth double entendre.

Remus swallows thickly then volleys first, clumsily hitting the ball in your direction and sending you running down your end of the net, serving it back with a jump of your own that has your skirt fluttering around your asscheeks. Sirius practically moans when he sees a sliver of your cunt and you watch amused as he pulls down his sunglasses to block out the sun and get a better look. He wiggles his fingers at you as if to say, “keep playing.”

Every skid, sprint and step has you showing off something to one or the other, whether it be the flash of your ass to Sirius or a peek of your bare cunt to Remus, who grows visibly frustrated at losing his game of tennis, though you’re certain you practically dangling your pussy in front of his face doesn’t do much to help his temper. You watch him rearrange his heavy cock in his shorts as he jogs back to retrieve your bright green tennis ball, breathing heavily through his nose as you pretend to stretch while you wait, sneakers squeaking on the hot floor.

You’re gripping the racket tight, ready for the next serve when Remus completely drops the ball, jaw going slack as he looks past your face and behind you, the ball rolling away. “Oh fuck,” he half-protests-half-moans, “Sirius!”

When you spin back around, Sirius has his head thrown back against the lounge chair in an inky black halo, legs spread and chest flushed as he pumps his tall cock wrapped up in your stolen panties. The moan he lets out when he notices your eyes is lewd, bordering on pornographic. A cool breeze whips your skirt high enough that he can see the front of your pussy and he shakes as he almost cums on the spot. Thighs quivering, the soles of his bare feet rubbing up and down the lounge chair as he tries to anchor himself to something, Sirius’ deep set eyes blink slowly at you and Remus, only fluttering shut when he grips his length harder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he groans out, thumb rubbing over his leaking slit, voice turning pitchy and whiny, “‘m gonna cum,”

You and Remus watch in awe as Sirius spills over his pale stomach, his eyes rolling back as he fucks himself through his orgasm. If the sun on your wet cunt had you glistening earlier, you would be lit up like a fucking star. Sweat drips down from your chin, into your shirt and past your hardening nipples, your mouth impossibly dry.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius groans out finally, looking pretty and fucked out as he comes back down to earth, still holding your pink panties now ruined by his cum, “any of you lovelies have any interest in playing with a different kind of balls?”

It’s crude and so very Sirius that you laugh at the silliness of it all, letting yourself bend at the waist to help with your shuddering diaphragm. The sound dies down in your throat when you realise you’re now showing off your pussy to Remus, swallowing thickly at the sound of a tennis racket clattering to the floor as he steps over the net to drag you towards Sirius.

You fall over him clumsily, forehead hitting his bare chest as the hand still carrying your tennis racket smacks the ground as you try to lift yourself up. Sirius’ cloth-covered cock digs into your stomach and he wastes no time dragging you further up his front to messily press his lips to yours, tongue pushing deep into your mouth. You haven’t even realised he’s plucked the racket from your hand when it comes to press against your entrance. 

A gasp leaves your lips as Sirius grins against them, looking up at Remus stepping out of his athletic shorts and pulling your sneakers off. The handle rubs slow circles around your clit, your sopping pussy allowing an easy glide around the sensitive nub as you arch back into it. You whine and Sirius presses hard into your clit before dragging the covered handle to your entrance, pushing in enough to make you moan against his mouth. 

He parts his legs further to allow Remus some room where he hovers straddled above Sirius’ thigh, the taller boy looking down at you. “Maybe we should fuck you with the racket,” Sirius says, voice held so straight you think he’d been asking you about the fucking weather, “Fuck your mouth. Give you something to bruise that throat on,” he sighs, contemplative. “Or, we could fuck your perfect litle pussy instead, hm?” he asks before fully pushing into your entrance, the handle sitting a comfortable half an inch in your hole as you groan, greedily rolling your hips back into it. 

“Look at it, Moons,” he coos, “Look at ‘er fucking suck it in,” Sirius hums and it leaves just as quick as it came, falling back onto the hot concrete. “Not today, maybe,” he tsks, “I’d quite like to have you stupid on my fingers instead.”

A long digit pushes past your gummy entrance, curling up against your spongy spot inside. “Shit,” you murmur, hole clenching around Sirius’ finger. He shifts you to curl into his side instead of sprawling out on top of him to give space for Remus to duck his head down and take Sirius into his warm mouth. He gives the pink head a quick kiss and a kitten lick before you watch it disappear down his throat.

“Remus,” Sirius begs now, previous bravado disappearing and his hips lifting so Remus’ nose can press into Sirius’ happy trail, his free hand guiding Remus up and down his cock by the back of his head.

You cry out Sirius’ name at the same time as marriage meets middle, two fingers pistoning quickly in and out of your soaked cunt. Despite the moans he lets out and the incessant stuttering of his hips, Sirius still manages to stay laser focused on fucking you just the way you like it.

The steady beat of your cunt speeding up to a wild, erratic thing has you pressing a warning kiss into Sirius’ neck. “I’m gonna cum,” you warn, thighs tightening as Sirius curls in faster and deeper, removing a hand from Remus’ head to encourage circles around your sensitive clit, “Siri, I’m going to fucking-”

“Cum for me, pretty,” he stops you, breath hot and heavy against the crown of your head. Remus takes the pitch in his voice as an indicator that he’s about to spill into his throat, letting Sirius take the lead and fuck into him at a bruising pace. “Fucking lovely, the both of you.” Sirius sighs before cumming with a shout.

You follow quickly after, pussy spasming as Sirius rubs slow, soothing ministrations to the soft muscle of your insides. Crude, but sweet.

Remus comes up for air, cheeks red and cock achingly hard as he wipes his sticky mouth with the back of his hand. When he leans down to kiss you sweetly, you’re allowed a taste of him. Mint gum, rum and coke, Sirius and tobacco flood your senses, and you lick greedily over a spot of Sirius’ cum drying on Remus’ chin. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he asks you, voice still hoarse and a hand rubbing up and down your sweaty back. Despite the skirt riding up your midriff and your thin tank top, you’re significantly more clothed than your boyfriends. Remus helps you to kneel on the chair with wobbly legs, letting you pull the tank top up past your foggy head. Sirius reaches up to palm roughly at your bare tits. “D’you want one of us in your mouth, another in your little hole? Tell us, pup.”

“Can you both fuck me?” you request.

“How d’you want us?” Sirius asks, already palming his length with another hand still massaging your chest. The words in his mouth leave soft and kind, but he pinches your nipples hard and mean.

“My back against your chest.” and then for an added safety measure, “Please.”

Sirius is already pulling your sweaty back against his chest, huffing slightly when your hair falls in his mouth. “Great idea, my darling,” he praises, emphasising his sentiment with a squeeze of your chest, “That way me and Remus both get a look at your pretty face when we get you all stupid.”

 You pant and squint up at the sun, hot and bright and beating down on your face, and like the gentleman Sirius is, he gently places his sunglasses on your face. He murmurs a quiet apology in the shell of your ear when he fumbles around blindly to line himself up with your hole. Remus does the same, fat tip running through your slick and sensitive folds. You can see him properly now through your protective eyewear, looking significantly tanner with a splattering of freckles all over his long torso. You make a mental note to kiss over all of them, and then some more, later.

“Don’t push in too quick, Pads,” Remus warns, gripping the soft fat of your thigh. 

Sirius does, because he’s Sirius, spitting roughly in his hand and smearing it all over your hole, pushing a middle finger in for good measure. You writhe against his back but his forearm keeps you locked in place, held extra tight when his head pushes past your ring of muscle.

“Hole’s so fucking tight, darling,” Sirius laughs, “Do I have to break her in again?”

It’s an agonizing stretch that seems to go on for hours, but when you feel Sirius slump back against the chair, you feel amazingly full. Your cunt throbs and you clench tight, grinning when Sirius curses in your ear.

He reaches down to stroke Remus’ cock, both of you watching in awe when he lets out a satisfied sigh and a click of his neck when his chin comes down into his chest. Remus lets Sirius pump his thick cock once, and then twice before slapping his ringed hand away. 

“D’you just not want me to last then, baby?” he laughs, realigning himself with your entrance.

Sirius doesn’t respond, but you can tell he’s sporting a lazy grin in the way Remus flushes a dark red. 

Remus pushes in, kinder and slower than Sirius but still with the same desperation, and you almost scream. The stretch from Sirius’ fingers help accommodate his length, but the sensitivity from your previous orgasm has you digging crescent shapes into your palms. 

“F-fuck!” you stammer, beating your fist into the chair as your heart jumps, “Please,”

“Please, what?”

“Please, just fuck me,”

Sirius obliges first, hips moving slowly as he starts a steady beat. He practically lifts you up with every thrust, and you watch in awe as he helps move you up and down Remus’ cock. Remus catches you on the up thrust, big palms under your ass keeping you still in the air so he and Sirius can put in all the work. 

Slick from your pussy pools and drips down your ass and onto Sirius’ cock, allowing him a faster pace in your ass. Your ears only focus on the sounds of Sirius panting in your ear and the squelching sounds as your cunt practically gurgles around Remus’ cock. The speed they’re both building up to forces lewd, pornographic sounds bubbling up past your throat and out of your bitten lips. 

“Feels like fuckin’ heaven, dove.” Remus groans, muscles flexed as he forces your back into an arch.

Sirius pulls your head to the side, nose almost knocking with his own sunglasses as his lips meet yours tasting slightly metallic. He must’ve bitten down on his lip so hard when he first fucked into you that his mouth fucking bled. “So sweet for us, so fucking sweet.” his hand snakes down to scoop slick from your sopping cunt and you jolt backwards, “Tastes so sweet too.”

Remus bends forward, chest pressed against your tits shiny with sweat. He presses a long kiss to your lips, sweet and soft, and then something shorter with much more tongue to Sirius’. “You’re right, our girl here is the sweetest.”

You want to roll your eyes and try to push down the heat in your cheeks but you can’t, all of your energy is focused on the coil building in your stomach and the tingly burning in your thighs. “Shit, I’m close,” you moan, your first full string of words other than the incessant whines leaving your tongue. “‘S so fuckin’ deep,”

Remus speeds up, chasing his own release as his tip bruises your sensitive cervix. Sirius does the same, canting his hips perfectly to reach a spot inside your ass that has him groaning and you cursing. The world goes bright, a hotter white than before, and before you can tell, you’re cumming with a shout.

“That’s our girl, that’s a good doll,” Remus pants, spilling into you with his own fucked-out sound, seed flooding your cervix.

Sirius, who was at his third orgasm for that hour, cums loud in your ear, words falling apart in his mouth to create something begging and mindless. “So lovely, angel, so fucking good. Such a good job.”

Your little blue skirt looks almost navy on your tummy, soaked through with sweat and you watch with tired eyes as Remus kisses past it and through the valley of your chest before collapsing, his forehead bumping your chin. 

“I hate you, Sirius,” Remus murmurs finally.

Sirius scoffs, affronted, “What did I do?”

“It’s all your fault. If someone asks me where the best sex of my life was, I’m going to have to say at this bloody mansion.”

You’re all giggling before the heat and exhaustion washes over you, floating back to silence as the birds chirp around the private court. “Remus?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah, lovely?”

You bite back a grin, going for something thoughtful and innocent and landing on something all too eager. “Didn’t you say there's a pool room we haven’t seen yet?”

“And I suppose you want to play there too?”

You sigh dreamily, your foot rubbing down Sirius’ ankle in your tangle of limbs. “I suppose.”

thanks for reading ! please like, comment or reblog ! all support helps<3

[ncsdlr]

Billie x YouTuber!reader where reader does vlogs, food challenges, and pranks on her channel with Billie

Oh, You

Billie Eilish x Reader

“don’t forget to like, subscribe, and fall in love”

You forget you’re filming until Billie clears her throat behind you.

“You’ve been talking to that camera for six minutes,” she says, deadpan. “And you didn’t say my name once.”

You glance at the viewfinder. Still rolling. Of course it is. You grin anyway, adjusting the tripod on the kitchen counter.

“That’s because I’m building suspense,” you say. “People love suspense.”

Billie leans into frame slowly, chin dropping onto your shoulder, green eyes half-lidded like she already knows she’s about to steal the entire video. She’s wearing your hoodie—again—and her hair’s tied back messy, like she didn’t even try and somehow that’s worse for everyone watching.

“Hey, internet,” she says softly. “I’m being emotionally neglected.”

You laugh, nudging her with your elbow. “You literally just woke up.”

“And you picked the camera before me.”

She presses a kiss to your neck, right where she knows it’ll make you forget what you were saying. The comments are going to lose their minds. You can already see it.

Y/N lowk weak. Billie owns them fr. I need this framed.

You clear your throat, refocusing. “Anyway—today’s video is the ‘I Let My Girlfriend Control My Day’ challenge.”

Billie perks up instantly. “Oh, I forgot about that.”

That makes you nervous.

--

The vlog cuts jumpy and chaotic—because that’s how your life with Billie is.

She makes you eat something horrendous first. Some kind of neon-green smoothie she claims is “healthy” but tastes like regret and lawn clippings.

You gag dramatically into the camera while she cackles off-screen.

“I don’t even feel bad,” she says, filming you now. “You prank me for a living.”

“That was ONE time,” you protest.

“You told me Shark learned how to talk.”

“He almost did.”

--

By noon, you’re in a grocery store aisle doing a food challenge you absolutely did not agree to in advance.

Billie squats beside the cart, holding up two snacks. “Okay. Spicy mystery chips or the expired protein bar.”

You stare at her. “Why is it expired?”

She shrugs. “Adds tension.”

The camera catches the way you look at her—exasperated, fond, gone in a way you don’t even try to hide anymore. Billie notices. She always does.

She lowers the camera slightly. “Hey,” she murmurs. “You okay?”

You blink, surprised. “Yeah. Why?”

She shrugs again, softer this time. “Just checking.”

Then she smirks and raises the camera back up. “Choose.”

--

The prank part comes later.

You tell your audience you’re finally getting her back. You whisper into the camera like it’s a secret between you and millions of strangers.

Billie’s in the studio, headphones on, lost in music. You sneak in, camera shaking, heart pounding like you’re about to rob a bank instead of mildly inconveniencing your girlfriend.

You set off the prank—something loud, stupid, harmless.

Billie yelps, ripping off her headphones, spinning around.

“What the hell—”

She sees the camera. Sees your grin. Sees the way you’re already laughing.

She doesn’t yell.

She just walks up, takes the camera from your hands, and flips it so you’re both in frame.

“You think you’re funny?” she asks calmly.

You nod, still laughing. “A little.”

She leans in and kisses you—slow, deliberate, mouth warm and familiar. The kiss lingers just long enough to make your knees go weak.

Then she pulls back and smiles sweetly at the lens.

“Prank’s over,” she says. “I’m stealing them for the rest of the day.”

The video cuts out on your startled laugh.

--

The comments explode.

But later—after the camera’s off, after the chaos settles—you’re curled on the couch, editing on your laptop while Billie plays with your fingers.

“You don’t have to put everything online,” she says quietly. “You know that, right?”

You glance at her. “I know.”

She hums. “I just like that they get to see you happy.”

You smile, leaning into her. “They don’t even see the best parts.”

She kisses your temple. “Good. 'Cause that's ours.”

-----------------

this was a request from like the beginning of last year...

[somethingeh]

pairing - michael “robby” robinavitch x reader

word count - 2.6k

summary - robby has done an excellent job keeping his home life a secret from his coworkers — until his pregnant wife has an accident that lands her in the pitt.

a/n - this is my first time posting anything. it’s probably shit tbh barely read over or edited. TW for pregnancy. i don’t want kids EVER but i want robby to have kids rlly bad. Definitely won’t do a ton of this type of content if i manage to keep posting, this is not my usual stuff.

—

Michael Robinavitch was notoriously tight-lipped. If you knew anything about anything going on in the ER, it wasn’t from him. None of his patients' business was broadcasted, not even his friends, and perhaps least of all, his. It certainly had its benefits, security, trust, HIPAA, and the like, but it often tipped the scales into secretive and self-destructive territory from time to time. The effort it took to get him to ask for help, even for Dana or Abbot, was great. Oftentimes his troubles ended up buried and repressed to deal with at a later time that never seemed to come.

Aside from his emotions, experiences, and trauma, he didn’t enjoy small talk much more than the big stuff. Langdon was always keen to share his latest surprise for his wife and kids, or show photos from their last trip. Whitaker talked about going back home to visit his family in Nebraska. Dana had her kids to boast about, Javadi had school and parental pressures to vent about, even Santos talked non stop about her new kitten, but Robby?

“Nope, no plans, just staying home.”

“Sorry, can’t make it tonight, got a thing.”

“Got something I gotta do this weekend, no big deal.”

He didn’t seem to have hobbies, take trips, consume media, even. The occasional beer with Jack was the closest thing to plans he’d ever had. But nobody batted an eye. Based on the way he was at work, no one expected him to have much going on at home. They pictured an empty apartment, takeout, medical journals for fun. No one gave it much thought because there was never any indication there was much to be thought of.

Until one chilly February morning, surprisingly calm for the pitt, with grey skies and thunder that threatened a rain that had yet to come. Robby was stuck in a trauma, spinal cord injury from a bad skating accident, when another came in. You sat upright, holding pressure to your forehead with one hand, the other placed atop your swollen belly between the numerous fetal monitors stretched across it. McKay and Javadi got called to the front.

“What do we got?” McKay asked, taking over the gauze on your forehead to check the laceration.

“Female, 32 weeks pregnant, passed out at home, landlord called us,” said the EMT quickly, wheeling you into a trauma room. “Small laceration on the forehead, completely alert, no signs of a concussion. She fell onto her stomach, no bleeding other than from the head.”

“Head lac looks good, bleeding stopped,” said McKay. “Probably won’t even need stitches, just some glue.”

She turned to you as the EMTs left, a kind smile on her face.

“Hi, ma’am, my name is Dr. McKay, I’m gonna be taking care of you today.”

You smiled as best you could and gave your name back.

“This is Victoria Javadi, a student doctor. Do you mind if she helps?”

“Not at all.”

“Perfect,” said McKay as you’re hooked up to a million more machines. “Javadi, any questions?”

A baby-faced, anxious looking young girl with her hair back in a scrunchie steps forward, clutching an ipad for dear life.

“So, can you tell us what happened?”

You sighed, already embarrassed.

“I was feeling a little light headed, so I got up to get something to eat, and the next thing I know I’m on the floor.”

“Have you eaten enough today?”

“I feel like all I do is eat nowadays,” you joked as a nurse took your blood pressure.

“Has this ever happened before?” asked McKay.

“Um, no, but I guess I’ve been feeling a little dizzy and tired the past few weeks,” you said. “I mean, I’m in my third trimester, it’s to be expected, right?”

“More than usual recently, though?”

“Yeah, you could say that. My husband begged me to go in, but I figured it was all normal. He worries too much.”

Mckay’s eyes flicked down to register a silver band on your left hand along with a sizable engagement ring. She snapped on some gloves.

“Okay, I’m just going to palpate your belly, is that okay?”

You nodded.

“Alright, let me know if you feel any tenderness.”

As she made her way across the bottom of your belly and reached the left side, you tensed, your face grimacing in discomfort.

“Ah — right there,” you breathed.

“Can you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten, ten being the highest?” asked Javadi as McKay set up an ultrasound.

“It’s not too bad,” you said, rubbing your belly. “Maybe like a three or four?”

“Alright, I’m going to look inside your uterus to rule out an internal injury,” said McKay. “I’m going to squeeze some jelly onto your skin — it may be a little cold.”

You could barely see what they were doing on the other side of your bump, but you heard the squirt of the bottle and something cool and slimy on your skin before the slight pressure of a probe moving smoothly around the tender area. While she looked, Javadi started cleaning your head wound, and in no time at all it was disinfected and covered. She had just informed you she wanted to do a neuro exam when your name was called from the hall.

Dana came hurrying in, concern etched in her face and arms outstretched.

“What the hell happened?” she exclaimed, pulling you into her arms as best she could from your seated position on the bed. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack, kid!”

You smiled, grateful for the familiar presence, although there was someone you’d take over anyone else right now.

“I’m all good, Dana, just took a fall,” you reassured, though your hands were still a little shaky.

You looked around and saw both Javadi and McKay distracted from their tasks at hand, staring quizzically at you and Dana, and your hands still linked.

“I’m sorry, how do you know each other?” Javadi asked.

You hesitated, glancing up at Dana. You knew Robby didn’t like mixing personal and professional, and had been very successful thus far at keeping your and your baby’s existences quiet. I just don’t want you associated with all that mess, he had said. Wanna keep you safe, and happy, here at home, just the two of us. Well — three, now.

Dana put on a smile.

“We go way back,” she said, rubbing your back comfortingly. “We actually met through her husband.” She turned and looked down at you, a knowing glint in her eye. “Does he know?”

“No,” you said quickly. “And I don’t really want him to. You know how he gets.”

She seemed unsure, but let it slide.

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll stay with you for now, how's that sound?”

You gave her hands a grateful squeeze as Javadi called your attention back to her neuro exam, and McKay took up her probe again.

“Neuro is normal, I don’t think we need a head CT,” said Javadi, pocketing her pen light. “But definitely want blood and urine samples.”

“Baby looks good,” McKay added. “Perfect size, moving around a lot.”

“Yes, she’s very active,” you said fondly. “Especially at night.”

“They tend to do that,” said McKay, smiling. “Just practice for having a newborn.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but she paused, smile fading. Her eyes narrowed at the screen. All you could see were grainy black and white lines, but you didn’t like the look on her face.

It felt like a bucket of ice was dumped down your stomach. Fear, cold and overwhelming, gripped you tightly. Fear for yourself, fear for your body, but most of all, fear for your baby. Could this tumble have cost your baby her health? Had you been stupid to ignore your husband’s badgering?

“What’s wrong?” you managed to squeak out.

You glanced at Dana, but her worried eyes were glued to the screen as well.

“Um, I’m not — maybe nothing,” said McKay, removing the probe and setting it down on her tray.

Still, the anxiety wasn’t leaving her face. You wrapped your arms instinctively around your bump, as though that could protect her from harm. McKay put on her best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“I’m just going to have our chief attending take a look,” she said. “Just to double check, and I assure you, he is great. You and your baby will be in the best possible hands.”

Oh, he’s gonna freak out, you thought. But you smiled weakly, trying to breath your way through the fire burning in your chest. Dana didn’t hesitate, just shot back out into the chaos and you knew her goal was finding Robby, only this time, you didn’t care about how it looked to his coworkers, or what this would mean long term. You just wanted him here with you.

You felt a familiar sting behind your eyes, and tried to rub away the tremble in your lip. McKay clocked it instantly.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Even if I saw what I think I saw — it's extremely treatable. Bottom line is, your baby looks as healthy as can be. She’s safe, and we’re going to do everything we can to keep her that way. Okay?”

You nodded, still staving off tears, until Robby came barreling around the corner, Dana at his heels, throwing his gown and goggles to the side carelessly. The second he was at your side, you broke, tears streaming down your face. He surrounded you immediately in his big arms and you burrowed into him, shoulders shaking. As he stroked your hair and murmured reassurances, you tried to focus on him. The vibrations of his soft voice against your forehead. The firm grip of his hands on you. His heartbeat, though he was steady and stable, much faster than normal. His smell, of sandalwood and rain, was still barely discernible under antiseptic and sweat. You inhaled deeply and felt yourself begin to calm. Still, worry sat like a heavy weight on your chest.

After a few minutes, he pulled back and cradled your face in his hands, thumbs wiping the tears away. You gripped his hoodie like a lifeline.

“What’s going on?” he said, and although his face might have seemed neutral to anyone else, you could detect the slight line between his eyebrows, and the strain on his voice.

“I — I fell,” you sniffled. “I fainted. I don’t know what happened. I’m scared, Mikey.”

His jaw tensed as he glanced at McKay. You could by her expression she was full of questions, Javadi too, but he didn’t pay the elephant in the room any mind as he tagged Dana in to hold you up and snatched the probe, squirting fresh gel on top and quickly locating the issue. You hated the sharp breath he inhaled, the tightening of his fingers on the handle, and felt fresh tears beading on your waterline. Dana’s arm around your shoulders tightened.

“What?” you managed, voice thick with tears. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” he said instantly, turning back to you. “Yes, she is. There’s just a small bleed behind your placenta, which can be serious” — you let out a cry — “but it can also be nothing. Oftentimes they clear up completely on their own.”

Your hands found your bump again, but your hands are covered by Robby’s large, warm ones.

“Hey,” he said, softer still, lowering his eyeline until you met it. “She’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You nodded, flipping your hands up to grab his. Something about those baby browns, you just couldn’t help trusting.

“Stay with me? Please?”

“Of course,” he said. “I just need to wrap up some loose ends down here, and I’ll be right up, okay?”

You nodded again as Dana started wheeling you up to OB.

“You got a bed up there?” she asked Robby in a low voice.

“They owe me a favor,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “A couple, actually.”

Once you had disappeared into the elevator, he let out a long suffering sigh. But he had more than just patients to deal with.

He turned to face a flabbergasted Javadi and McKay, raised eyebrows demanding answers. He grimaced, crossing his arms.

“Okay,” he said. “Yes, I have a wife. Yes, she is pregnant. We’ve been together for going on seven years now. I don’t know how she puts up with me either. We good?”

Javadi cleared her throat.

“You, um — you don’t wear a ring?”

He slid a finger under the chain hidden beneath his scrubs and pulled it out. Attached was a silver wedding band matching yours. He tucked it back under his clothes.

“Anything else?”

“A lot,” said McKay. “But we’ll let you finish up down here and get back to your wife.”

She pulled Javadi away by the arm, still muttering “your wife” under her breath, and Robby knew it was only a matter of time before everyone knew. But until that point, he would go on operating as usual.

“I got an emergency,” is all he said in explanation of his abrupt departure.

They kept you overnight for observation, and by morning the bleeding had ceased and you were released into the care of your loving, albeit obsessive, husband. Mackay came up to visit, and to share the cause of the mystery fainting spell, anemia. At that you felt both yourself and Robby truly take a deep breath. Simple iron supplements and you’d be back to normal.

He took the next day off to “nurse you back to health,” though due to there not really being any illness, that mostly meant feeding you pie in bed and rubbing your feet. You weren’t complaining. He hated leaving you the next morning, and let himself leave late in favor of lounging in bed.

You brought him a cup of chamomile tea at the door (“Coffee makes you evil, Michael!”) and kissed him goodbye. He lingered a bit, relishing in your even breathing and steady heartbeat. He pulled back to look into your eyes, brushing bedhead away from your face.

“I better not see you at work today,” he said, sounding more soft than stern, as usual. “As much as I love seeing our girl” — he placed a hand on your tummy — “I don’t think it's worth the strain on my heart. Maybe let's just stick to the scheduled OB visits, hm?”

“Agreed,” you smiled.

One more peck on the forehead for good measure, and he was out the door. He tried his best to ignore the immediate attention garnered as he walked through the doors to the pitt. As he logged on to the computer at his work station, he could hear Perlah and Princess muttering to each other at the speed of light, barely subtle in their glances his way. Even if they were speaking Tagalog, he had no question in his mind what the topic of conversation was.

Dana found him quickly.

“Hey,” she greeted. “Enjoy your day off?”

“Very much,” he said shortly.

“How’s she doing?”

“Wonderfully.”

That was that.

Only sweet Mel had the gall to bring it up to him all day, although it was more about naivety than courage. She congratulated him excitedly on his wife’s pregnancy, and expressed her trust in his parenting abilities. Others stared, but he thanked her kindly and went about his day.

As he stopped for a break in the ambulance bay, smiling widely at the picture you sent him of your progress knitting a baby blanket, he toyed with his ring. It wasn’t long before he was being called into a trauma, but he hung back for a minute. Disconnecting the chain from around his neck, he slid the ring off of it and onto his finger. After spinning it around for a while, he decided it looked much better there. And there it would stay.

[randomgirlduh]

Lawfully Acquired Spouse - Natasha Romanoff

pairing:  Natasha Romanoff x Reader

summary: one drink turns into several. you accuse a very patient stranger of kidnapping you. unfortunately, she’s your wife.

tags/warnings: established relationship, married couple, drunk reader, funny drunk, chaos night out, protective Nat, Wanda is TIRED, accidental flirting, domestic fluff,reader has no survival instincts.

author's note:  hi 🤍 i’m supposed to be studying for my exam on thursday (as i said, supposed), but somehow this turned into me projecting my inability to drink responsibly onto reader. that one’s on me. Wanda being done with everyone and Natasha having infinite patience felt inevitable.

english isn’t my first language, so please be kind. i’d love to hear what you think, comments always make my day.

You’re halfway through putting on your jacket when Natasha looks up from the couch.

“You’re not wearing heels.” she notes.

You freeze mid-zip. Slowly turn. “Why does that sound like an accusation?”

“It’s an observation,” she says calmly. Too calmly. “When you don’t wear heels, you drink more.”

“That is fake data.”

Natasha smiles like she has spreadsheets.

You narrow your eyes. “You cannot possibly have—”

“I have charts,” she says. “Trends. A very upsetting bar graph.”

You laugh, walking back toward her. “I am going out for one drink.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Two,” you amend. “Max.”

Nat stands, steps into your space, and fixes your collar with unnecessary precision. “Text me when you’re done,” she says. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I can Uber.”

“Absolutely not,” she says. “I’m picking you up.”

You grin. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“You're my wife, so yes.” she agrees easily.

You lean in, kiss her—soft at first, familiar, then deeper because she hums against your mouth and her hand slides to your waist like it belongs there. Because it does.

She pulls back just enough to murmur, “Behave.”

You smile sweetly. “Never.”

Two hours later, the bar is loud, sticky, and absolutely not designed for the amount of chaos currently occurring inside it.

Everyone said just one round.

Everyone lied.

One drink becomes two. Two becomes celebratory. Wanda is sipping slower than everyone else, Maria is already laughing too loud, and Carol has decided tonight is a physical challenge night.

“Carol,” Wanda says, blinking slowly. “Why are you on the floor?”

“For pride…” Carol says, already lowering herself.

“I can do twenty push-ups!” Carol announces.

A group of random men at the next table perk up immediately.

“I’ll do thirty.” one of them says.

Carol cracks her knuckles. “Count me in.”

You’re half-slouched on the couch, cheering with full confidence and zero balance.

You clap weakly from the couch. “GO MUSCLE LADY!”

“FIVE—” Carol shouts.

Wanda? absolutely done.

She’s seated at the table, nursing the same drink she’s had for an hour, eyes glazed with the resigned patience of someone babysitting a disaster.

You’re on your third—fourth?—drink, perched dramatically on a barstool, telling a bartender a very emotional story about how your wife once reorganized the entire spice rack alphabetically and you’ve never recovered.

“And she smiled,” you whisper, hand over heart. “Like it was normal.”

The bartender nods solemnly. “That’s terrifying.”

“It was hot.” you correct. “But terrifying.”

Then, across the room, Wanda watches you stand on a chair to cheer Carol on.

“Ten! Eleven! Twelve! CAROL YOU’RE A NATIONAL TREASURE—”

Carol collapses onto the floor, laughing. The men look like they might pass out.

Wanda sighs, pulls out her phone.

Natasha is halfway through paperwork when her phone rings.

She answers immediately. “Is she okay?”

Wanda doesn’t bother with greetings. “Well…she’s not hurt.”

“Wanda...”

“She is, however, extremely drunk.”

Nat exhales through her nose. “Where are you?”

She gives the address.

“I’m on my way.”

“She says she’s married,” Wanda adds.

Nat pauses. “…Yes.”

“And that she’s waiting for her wife.”

Nat closes her eyes. “I’ll be there in ten.”

You’re mid-sentence—something about proposing to your wife again because she deserves it—when Wanda touches your arm.

“She’s coming.”

You blink. “Who?”

“Wife.” Wanda says flatly.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “My wife.”

“Yes,” Wanda replies. “That one.”

You frown. “You’re confusing me.”

“I know.”

Wanda glances at the door, then at you.

“Okay. Show’s over.”

Natasha walks in.

Nat laughs the second she sees you.

“Oh, you’re funny drunk,” she murmurs. “I forgot about this version.”

You spot her immediately. You always do.

Your face lights up like she personally invented electricity.

“Ooooh,” you breathe. “She’s pretty.”

Nat steps closer. “Hey, baby. Ready to go home?”

You recoil like she’s crossed a line.

“Absolutely not,” you say. “I’m married.”

“Yes,” Nat replies patiently. “To me.”

You gasp.

“Nonono,” you say, shaking your head. “My wife is hot.”

Nat smirks. “Correct.”

“And intimidating,” you add. “And she would never approach me like this.”

Wanda points at Nat. “That’s literally her.”

You shake your head. “Nonono. Don’t confuse me. She’s blonde.”

Nat’s smile turns wicked. “You’re married to a redhead.”

You lean closer, squinting harder. “That is exactly what a stranger would say.”

She sighs fondly. “You’re impossible.” “I will scream.” you warn.

Before you can react, she grabs you—efficient, practiced—and hoists you over her shoulder like you weigh nothing.

Maria chokes on her drink. Wanda laughs so hard she has to grab the counter. Someone whistles. 

“HEY—” you protest, dangling upside down. “Put me DOWN. I don’t KNOW you.”

Nat pats your leg. “Relax.”

“I’M BEING KIDNAPPED.” you announce to the room. “BY A… VERY ATTRACTIVE WOMAN.”

“Your wife.” Wanda says.

“I will be reporting this,” you insist. “To my wife!”

Nat starts walking toward the door, unfazed.

You squeal.

“HEY—” you smack her back weakly. “Wanda! WANDA I’M BEING TAKEN.”

Nat gives your ass a firm pat. “Behave.”

You gasp. Loudly. “SHE TOUCHED ME.”

“That's my ass,” Nat says calmly. “I’m allowed.”

“She’s gonna be so mad,” you continue. “She doesn’t like strangers touching me like that.”

Nat adjusts you higher on her shoulder. “She’ll survive.”

“I don’t know that.” you argue, upside down.

Carol waves happily from the floor. “Bye!”

The car ride home is… a lot.

You’re slouched in the passenger seat, gazing at Natasha like she hung the moon.

“You drive so well,” you say.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very strong.”

“I know.”

Five minutes pass.

Then you turn your head.

“…You’re very pretty,” you say thoughtfully.

Nat smiles without looking over. “Drink your water.”

“And your arms,” you continue. “They’re… disrespectful.”

She laughs softly. “Careful.”

You lean close, lowering your voice like it’s confidential.

“If I wasn’t married,” you say, “I would absolutely flirt with you.”

“Oh?” Nat glances at you.

“Yes. But I’m a faithful woman.”

“Good to know.”

You lean closer. “Are you single.”

She laughs. “No.”

“That’s a shame,” you say sadly. “My wife would hate you.”

Nat glances at you. “Why?”

“Because I’m flirting with you.”

You suddenly freeze. Eyes widening.

“Oh my God.”

Nat raises an eyebrow. “What.”

“I cheated,” you whisper.

She blinks. “You did not.”

“I emotionally cheated,” you insist. “With… you.”

Nat bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Baby…”

You clutch your chest. “She’s going to be devastated.”

“I think she’ll survive.”

“No,” you say solemnly. “She loves me.”

Nat reaches over, laces her fingers with yours. “I love you.”

You stare at her hand. At her face.

“…Wait.”

The realization hits you like a freight train.

“Oh.”

She smiles gently. “Hi.”

“You’re my wife.”

“Yes.”

“I flirted with you.”

“Yes.”

You think for a moment. “That’s okay then.”

Nat laughs so hard she has to pull over.

At home, she changes you into comfy clothes while you narrate everything.

“These are my pants,” you inform her. “They are very soft.”

“I know,” she says. “I bought them.”

You pause. “…You’re incredible.”

She tucks you into bed.

You immediately sit up. “Wait...”

“What?”

“You still haven’t proven you’re my wife.”

Nat arches an eyebrow. “How would you like me to do that?”

You think hard. Way too hard.

“…Show me your scar.”

She lifts her shirt just enough to reveal it.

You gasp. “MY WIFE.”

She smiles. “Sleep.”

Morning comes with consequences.

Your head is pounding. The light is offensive. Your mouth tastes like regret.

Nat is already awake, sipping coffee, watching you with entirely too much amusement.

You groan. “Why are you smiling?”

“You told a stranger you’d report me to your wife.”

You bury your face in the pillow. “Did you… did you carry me.”

“Yes.”

“And then?...”

She smirks. “I patted your ass.”

Your eyes fly open.

“You did WHAT??????”

She leans down, kisses you slow and smug. “You didn’t complain.”

You groan again. “Next time I’m wearing heels.”

Nat smiles. “I’ll update the chart.”

[randomgirlduh]

Medical Emergency: Spouse - Natasha Romanoff

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wife/Doctor! Reader

summary: the mission went wrong. Natasha refused help. Her wife refused to watch.

tags/warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, domestic, teasing, flirty, sarcasm, intimate tension , mild injury, blood, brief discussion of trauma, strong language (light), teasing that pushes boundaries

author’s note: hi 🤍 i did planned to write tonight, but this brainstorm took over, can’t stopped thinking about this idea—Natasha’s wife being a doctor just wouldn’t leave my head. i’m officially obsessed.

Natasha being smug and teasing, and the wife refusing to let her get away with it, felt inevitable.

english isn’t my first language, so please be kind. comments always make my day, I’d love to hear what you think.

the mission should be easy. in and out.

it wasn’t.

—

The blast hits harder than Natasha expects.

Heat washes over her first—then sound. Shattering glass rains down across the street, smoke curling thick and acrid between overturned cars. The air tastes like metal and dust.

Not enough to take her out—never that—but enough to send her skidding across the pavement, ribs screaming as she catches herself on one knee. She pushes up immediately, ignoring the sharp, pulsing ache along her side.

Alive. Standing. Good.

Sirens rush in almost instantly.

Police cars flood the street, red and blue lights bouncing off broken glass and scorched pavement. EMTs swarm the area, voices overlapping, hands already reaching for the rest of the team.

Natasha presses her hand to her ribs and feels it—warm, sticky.

She pulls her hand back.

Blood.

She exhales slowly.

“I’m fine,” she says before anyone can open their mouth.

Clint’s eyes drop. “You’re bleeding.”

She shrugs. “It’s superficial.”

“That’s what you said about the knife in Bucharest.”

She ignores him.

The paramedics arrive, moving efficiently through the team. Tony is loudly insisting he doesn’t need stitches. Steve sits patiently, already answering questions. Bruce cooperates immediately.

Natasha does not.

She stays standing near the perimeter, arm loosely braced across her side, jaw set.

“I don’t need—” she tells a paramedic.

“Romanoff.”

The voice cuts through everything.

Natasha turns.

Clint narrows his eyes—then looks past her.

And grins.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You’re so fucked.”

You’re pushing through the crowd in scrubs, hair falling loose, hospital badge still clipped on. You look wrecked—the kind of tired that only comes from a finished shift—but your eyes are sharp, locked on her like a threat.

An officer steps into your path. “Ma’am, you can’t—”

“I’m a doctor,” you snap, not slowing.

“We already have medical—”

You stop, voice dropping.

“My wife is bleeding on live television.”

Silence.

Behind the officer, Clint lifts a hand in greeting when your eyes flick to him.

“Hi, Barton.”

“Hey, Doc,” he beams. “Rough night?”

Then you’re in front of Natasha.

Her breath catches.

“What are you doing here?” she asks immediately. “You were supposed to be going home.”

You look at the blood seeping through her suit.

“And you’re supposed to not die,” you reply flatly.

She almost smiles.

“I’m fine.”

You tilt your head slowly. “Sit.”

Nat hesitates.

Clint laughs openly. “Sit, Tash. Trust me.”

She sits.

Tony watches, delighted. “I have never seen her obey that fast.”

You crouch in front of her, movements clipped, controlled. Cameras are everywhere—you keep it clean, minimal, professional.

“You didn’t let them check you, did you?...” you mutter. “Of course you didn’t.”

“It’s just my ribs.”

You press gently.

She inhales sharply.

“That hurt,” you say.

“A little.”

“You flinched.”

She smiles faintly. “You noticed.”

Tony squints. “So… married? You??”

“Yes,” Natasha says at the same time you say, “Unfortunately.”

Without looking up, you add, “Oh stop. You begged me to marry you.”

Nat turns to you, offended and amused. “That is not—”

“You said please,” you continue calmly, securing the bandage. “Twice.”

Clint loses it. “I KNEW IT.”

You lean in, voice low. “This is temporary. We’re going home. Then I’m actually checking you.”

Her lips curve. “Bossy.”

“You married me.”

She doesn’t argue.

Home is quiet.

The door closes behind you, and only then do you let the tension drain from your shoulders.

“Bedroom,” you say.

You help her out of her clothes once you’re home, movements careful despite the way your pulse absolutely refuses to slow down.

Her jacket comes off first. Then her shirt. Slow. Deliberate. You keep your touch clinical on purpose—steady hands, precise fingers—even as your face warms traitorously.

Natasha watches you the entire time.

“You’re being very gentle,” she murmurs.

“I didn’t want the whole world to see my wife naked,” you reply flatly. “Figured I’d save that for later.”

She stills.

Then her mouth curves—slow, wicked, unmistakably pleased.

“Oh?” she says. “You thought about that?”

You don’t look up. “Focus.”

She leans back on her hands, ribs carefully supported, clearly enjoying herself now. “So you were jealous.”

“I was professional.”

“Mm,” she hums. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked like you were one bad headline away from tackling a paramedic.”

Your ears heat instantly.

She notices. Of course she does.

“You get like this when you’re worried,” she continues, softer now. “All serious. All careful. And then you pretend you’re not staring.”

“I am not—”

She shifts just enough—too much.

Your breath catches before you can stop it.

Her smile turns smug. “There it is.”

You press two fingers lightly against her ribs—medical, controlled, deliberate.

She hisses, laughing under her breath. “Careful, doctor.”

“Natasha.”

She leans closer, voice dropping. “You hate it when I tease.”

You finally look up. Meet her eyes.

“No,” you say quietly. “You tease because you know I don’t.”

That makes her pause.

Just for half a second.

You straighten, hands leaving her entirely. Calm. Composed.

“And because you know I was terrified,” you continue. “Because if I hadn’t been there, you would’ve brushed it off. Again.”

The room shifts.

Natasha’s teasing smile fades—not gone, but softer. More alert.

“…That was low,” she says gently.

“You scared me,” you reply. “Don’t use that to flirt.”

Silence stretches between you.

Then she exhales—and laughs quietly.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

She reaches for you, slower this time, thumb brushing your wrist. “Point taken.”

You soften—but you don’t back down.

“Good,” you say. “Because I don’t mind the teasing.”

Her brow lifts.

“I mind you pretending you’re invincible.”

She studies you for a long moment. Then—

“Well,” she says, smirking again, warmer now, “that was… unexpectedly hot.”

You groan. “Nat.”

She grins. “You snapped. I liked it.”

You shake your head and return to your work, carefully taping her ribs. “You’re impossible.”

“And you married me knowing that,” she replies, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Also—”

She lowers her voice.

“Next time, I’ll let the world see. Just to watch you lose your mind.”

Your face burns.

She laughs, delighted.

You finish taping her ribs, fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary before you pull back.

There’s a quiet moment after that. Relief settling in. The adrenaline finally bleeding out of your system.

You lean in and kiss her—soft, careful, everything you couldn’t be outside.

Nat smiles into it.

Then she wrinkles her nose.

“…You still smell like the hospital.”

You freeze.

Pull back slowly. Stare at her.

“I just saved your life,” you say flatly.

She hums, unapologetic. “You smell like antiseptic and bad coffee.”

“That was a moment,” you accuse. “A very fragile, emotional moment.”

She grins. “I know.”

You stand abruptly and start cleaning your supplies, movements sharp. “And you smell like dust and sweat.”

That gets her.

She straightens a little. “Heey.”

“You were literally on the ground,” you continue, pointedly not looking at her. “In a blown-up street. With debris.”

She scoffs. “It’s called effort.”

“It’s called you need a shower,” you shoot back.

She watches you for a second, eyes narrowing—not mad, just mock-offended in the way she only ever is with you.

“…You like the sweat,” she says eventually.

You don’t answer.

She smirks. “You always do.”

You glance at her. “I like when you’re alive.”

That wipes the smugness off her face.

Just for a second.

Then she softens, reaches out, hooks a finger into the hem of your scrubs, tugging you back toward her.

“Come here,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You let her pull you in, resting your forehead against hers.

“I know,” you sigh. “You just have terrible timing.”

She smiles. “You married me knowing that.”

You snort. “Unfortunately.”

She kisses you again, slower this time—deliberate, warm.

“You still smell like the hospital,” she murmurs against your lips.

“Yes,” you reply dryly.

She hums, amused and unapologetic. “Good. Means you didn’t hesitate.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand slides to her waist anyway. “Next time,” you say, “I’m making you shower before you flirt.”

She brightens instantly. “Together?”

Your face heats on cue.

She laughs, absolutely pleased with herself.

the next morning

You wake to warm skin and the unmistakable feeling that Natasha is not where she should be.

You crack an eye open.

She’s half out of bed, reaching for her clothes.

“Natasha.”

She freezes. “…Good morning.”

“You’re not cleared for movement,” you say calmly.

“I’m just changing.”

“You have bruised ribs.”

She smirks. “I’ll be gentle.”

You sit up. “Sit. Down.”

She sighs dramatically and sits—then immediately leans back, stretching just enough to make you look.

Your face heats instantly.

She notices.

“Still professional?” she asks sweetly.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re blushing.”

She leans in and kisses you softly. “Worst patient.”

You reach for the ice pack and hold it up pointedly. “Ice. Now.”

She pauses. Smiles.

Then—without argument—takes it and presses it to her ribs.

“…There,” she says. “See? Obedient.”

You blink.

She grins, smug but sincere. “Growth.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself.

“Worst patient,” you repeat.

She leans into you carefully this time, voice warm against your shoulder. “Only for everyone else.”

[undressingherr]

“RUNWAY BITCH”.

⤷ SMUT ₊ ⊹ dom!billie + sub!reader = strap usage

➤ summary : backstage, with ten minutes to spare, billie—your fashion designer, chooses sex over duty—pulling you into the back rooms and ignoring the calls of your name, letting the world wait while she refuses to.

the name “eileen” will be used to replace “y/n.” ⊹₊⟡⋆

hermés, one of the most high brands that originated in france, with a wide range of products, shoes, jewelry, perfumes, luxury dresses, and every damn thing.

celebrities attend fashion shows solely because of the brand name, seeking inspiration from other designers’ creativity and indulging in eye-catching shopping.

billie eilish, a high-top fashion designer, with billboards, commercials, and fashion shows. she was a fucking star. collaborating with brands like prada, burberry, balenciaga, louis vuitton, chanel, and many others.

at a young age, she began as a small designer, barely having the funds to purchase accessories for her art. she sewed everything she could find. It all took a turn when a few of her pieces were scouted. one of her friends decided to wear one of her pieces out in public, and years later, she started seeing her designs on women walking down runways.

sometimes, billie herself would scout models to attend to runways and wear her clothes, and that’s exactly what happened.

she ended up scouting eileen, an unknown, chic, and overly beautiful woman. eileen was tall with curly hair that cascaded her. she had a beautiful figure, that fitted perfectly within the clothes. nice ass, but not too big, just in between, and light hazel eyes. her eyebrows were thin, yet perfectly shaped, including the few moles on her face.

billie made eileen a star. she has been promoting her ever since she scouted her, and now she’s at the top.

eileen, currently backstage, was preparing to model for one of billie’s pieces for hermes. she had her makeup and hair done, while the other models were doing the same. everyone was rushing.

eileen had on a long white dress that clung to her frame, the fabric sweeping the floor. one side of the gown was cut away, exposing the curve of her waist and hip, making it appear sexy yet elegant. the single strap rested on her shoulder, and the way the dress fell around her made her seem like she was out of a painting.

the show was starting soon, really soon.

people would frequently ask eileen, interviewers, and everyone else, “how do you stay relevant?,” “how are you still doing runways?,” and “how are you getting more famous?”

they made allegations that she was having sex with billie to keep her fame relevant, but eileen would quickly deny them, telling the truth.

but was it the truth? how could it be true when, right now, at this very moment, she could feel billie’s fingertips lightly grazing over her chest, then softly grasping her breasts through the fabric?

billie had informed everyone that she was gonna help dress eileen in one of the backrooms. the dress itself was complicated to put on, and since she had designed it, she wanted to ensure that it was on properly.

but, like always, one thing led to another.

eileen’s front pressed against the wall, her hands desperately grasping the flat surface for support. her cheek pressed against the coldness of it, and her mouth hung open. her eyes fluttered close, only to reopen, her chest blooming with pleasure.

the dressing room was dim and tidy, with sketches pinned to the wall, fabric swatches scattered across the desk, a mannequin standing quietly by the window, and a big mirror leaning nearby, catching light.

billie stood behind eileen, her other hand holding her dress carefully to prevent it from bunching up before the show. billie’s own dress brushed against eileen’s from behind as she pushed her hips forward, causing the model’s breath to hitch. eileen felt the addicting depths of the dildo that was connected to billie’s hips, pushing in further.

billie’s eyes focused as the woman took the silicone in, her inner lips closing around the tip before the girth. eileen’s nipples hardened at the sensation, as she had the instinct to grasp her own breasts.

eileen placed a flat palm on the wall, trying to maintain her composure. her eyes rolled backward, as her body pushed against the surface whenever billie thrusted.

billie nuzzled the strap deeper, feeling the euphoric pressure against her clit, moaning against the model’s ear. she extended her hand before connecting it to eileen’s flushed skin, before landing a sharp slap on her ass, making her tilt her head backwards onto billie’s shoulder, as if she was almost surrounding herself to her.

already, it was like eileen couldn’t get enough, she wanted every part of billie’s skin her onto hers. her body felt so sensitive, that almost every touch made her more aroused, including the smell of billie’s scent.

billie’s eyes darted to the side, where the large mirror hung, watching her make eileen crumble. they both had hair all over their faces, and billie’s lips were lightly parted, with smudged lipstick. billie kept her stance behind eileen, and eileen looked like a complete slut. both of their feet were trying to withstand balance in their heels.

eileen’s inner walls tightened around the strap, sending shocks straight to billie’s clit, shooting up her spine, causing billie to thrust faster, holding in the loud moan that sat deep within her lungs, almost guttural.

then suddenly, billie stopped, she stopped thrusting, letting the strap just sit for a bit, seeing how eileen would react.

eileen waited a beat—attempting to remain patient. her body sensed what billie was doing, she tucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, feeling her center anticipating for her next move. “billie…,” she breathed.

billie didn’t respond; she was quiet like a robot without batteries. billie stuck two fingers inside her own mouth, coating it with her spit, her cheeks caving in before she took them out— saliva following her fingers, before bringing them to eileen’s mouth, pushing her fingers against her lips.

eileen parted her lips, taking in billie’s fingers, sucking on them, saliva dribbling down her chin, messy. with billie still not making another move, the model thrust herself backwards, pushing herself onto the dildo, not being able to be patient anymore, needing the urge to ease the ache.

perhaps it was billie’s ego, or even pride that got the best of her. the fact that eileen was such a slut, unable to wait even two minutes before fucking herself, infuriated billie. instead of allowing billie to take control, billie couldn’t stand it.

keeping her fingers inside eileen’s mouth, billie placed the other one firmly on her hips. then, before thrusting foward again. repeatedly. the clapping nosies in the room echoing through the thin walls.

eileen’s legs buckled, and her mouth parted open, with her eyebrows screwed together. “who made you famous baby, huh?.. who made this happen for you?,” billie’s feminine voice husked.

eileen’s arousal was trailing down her thighs, soaking her warm skin. she wanted to, she tried, but eileen couldn’t give billie an answer; her capability to speak was almost gone.

a dragged moan escaped her lips as billie’s palm slapped her ass again. “come on, answer for me. you can do it,” billie gently bit her earlobe, causing her to tighten around it once more.

eileen felt like she was on top of the world, her mind buzzing solely with thoughts of billie. she was a supermodel, having consistently good sex with one of the biggest fashion designers—the same designer who had made her who she is today.

with everything she had within her, she forced her lips to form words, then she muttered, “you.” and that’s all it took before she felt billie’s lips crack a smile against her neck. “mhm, that’s right,” she hummed against eileen’s ear.

“where the hell is she? the show starts in ten minutes,” they both heard from outside the room, near the hallway. the nagging sound of one of the backstage managers clearly searching for eileen.

“she’s supposed to be dressed, and goddamn ready.” billie could hear the footsteps of them searching around in the hall, their heels tapping against the hard floor, looking.

billie’s thighs twitched, the dildo pressing firmly against her clit, sending fireworks through her body, a tingling sensation running though her lower abdomen, causing the sound of her moans to become lighter.

“so fucking good,” billie’s voice cracked, her stance getting weaker.

one of the members from behind the door muttered, “fucking—shit,” before banging against the door, yanking the knob. “is she ready? the hell is going on?.”

but it seemed as if the nagging gave billie more adrenaline?

billie leaned her head down, wetting her tongue in her own saliva—coating it completely. she then licked it flatly up the models’ back where her skin peeked from the dress.

eileen’s legs buckled, and her toes curled tighter within her heels as billie’s teeth grazed her skin, causing her back to arch.

Instinctively, eileen removed her palm from the wall—grabbing onto the dress she was wearing, as if the fabric itself would help her maintain her balance. her fist clenched the dress tightly.

billie noticed this before swatting eileen’s hand away, preventing her from ruining the dress she had meticulously designed, causing the woman to whine. “ come on, you know better than that,“ billie muttered against her back, her breath causing chills against eileen’s skin.

“we need eileen to open the goddamn show,” the person shouted louder. “come on, we already have people waiting. this is fucking bullshit,” they banged louder.

with another free hand, billie’s palm reached around eileen’s dress, finding her cleavage. she pulled the front down, causing her breast to slip out. the air hit her firm nipples, making her want to drool, as they bounced with the motion.

everything just felt overly euphoric.

feeling an overly warm wave of butterflies floating past her, eileen’s consciousness blurred, as if she didn’t exist for a moment, as if she could only feel. 

the echo of billie’s moans began to tune out from her ears as she reached her hand down, connecting her fingers to her wet clit. billie’s eyes, as always, noticed. she swatted eileen’s hand away and replaced it with her own.

eileen began to hold onto billie’s wrist as her fingers massaged her clit, her swollen bud peeking from in-between the inner labia at the top. the friction was taking over her, her back was falling against billie’s warm front.

@falestales this is kind of long but whateverrrr.

[undressingherr]

headcannons where billie’s obsessed with readers breasts? to the point she gets drunk off of it sometimes.

“IT’S A CRAVING”

➤ au: your girlfriend craves your breasts frequently.

billie had a craving with licking your nipples through the fabric of your shirt, leaving a damp mark of her saliva on the cotton.

after long days on tour, preparing everything, barely getting any rest, performing on stage, along with aching legs, was tiring. billie loved touring. however, each day began to feel like an overwhelming cycle. whenever everyone would be fast asleep on the tour bus, billie would use your breasts as a soothing mechanism. she’d run her palms under your shirt to hold your breasts or lift the fabric of your shirt to rest her head on them.

whenever you and billie would get into an argument or a major disagreement, you’d sometimes find her eyes flickering right to your chest before your eyes again—repeating it, which only made you angrier, yelling at her harsher.. though she couldn’t help it.

who has a picture of your cleavage as her macbook wallpaper, which has remained unchanged for about a year now.

during heated makeout sessions, your tongues and lips would collide. your arms would wrap around her neck as you used her lap as a seat, facing her. you could sense it before billie even starts, as she’d always brings her palms up, squeezing your breasts together, causing your stomach to naturally dip.

whenever you two would cuddle naked, her head would rest against your neck that pulsed softly, as you would gently massage her scalp, your fingers would glide through her dark brown roots, while her body would be nestled between your thighs—how she preferred it. billie would ensure that her own breasts were pressed against yours, savoring the size difference, as hers were a bit fuller, feeling both nipples touch each other.

In the shower, the water was cascading over both of you, drenching your bodies with warmth and steam. billie craves your breasts like they're her personal addiction. she massages your shoulders with soapy hands, palms pressing against your skin. billie’s hands trailed lower.. and lower, before having contact with your breasts, firmly squeezing them. her thumbs rubbed your nipples into stiff points, before gently taking one between her lips, sucking and nibbling. sometimes, she’d gets so lost in it, murmuring how full and perfect they are, her pussy throbbing just from the taste.

In the afterglow of sex, billie doesn't pull away; instead, she nestles in to suckle softly at first, then with a growing urge that never quits. her eyes remain closed, immersed in a dream like state.

you kept your hand tight on her jaw, forcing billie to look you in your eyes. your body bounced, riding her strap, the impact pushing against her clit, causing her body to shudder—electricity running up her spine. billie kept her arms wrapped around your waist, yearning for physical touch. your breasts bounced against her face, and no matter how many times you forced her to look at you, her sharp eyes stayed on your chest—as if she was hypnotized.. eyes way too focused.

billie would sometimes start makeout sessions in the bathroom or in front of a mirror. so, if you were to have sex, she could watch your breasts bounce whenever she fucked you from behind.

you had billie’s name inked discreetly between your breasts, and she would kiss right there as a comforting gesture for both of you.

@falestales a/n: this isn’t my best. I swear I have something better in my drafts lmao 

[helen-with-an-a]

Hi, my lovelies. I wrote this last night in about 2 hours so idk if it’s any good. But, I recently got the chance to binge the second half of season 4 of Bridgerton and ugh so good but also I cried multiple times loll. Anyway, I then saw a TikTok of someone joking that whenever their partner says they have a headache they panic. And I thought who else would do that but Beautiful Girl Ale. I was going to post it on Tuesday, but in honour of International Women’s Day, have a little something about the woman most of the WOSO world love hehe. I hope you enjoy.

Headache

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: you have a bit of a headache, but Ale takes things very seriously.

Beautiful Girl masterlist

The headache had started sometime during media.

At first it had just been a faint pressure behind your eyes, the sort that came from staring too long into bright lights and camera flashes. You hadn’t thought much of it then. Media days were always a little chaotic. Bright studio lights, endless questions, microphones pushed a little too close to your face. It was part of the job, and you’d long since learned to smile through the minor annoyances that came with it.

Still, by the time you’d left the building, the dull pressure had begun to spread. It sat heavy at your temples, pulsing softly every time you blinked. The tight ponytail you’d thrown your hair into that morning suddenly felt like it was pulling at your scalp, each strand tugging just enough to make the ache worse.

You probably should have taken it out hours ago. You probably should have drunk more water too. But the day had been busy. Training in the morning, media in the afternoon, a quick meeting squeezed in between. Somewhere in all of that, the simple things; water, food, loosening your hair, it had slipped through the cracks.

By the time you got home, the headache had settled firmly behind your eyes. Not unbearable. Just irritating.

The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, the soft hum of the city outside muffled by the walls. For a moment you simply stood there, breathing in the familiar comfort of home.

You could hear Alexia moving somewhere down the hallway. The television murmured faintly in the background, and you caught the distant rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of someone rearranging themselves dramatically on the sofa.

You smiled tiredly. You toed your shoes off near the door and rubbed a hand over your temple. The ache pulsed again. Maybe you should take something for it.

Instead, you wandered into the living room.

Alexia was exactly where you expected her to be, curled sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other dangling lazily off the edge. Her hair spilled over the cushions in a messy wave, and the glow of the television flickered softly across her face.

She looked up the moment you appeared. Her expression shifted instantly. Instead of the soft smile and lovesick expression you were usually greeted with, you were met with wide eyes. You must have looked worse than you thought.

“Mi amor?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, pressing your fingers briefly to your temple.

Alexia’s eyes narrowed.

“¿Qué pasa?” What’s wrong?

“Just a headache.”

You tried to wave it off, dropping down beside her on the couch. But Alexia was already watching you closely, that familiar crease forming between her brows. She had always been like this. Small things never stayed small once she noticed them. A tired sigh, a wince, the slightest shift in your expression. She caught all of it. And once she noticed, she worried.

You felt her gaze on you as you leaned back against the cushions. For a few seconds she said nothing. Then her hand reached out quietly, fingers brushing against yours.

You turned to look at her. And that was when you noticed the shine in her eyes.

“Oh, beautiful girl,” you cooed, reaching up to push some of her hair off her face. “I’m alright. Alexia blinked, her eyes still shining with unshed tears, her lip still between her teeth. “It’s only a headache.”

“El suyo era solo un dolor de cabeza también.” His was only a headache too.

“Who’s was?” Your eyes narrowed, trying to work out what had got her so worried.

“Nothing, nothing.” Alexia shook her head, forcing herself to push the anxiety away.

“No, baby.” You reached for her hand before she could walk away. Gently, you tugged her closer, forcing her to flop against your chest.

“Who’s was only a headache?”

“It is stupid.”

“Not if you’re concerned about it.”

“Te reirás de mí.” You will laugh at me. Alexia’s voice was watery as she leaned back to look at you.

“No, I won’t,” you said resolutely.

“John only had a headache.” She whispered so quietly you could barely hear it.

“John?”

“From your stupid Victorian sex show.” You blinked, trying to work out what, and who, she was talking about.

You watched as Alexia wrung her hands a little, your fingers automatically twisting with hers. “You mean …” You blinked “Bridgerton?” You had been so excited for the second half of the series to come out. You had dragged Alexia (who went very willingly, you might add) onto the sofa and flopped dramatically on top of her and refusing to move until you had binged all of the latest episodes on your most recent day off.

“Sí, Bridgerton.” She said with distain, her lip curling. “John had a headache and then he died.” Alexia huffed, letting her head drop onto your shoulder once again.

“Well, first, it’s Georgian, you know after the many King Georges, not Victorian. And it’s not a stupid sex show.” You carded your fingers through Alexia’s hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. “And yes, John’s ended up being more than just a headache. But I promise, mine is just that. Just a headache. Some eye strain from the lights at media this afternoon and a tension headache from my hair being too tight. It hasn’t helped that I probably didn’t drink enough either.”

You couldn’t help the smile that danced on your lips at Alexia looked at you, her face full of disapproval as you listed off your lack of self care today. 

“You are laughing at me.” Alexia whined, her brows crinkling.

“No, beautiful girl. No, I’m not.” You lifted your hand to smooth over her cheek. You meant to sound reassuring, but you couldn’t help the little chuckle in your voice. “I’m laughing at your expression.”

She looked a sight; eyes squinted, cheeks slightly pink, a frown colouring her face. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, shoulders tense in that stubborn way she had when she felt both embarrassed and defensive. The crease between her brows deepened as she stared at you, clearly trying to decide whether she was more worried about you or more annoyed that you were amused.

“I am serious,” she muttered.

“I know you are,” you said gently.

Alexia huffed, the sound soft but dramatic, and then she dropped her forehead against your shoulder with a defeated groan, letting her arms wind around your waist instead.

“Es ridículo.” It’s ridiculous.

“It’s not ridiculous,” you murmured, snuggling her properly now. One hand played with her hair whilst the other rubbed soothing circles over her shoulders. “You got worried.”

“Por una serie.” Because of a TV show. Her voice was muffled against your shirt.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to take television a little too seriously.”

Alexia lifted her head just enough to look at you again, suspicion narrowing her eyes.

“You are still laughing.”

“I’m smiling,” you corrected.

“Lo mismo.” The same thing.

You pressed your lips together, trying (and failing) to hide the curve of them. She looked so deeply offended by your amusement that it only made it worse.

“Okay,” you said, taking a breath to steady yourself. “Maybe a little laughing.”

Alexia groaned again, burying her face against your collarbone again.

“Sabía que te reirías.” I knew you would laugh.

“I’m not laughing at you being worried, baby,” you clarified quickly. “I’m laughing because you look like you’re about to scold me, just like Eli does with you.”

Her head snapped up.

“I am not-”

“You are,” you interrupted gently. “Look at you.”

She blinked.

“You’re doing the face.”

“What face?”

“That one.” You reached up and lightly pressed your thumb into the crease between her brows. “This one. The ‘Disapproving Putellas’ face. You and Alba and your Mamí have the same face. I’ve seen it.”

Her lips twitched despite herself.

“I do not have a face for that.”

“You absolutely do.”

“Mentira.” Lie.

“Truth,” you said. “It’s very intimidating when your Mamí does it. You and Alba less so.”

Alexia tried to stay annoyed. You could see the effort in the way she held her mouth firm and serious. It lasted about three seconds. Then her shoulders sagged and she sighed, the tension leaking out of her.

“You scared me,” she admitted quietly.

The teasing smile faded from your face immediately.

“Hey.” Your hand slid up to cup her cheek. “I’m okay.”

“I know,” she said, though her voice still carried a small tremble. “I don’t like you being in pain anyway …” Her fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of your shirt. “And then I remembered that stupid man.”

“John,” you said.

“Sí, John,” she muttered darkly, like the name personally offended her. You brushed your thumb gently under her eye.

“He’s fictional, Ale.”

“Still.”

“He also lived in the 1800s.”

“That does not make it better.”

You chuckled softly. “I promise you, my headache is not a dramatic period drama death to further a plot point so you can marry one of my siblings.”

Alexia’s eyes narrowed again. “You cannot promise that.”

“I can promise I’m not going to collapse tragically.” You raised an eyebrow. “And I can abolutely promise that the only Y/S/N that will be marrying you is me.”

“You do not know.”

“That I’m going to be the only Y/S/N marrying you? Don’t tell me you have a crush on my sister!” 

That finally broke her. A reluctant laugh slipped out of her, quick and breathy.

“There,” you said triumphantly. “That’s better.”

Alexia tried to hide it, pressing her lips together again, but the tension had clearly cracked.

“You are impossible.”

“And yet you love me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

You gasped softly, placing a hand over your heart. “You wound me, beautiful girl.”

“Tan dramática,” So dramatic.

“Only slightly.”

Alexia studied you carefully then, the humour fading as her gaze searched your face. Her fingers came up to brush lightly across your temples.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked softly.

“A little.”

Her expression immediately turned serious again. “Did you take anything?”

“Not yet.”

Another disapproving look. “Of course not.”

“I was busy.”

“You were irresponsible.”

“That’s why you look after me.” Alexia sighed like someone carrying the burden of your poor life decisions.

“Ven aquí.” Come here.

You obediently shifted as she moved, letting her guide you until you were leaning back against the couch properly. She disappeared for a moment, returning with a bottle of water and some tablets.

“Drink,” she instructed.

“Sí, doctora.” Yes, doctor

“Do not start.” You swallowed the medicine anyway, washing it down while she watched you like a hawk.Only when the bottle was half empty did she seem satisfied.

“Better?” she asked.

“Um hm,” you smiled.

Alexia hummed skeptically, but she settled beside you again, tucking herself close. Her head rested against your shoulder, one arm sliding across your stomach.

For a moment neither of you spoke. Then she mumbled quietly, “If you die because of a headache, I will be very angry.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Noted.”

“Lo digo en serio.” I mean it.

“I know you do.”

She tilted her head up just enough to glare at you again. “No morir.” Do not die.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Más que eso.” More than that.

“Alright,” you said, smiling as you wrapped your arm around her again. “I’ll make it my top priority.”

Alexia huffed softly but settled closer anyway, her grip tightening just a little, as if holding on might make the promise easier to keep.