#I just know he was absolutely shitting himself

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana. 

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we’re talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible. 

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him. 

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore. 

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.” 

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you. 

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways. 

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Saturday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?” 

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Saturday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him. 

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.” 

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest. 

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.” 

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple. 

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much. 

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp. 

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond. 

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion. 

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you. 

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.” 

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.” 

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away. 

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening to him again. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack. 

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.” 

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm. 

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him. 

 “I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder. 

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack. 

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler. 

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED. 

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby. 

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him. 

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse. 

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim. 

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you. 

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do. 

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole. 

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye? 

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?  

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby. 

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby. 

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled. 

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street. 

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening. 

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.  

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel. 

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object. 

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling,  but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious. 

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee. 

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way. 

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page. 

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily. 

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own. 

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in. 

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.  

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable. 

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself. 

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands. 

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you. 

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once. 

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you. 

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be. 

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did. 

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise. 

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood. 

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

[lightseoul]

TWENTY-SIX (4.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. your boyfriend's spending his birthday oceans away from you, and there's absolutely little you can do to celebrate his special day...right? (read on ao3)

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-ch 431: more, established relationship, lots of cussing AND banter, explicit themes (which i will not describe in great detail for the element of surprise, but know that it's explicit), a little present for my fluff/smut girlies out there <3 (also me)

a/n. happy birthday to the (fictional. sobs) man of my dreams <3 i wanted to whip something special up for his birthday this year, especially since i started writing more seriously last september. since then, i've made so many friends on here primarily over our shared love for katsuki, and it's just been a blast (pun intended). this one kind of got away from me—this was just supposed to be a short drabble, but it ended up the way it did. still, i think it's a great read (if i say so myself), so i hope you enjoy this. once again, happy birthday, kats <3

“and then they fucking—told the waiter that it was my birthday.”

“no.”

bakugou sneers, his grimace just slightly distorted—a digital mosaic of rose-colored pixels. “it was fucking embarrassing.”

you try to imagine the picture of your boyfriend sitting awkwardly as the foreign restaurant’s staffers sang him a happy birthday, and you have to tamp down the smile that’s fighting to encroach on your lips.

“let me guess,” you quip—just loud enough for him to hear you over your phone’s built-in microphone, “it was denki’s idea.”

that grants you an eye roll, which is so animated, it doesn’t even matter that the hotel’s internet connection is so crappy, bakugou’s face morphs into an indistinguishable blob every two minutes or so.

“don’t remind me,” he retorts, “for dunce face’s sake.”

“or what?” you laugh, “are you gonna give him a good ol’ spanking?”

“fuck, no. for all i know, he’s probably getting spanked by ears as we speak.”

from a few feet away from you, a sudden sound akin to that of someone choking on their spit resonates, and you barely catch yourself from reflexively shooting a glare in that very direction. instead, you keep your gaze trained on your screen and on the ash-blonde who’s lying on his stomach with a pillow propped up underneath him, trying not to let the panic show on your face.

you’ve come this far, the last thing you need is for denki to—

“what was that?”

despite yourself, you stiffen. “what was what?”

“that sound,” bakugou points out, straightening up himself. “wait, where did you say you were again?”

“ochako’s,” you lie. she was one of your only friends whose apartment’s walls were almost the same color as the hotel bakugou’s currently staying in. and denki. and jirou.

the very same hotel you’re—

“that sounded like a guy, though,” comes bakugou’s cautious response, and it takes you a second to realize how the situation is looking like to him.

“izuku’s here as well,” you quickly supply, wishing to any divine being out there that he doesn’t ask you to point your camera at either of the couple.

thankfully, he doesn’t. what he does, instead, is furrow his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and disgust.

“they’re listening to our conversation?”

“chill, bro,” you force yourself to chuckle, “we just finished eating as well. we’re all just hanging out in the living room.”

now, if bakugou’s catching on to your deception, he doesn’t show it.

at least, by much.

“huh…”

“…yep.”

another scrutinizing squint. “and you’re sitting on round cheek’s floor because…?”

shit. right.

“i’m just charging my phone,” you fib, and before bakugou can get another word in and catch you in your deceit, you pipe up again.

“actually, it’s getting late, kats. i think i’m gonna head home.”

“but—”

“i’ll message you the plate number, don’t worry.”

at that, bakugou huffs, and you have to swat away the guilt that washes over you at the sight of his disappointment—disappointment that’s palpable despite his obvious attempt at eclipsing it with his worry for your safety.

he doesn’t say anything for another beat, and you take that as your cue to unplug your imaginary charger and lift yourself to your feet.

“well, i should get going,” you announce, just as he blurts something out that you fail to catch.

“…sorry,” you laugh—genuinely this time, “what did you say?”

“just—” he starts, voice lowered into a hushed whisper, suddenly appearing shy. “can we—i don’t know—call again when you get home?”

you hesitate, then remember that if things work out the way you planned them, you wouldn’t have to worry about the idea of it. still, you keep up the concerned act. “sure, kats, but don’t you have an early start tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he replies, “but another thirty minutes or so wouldn’t hurt.”

you can’t help it—you smile at that. bakugou seems to flush at the sight of you grinning knowingly, bringing up a scarred hand to rub at his face—a habit you’ve noticed he does whenever he feels embarrassed.

and, because you know telling him you miss him too would only fuel his embarrassment even further, you instead bite your tongue and wish him another happy birthday, but not before promising him you’d call as soon as you’re in bed and settled in your pajamas.

you wait for the tell-tale chime of a video call ending to go off before you dare to heave a sigh of relief.

the clamoring ensues in an instant.

“who knew bakugou was such a lover boy?”

from where she’s lounging on her suite’s expansive sofa, jirou flashes you a teasing smirk.

“excuse me,” denki exclaims from the queen-sized bed, “are we just going to breeze past the way he insulted me?”

you’ve got half a mind to comment on how you’d bet good money he’s already been pegged by the hearing hero, but decide against it—you still needed both of their help, after all. so instead, you bite your tongue, and gesture to the refrigerator.

“we don’t have much time, so we better get moving.”

“right.”

“o-kay.”

fortunately, it doesn’t take you a while to get things ready. denki manages to get the balloons inflated in record time, while jirou’s got the cake and champagne all set as you got changed into a much more flattering dress and touched up on your makeup. by the time you’re supposed to have arrived at your apartment unit way back in japan, the three of you are standing by the entrance of the musician’s hotel room, birthday paraphernalia placed in a fancy-looking cart you borrowed from reception, the air around you buzzing with nervous anticipation.

you check your watch for the umpteenth time, before looking back up to the two. “are you sure you guys don’t want to surprise him with me?”

jirou shakes her head. “nah, we already celebrated with him during dinner. we ought to give you guys some privacy to celebrate on your own.”

“yeah,” denki adds, “plus, i don’t want to be there in case things get nasty real fast.”

“denki!”

“dude!”

“what?” the electric hero cries, “kacchan can make sex jokes while i can’t?”

“you need to work on your timing, dipshit,” comes jirou’s reprimand, to which denki only pouts petulantly.

“well, i should get going,” you begin, reaching out to open the door. “he should be waiting for me to call by now.”

the two whisper their well wishes as you carefully roll the cart through the space, and you manage to mouth a quick thank you just before they quietly shut the slab of wood behind you.

you wait in the hallway for a second for denki to come out of the room and go back to his own, but that never comes.

well, then. you guess they’re not set on beating the allegations, either.

once you’re sure denki’s not coming out anytime soon, you take a shaky breath. meticulously, you let your eyes trail the row of doors that line the hallway, before they land on the number jirou supplied you with earlier today while you were still at the airport. pushing the cart that contains the lit cake and champagne—and even the dark orange balloons marking his age—right up to the doorway, you take another wobbly inhale.

suddenly, and in the face of finally seeing your boyfriend after over a month of being literally oceans apart, the exhaustion of travelling for hours dissipates from your system, leaving you almost shaking in nothing but excitement.

and you were about to lift your hand to knock on the door—really, you were—when, to your horror and without any warning, the door flings open, and you find yourself face to face with no other than the birthday boy himself.

you can only blink at the man who’s frozen midway through the passageway, his pretty face mirroring the utterly bewildered expression you’re sure you’re sporting right now.

you manage to gather your bearings first, the sole thing you can muster being: “…surprise?”

now, in the split second of thinking time this situation has granted you, you figured he’d likely curse in disbelief, maybe ask you what the fuck you’re doing here, but what you didn’t expect was for him to stand—unmoving—for a couple more seconds, before unceremoniously lifting you into a bone-crushing hug.

“katsuki!” you squeal, looping your arms around his neck and your legs around his body, holding on for dear life. “put me down!”

bakugou only squeezes you tighter in response, and you have no choice but to cling onto him for a beat longer, until he effortlessly puts you back on your feet, that same unbelieving look still painted across his features.

“what the—”

“—fuck am i doing here?” you finish for him, and he nods, scoffing out an astounded laugh.

you gesture to the cart beside you, and you make a swift mental note that the candle’s gonna go out anytime soon. “i wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

and before he can say something in response, you jut in. “quick, make a wish and blow before it goes out.”

to your confusion, bakugou doesn’t even spare the cake a glance, gaze fixed on you.

“don’t have to.”

you frown. “what? hurry up, kats, it’s gonna—”

“i said,” he interjects, pulling you closer by your waist, and your hands shoot up to plant themselves against his chest, “i don’t have to.”

looking up at him, you gulp. “w-why?”

a smirk. “because you’re already here, dumbass.”

that's all the foreboding you’re given before you’re seized into a scathing kiss, and you barely manage to bite back a groan at the simultaneously foreign yet familiar feeling of bakugou’s lips against yours, even more so as he presses himself further against you, deepening the kiss. you let your hands snake up to bakugou’s neck as you feel his caress your sides, and you have to fight to ignore the shot of arousal that courses through you the moment his tongue breaches your mouth’s entrance, exploring it so hungrily like he hasn’t done so a million times before.

you probably stand there stuck to each other for a couple of minutes when a particularly hard bite on your lower lip lurches you back to reality—the reality that you’re very much still in a public space and that the last thing bakugou needs is to reach headlines for being seen aggressively making out with his girlfriend.

and so with much reluctance, you take a step back, and another when bakugou moves to chase your lips, before he finally gets the message and lets his arms drop to his sides, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

you take the opportunity to chance another glance at the cake, and sure enough, the candle is already dead.

“we can just cut out the parts where the wax melted,” bakugou suggests when you don’t say anything for a minute, and you look back at him and smile, nodding.

neither of you says another word for a beat, resorting to just staring at each other with your mouths pulled taut into goofy grins.

it’s bakugou, though, who breaks the silence.

“you’re so fucking pretty.”

you flush, although you snort to hide your fluster. “i can’t be surprising my boyfriend looking like a hot mess, now, can i?”

“you can, you know,” bakugou replies without missing a beat, gesturing you inside, “and i’ll still think you look fucking pretty.”

you punch him in the arm as you file into his suite, which he takes in stride before pushing the cart in step behind you.

“since when did you become such a smooth talker?”

at that, bakugou laughs that gruff laugh of his as he closes the door and turns to regard you. “well, sue me for flirting with my girlfriend.”

“stupid,” you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement, before tossing him the sincerest smile you can muster. “i missed you, kats.”

before you know it, bakugou’s back on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around your torso almost too tightly, although you can’t find it in you to mind. “i missed you, too, baby.”

“were you in jirou’s room the entire time?” he asks after a moment of just standing there, limbs interconnected.

“yeah, they helped me keep the entire thing under wraps.”

“huh,” bakugou muses, rubbing absentminded circles on your waist. “didn’t know they were damn good actors. i had no idea.”

you grin. “i’ll take that as a win.”

a pause.

“you being here certainly is.”

you let out an exaggerated groan, pushing the man away and walking towards the foot of his bed, plopping yourself down onto the firm mattress. the motherfucker only laughs at you, although he’s quick to trail behind you and sit himself in the spot right next to you, not sparing you a modicum of distance.

“you know,” you start, side-eyeing the pro-hero as you take off your heels, “if you keep this up, i’m gonna start thinking you really missed me.”

“i’m fucked, then,” he retorts, “because i ain’t beating any of your allegations.”

you laugh again. “speaking of not beating any allegations, denki’s in jirou’s room right now.”

“what did i fucking tell you?”

“i know, i know. i just didn’t think they’d be so brazen about hooking up. they’re not even trying to hide it.”

bakugou sniggers, taking your hand in his. “should’ve made a bet with you.”

“you say that as if you’d take a single yen from me,” you rebut, to which he can only shrug, unable to argue with your point.

“enough about them, though,” you say a moment later, your hand still being massaged by bakugou. “what do you want to do?”

and when he only stares at you blankly: “for the rest of your birthday?”

“oh, right.”

you huff, lightly bumping your shoulder with his. “i mean, if you wanna go rest up, then we can do that, too.”

“quit being huffy,” bakugou chastises, “there is something i want to do.”

“really? what is it?”

bakugou lifts his gaze from where your hands are intertwined to meet yours, and one look is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

you instantly feel yourself flame. “really? aren’t you too tired to do it?”

“nah,” he grins, “i was gonna jack off before sleeping, anyway.”

you snort. “of course, you were.”

“what?” he says defensively. “it helps me sleep better, especially after a long day of work.”

you study his face for another second, before nodding and moving to stand up, although you don’t get to go far because of bakugou’s hold on you.

“where are you going?”

“i have a hair tie in my purse,” you answer, “let me just go grab it.”

you try to step away again, but bakugou’s grip only tightens. you glance back at him, confused. “what?”

“who said i wanted you to suck me off?”

you frown. “aren’t you still tired, though? let me make you feel good, that way you can just lie in bed and take it.”

at that, bakugou shakes his head, pulling you back to him. despite yourself, you let yourself be dragged into the space between his legs, your hands placed on his shoulders while his take residence on your hips.

bakugou creens to look up at you, a serious expression etched on his features. “as fucking appealing as that sounds, that’s not what i want to do right now.”

“this thing i want to do—” he continues when you signal at him to keep going, “—is…new.”

“n-new?”

“yeah. new as in we’ve never tried it before, but i’ve been thinking about it, ever since shitty dunce face planted the idea in my head our first day here.”

you swallow. “first day?”

he nods. “it’s got something to do with—” his line of vision shifts towards something behind you, “—that.”

you look back behind you, and you’ve to stop yourself from gasping when your eyes land on it.

or rather, on the image of you and bakugou.

you whip your head to look at the man, unable to hide the shock on your face. “y-you want to do it—in front of—”

“the mirror, yeah,” he croaks, sounding like he’s trying to mask his own uncertainty, and yet, there’s no denying the determination in his voice. “only if you want to do it, too, of course.”

“yeah, no, of course,” you quickly say, “i-i want to. it’s just—frankly, i never thought of it before.”

“me too,” bakugou admits, “well, up until we arrived here and denki commented on how big the floor-length mirrors were.”

“…so naturally you thought of us having sex in front of it?”

that grants you a pinch at your side, and you squeak—more in astonishment than in pain.

“you forget that it’s my birthday, you fucking tease.”

“sorry, sorry,” you laugh, “i’m done. that was the last one.”

“that better be,” he warns, although it has no real bite to it.

“…so,” you try again after a lull, “how’d you wanna go about it?”

“here,” he gestures to the small space between his legs, “you can sit with your back turned towards me.”

“uh, sure.”

just as was instructed, you turn on your bare feet until you’re facing the mirror, and slowly sit yourself on the edge of the bed and in front of bakugou, although you’re not even fully perched against him yet, before you feel something stiff prod against your back.

you don’t get to comment on it, though, because he beats you to it.

“i know,” he huffs, seemingly self-conscious, not meeting the reflection of your eyes. “i don’t know why it’s turning me on this much, either.”

at that, you place a hand on the arm that’s circled your waist, and the other on one of his thighs, just as you flash him the most reassuring smile you can manage. “it’s alright, baby. i love it when you get this way.”

“y-you do?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him. “you know i do. now, hurry up. we don’t have all night.”

that earns you a disapproving tut, although you can see the amusement behind bakugou’s eyes in the mirror, and the very sight of it sends a wave of anticipation coursing through your veins.

jesus. when was the last time you were this excited?

“you know, for someone who’s eager to please her boyfriend on his birthday, you sure are being a brat.”

“and for someone who’s eager to try a new kink out, you sure are being slow.”

bakugou growls. “that’s it.”

you can only yelp as bakugou practically yanks the zipper of your dress down, and with it, the entire top portion of the ensemble; you don’t get to react or protest, though, because in a matter of a split second, bakugou’s hands are on your naked breasts, and you almost let out a loud moan when he gropes at them so roughly—you can feel your core throb at the all-too overwhelming sensation.

“fuck,” he groans in your ear just as you squirm in front of him, his grip on your chest unrelenting. “i’ve missed these.”

and, as if your breasts have a mind of their own, you feel your nipples stiffen at bakugou’s sentiment—a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pro-hero, who’s quick to tug at your pebbled peaks, rubbing circles and flicking on the flesh.

“shit, you like it when i tell you i’ve missed your boobs?” he rasps, and you can only rub your thighs together in response, eyes clenched closed in pleasure. “what if i tell you i’ve been jacking off every night to that picture of you in your lingerie?”

“you know the one,” he goads, squeezing firmly at your chest, “the one i gifted you that leaves nothing to the imagination?”

you nod—barely—but enough to indicate that you’re still listening, which you’ve learned the hard way is important if you didn’t want to trigger your katsuki. at your affirmation, bakugou lets out a satisfied grunt.

“now, get up,” he demands, “we need to get this fucking dress off of you.”

and off of you it goes. you don’t waste a second in heeding his order and discarding the sundress of the same shade of burnt orange off you, and you also take the chance to strip off your thong—the very one you went for despite the discomfort it brought just so you could surprise your boyfriend if ever things went the direction they are heading right now.

but you’ve barely tugged it off your hips when bakugou’s hand shoots up to stop you, and you look at him in bewilderment, mind only half-working with lust. “what?”

“keep it on,” he commands, “i want you to see how pretty you look when i finger you through your panties.”

well.

you know better than to argue with him at this point, so you only return to your seat that’s becoming smaller by the minute, with his erection taking up more space even against the straining fabric of his sweatpants. it’s only when you’re seated once again do you remember to finally look at the mirror, and when you do, the sight of you sprawled limp and bare against bakugou’s muscled frame causes you to moan out loud, to which bakugou could only curse in response.

“see, baby?” he spurs, tone desperate, “this is what i have to deal with every time we fuck.”

he scoffs, just as he brings a hand down to cup your sex. “and you wonder why i get so hard so fast.”

you whine, if not for his taunting, then at the lack of friction against your core, but you don’t get to do so for long before bakugou’s free hand grabs at your chin, forcing you to look straight into the mirror and at yourself.

“quit fucking whining and watch me finger you,” he spits, before: “and don’t even think about closing your eyes.”

that’s the last thing he says before he, true to his word, slips two fingers into your underwear and thrusts them into your hole with little to no warning. you’ve no choice but to moan at the intrusion—your eyes in the middle of fluttering closed when he grabs your face again and points it forward, all the while not stopping his pistoning of his ridiculously long digits in and out of you.

“just look at yourself, princess,” he hisses, “i love it when you look so fucked out like this.”

“uuuugh—”

bakugou snickers, not even giving you a heads up when he brings his other hand up to start rubbing figure eights on your clit. “can’t even form a proper phrase? that’s how good i’m making you feel?”

“uuugh—fuck—”

the pro-hero seems to take this as further encouragement, because he only presses harder against your bud, while the fingers that are nestled deep within you continue to rub oh-so deliciously against your walls.

the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm come sooner than later after that, and bakugou notices it, too, because he doubles down on his ministrations the second you start violently shaking and thrashing in front of him.

“are you gonna cum, baby?” he whispers against your ear, and you can only nod, too distrusting in your capability to say yes without whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“look at the mirror, then,” he coaxes—gently, this time—softly bumping your head with his so you would turn towards your reflection.

and, because you want to please your boyfriend on his birthday—of all days—you do.

and the sight of bakugou’s big, strong hands pumping in and out of you and rubbing frantically at your clit while you moan and squirm right up against his big, strong body drives you well over the edge.

and you cum.

and cum.

and cum.

and you don’t know how much time passes with you lying flaccid on top of the pro-hero’s torso, but by the time you come to, bakugou’s rubbing soothing circles on your waist, while your arms lie slack on top of his that are circled around you.

you shift to look up at the man, who only smiles at you—so delicately, the way he does whenever he was feeling especially intimate—you wouldn’t think he was just roughhousing you a mere moment ago.

“what about you?” you eventually manage to croak out, eyebrows furrowing in apprehension.

“what about me?”

“you didn’t get to finish, birthday boy,” you say pointedly, shifting in your seat. but then it suddenly registers how wet your butt is, and you do a double-take to make sure you’re not imagining it, when bakugou confirms your suspicions.

“i came, too,” he confesses, voice betraying his difficulty of wrapping his head around what just happened. “i don’t fucking know how, but i did.”

“…wow,” is the only thing you’re able to say for a while, before: “we should do this more often.”

at that, bakugou snorts, shaking his head. “neither of us has a big mirror back home.”

to that, you toss him a mischievous smirk, before standing up and padding towards your purse in all your naked glory. you try to ignore the way bakugou’s definitely eye-fucking you as you hastily fish out your phone from its depths, quickly making a few taps before placing it on the coffee table, a triumphant smile on your face.

“what?” bakugou asks, mirroring your grin.

“you won’t believe what i just got you for your birthday.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr @akiii143 @eternallyshifting

[my-castles-crumbling]

ask - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 620

“So. Who’re you all going to ask to the Ball?”

Regulus stared around the large group as Sirius’s question sank in. It had been strange that the two very opposite bunches of friends had collided, but what with Pandora and Lily, and Dorcas and Marlene both being couples, it had been a natural thing.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious for most of us,” Dorcas replied, wrapping her arms around Marlene and grinning.

“Yes, I’m asking Pete,” Remus replied, grinning at Sirius’s affronted expression.

But it was James’s response that had Regulus’s stomach lurching. “I’m asking Regulus,” he said casually, ignoring the shocked looks from everyone, most of all Regulus.

-

It became a Thing. Every time the Ball was brought up, James mentioned that he was going to ask him. It was ‘Yes, when I ask Regulus…’ or ‘After Regulus agrees to go with me…’ or ‘Regulus and I…’ It was driving Regulus absolutely insane, because he knew that James was joking. He could tell from the twinkling in his eyes, the mischief in his smile.

But to Regulus, it hurt. Because Merlin, he wanted it to be real. And the fact that he wanted that was mortifying.

Every time James brought it up, it was like a stab to the ribs. A kick to the gut. He tried to smile and laugh with the rest, but he wanted to cry, which was the scariest feeling he’d ever felt in his life. He hated feeling anything, and sadness? Longing? No, it was terrifying.

-

One day, he snapped.

“So, I’ll pick up Reg at…maybe seven?” James was saying to Remus, who nodded along. “And then we’ll-”

“Stop!”

All eyes turned to him.

“Stop, James,” he mumbled, steeling himself to avoid the tears. “I know you’re not actually going to ask me, and it’s not funny anymore. I know the idea of someone fancying me is a joke to you, but you’re being a prick!”

And with that, he fled.

He assumed, of course, that the footsteps of the person following him belonged to Barty. But the hand that grabbed his shoulder was wider. Warmer.

“Regulus, please-”

“It’s fine, James,” he mumbled, still walking, trying to shake him off.

“Please listen.”

Annoyed, he turned. “What?” he demanded, gritting his teeth and giving James a death glare. “What do you want?”

The older boy looked as distraught as Regulus felt. “I want you to go to the Ball with me,” he answered softly. Regulus scoffed and began to turn but James continued. “No, really! I thought–I thought joking about it would like… get you used to the idea?” he smiled and shrugged self-consciously. “The idea that I fancy you, you know? That way, when I asked, you wouldn’t just…rip me to shreds on the spot.”

Regulus gaped. Could this really be genuine? His heart was hammering in his chest so loudly he could hardly hear James’s word.

“I get if you’re mad, it was kind of a shit move,” James said with another half-smile. “But..please don’t think I’d ever joke about you being…fanciable. Especially when I…Godric, I can’t even describe how much I fancy you,” he admitted, face turning pink.

Regulus swallowed, still shocked. “Well,” he breathed, trying not to shake, “unfortunately, the feeling is mutual,” he admitted with a frown.

It took James a moment to understand what he meant, and then he broke into a huge grin. “Y-yeah? So you’ll go with me to the Ball?”

But now, he’d regained some of his footing. “I never said that,” he replied lightly, smirking at the older boy. “You’ll have to see when I ask you.”

It was satisfying, he had to admit. Walking away and leaving a shocked, dazed-looking James Potter behind.

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ SAY IT AGAIN

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: you find out caleb had been logging into your phone at random times of the day to keep track of who you were texting. frustrated, you call him to yell at him only to question what exactly he was doing on the other end.

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , phone sex , sub!caleb (per usual) , masturbation , cnc , use of y/n

a/n :: highkey got this idea from that one scene in twk when cardans kissing jude & telling her to say she hates him..🌝🌝

he had absolutely no right to be invading your personal space. absolutely none.

you were so fucking angry.

caleb was away on a trip with gran. usually, he would simply ask to check your phone, and you'd happily give it to him- knowing he means well. but with the shit he has been pulling, you're starting to question whether or not he really does trust you like he says he does.

you had found out that he was hacking into your phone because the device started acting awfully odd. opening apps you didnt click on, siri turning on without any context, letters on the keyboard being pressed when you never tapped on them in the first place. confused (and frankly a little scared), you took it to a professional to get it checked out. when he asked if anyone else had the password to your socials, thats when the realization dawned on you.

you felt so stupid. utterly dumb. but how were you supposed to know? you had told caleb about the issue multiple times and each occasion you mentioned it he would always say the same thing: "thats so weird, pips.. maybe you should go get it checked out or something." feigning complete innocence.

you had enough.

driving home as fast as you could, you barely reach the front door before you're calling him nonstop until he answers.

"hey pips! i missed yo-"

"you fucking liar."

there's a beat of silence at that. your breathing is heavy, going right into the mic- giving caleb an idea of what he's in for.

"um.. excuse me?" caleb manages, swallowing thickly. he knows exactly what you're going to yell at him for and he's praying to jesus christ himself that he can manipulate his way out of it.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't try to play dumb. you've been going into my phone and looking through my shit. i thought you said you trusted me? what happened to that? i mean, seriously, caleb, i thought we had gotten over this." you say, voice pinched a bit higher than usual. you're pacing around the room in order to keep yourself calm, heart beating at a distressing rate as you don't like to argue with him.

"pips, i really don't know what you're talking about," he utters, licking his lips. "i know whats been going on with your phone has been messing you up, but you don't necessarily have to blame me for it. look, once i get back i'll help you figure out what's wrong with it just to prove that it's not me. deal?"

you can tell that he's trying his best to soften his tone to make his lie more believable, but you aren't gonna buy into it.

"no. no, caleb, just quit the act already. i'm so tired of this. i'll give you two choices," you say, sitting down on the couch; elbows on your knees. "either you stop with the whole hacking thing and we stay together, or i cut things off with you and we never talk again."

for a moment, there's nothing being said. pure silence. he's absolutely speechless on his end of the phone, mouth agape and eyes wide. every few seconds, he'd attempt to say something but nothing would come out- resulting in something that resembled a stutter.

"well? what's it gonna be?" you asked, becoming to grow impatient.

"y/n.." he whispered. "you.. you can't do that to me. i-.. i'm sorry for doing all that crap. i didn't do it because i don't trust you... it's other people that i don't trust. please believe me, baby. i can't stop doing it, it's just my way of keeping you safe."

aaaand now it's your turn to be shocked.

"are you fucking serious?" you yell, and you swear you can see the look on his face regardless if he's visible or not. eyebrows raised up, cheeks as red as roses, eyes backed up with tears. you know how much he hates being yelled at by you... but he deserves it. "you can't be serious. please tell me you're pulling some joke."

" baby, please. i-"

"enough. just quit it. i fucking hate you, caleb."

he swallows. no, practically gulps. he shouldnt be turned on by the sound of that. he really shouldnt. he knows he should be terrified by the threat of you leaving him... but the tent growing in his pants is getting undeniably uncomfortable that he just can't seem to care.

unzipping his jeans, he gently lays his back on his bed, being carefully quiet to ensure you don't hear.

"you're fucking insane and no matter how much i try to talk to you about it you never change. it is draining, caleb. you have absolutely no idea how fucked up you are."

he's nodding against his phone, murmuring small 'yeah's here and there to let you know that he's listening. what you aren't aware of is the fact that instead of really listening, he's actually moving his hand at an insane speed on his dick. it gets to the point that he can't even respond, the pleasure taking over. all he needs is for you to tell him how bad he is and how much you despise him for him to be able to go over the edge.

the fact that you don't even know whats going on keeps him going for even longer.

"...-is so frustrating, caleb! you don't even care for me and... wait, are you even listening? hellooo?" you shout, expecting an answer.

he picks up his phone from where it was sitting on his pillow and takes it off speaker phone to reply. "y-yes, baby? 'm sorry.. i'm, um, listening. keep talking." he responds, stuttering over his words.

you roll your eyes, thinking he simply just doesn't care. "my god, you're so fucking annoying. i hate you so much, y'know that?"

he nods hastily, even though you can't see it. "y-yes. say it again. please." the last word comes out broken as he was embarrassingly close to cumming.

you stop in your tracks, both eyebrows furrowed. "um..." you utter, confused at what he was playing at. "i... hate.. you..?"

"f-fuck!" he whisper-shouts, hips thrusting into his hand as he drops the device back onto where it was initially. he brings his previously free hand down to his cock to stroke the tip, twisting his wrists. biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, he makes his best effort to keep little whimpers inside of his mouth. it works for the most part... but you already knew what was happening. he does it too many times for you to not know.

"caleb." you warn.

he doesn't answer, he can't answer, mind is too hazy from the force of his orgasm. he's practically like putty on his bed, half asleep and half awake.

"text me in the morning." you say before hanging up and throwing your phone on the bed.

he will not ever learn.

[manmuncher777]

Just absolutely feral thinking about Gojo with a bimbo pretty pink reader. He’s so obsessed with her, just her innate femininity. Such a nice break from his harsh life outside of her.

So of course hes taking every second he can just to show her how much he loves her, how much he want to worship her.

Even if that involves spreading her out on his lap infront of a mirror, just so she can see exactly how obsessed he is.

Soft kisses are being pressed delicately down the stretch of your neck, marking the skin with small marks and bruises that will soon darken. But it hard to concentrate on the feeling when all you can see is your boyfriend knuckle deep inside your dripping cunt

Yet another pathetic whine is being ripped from your throat at the sight, so dirty, yet you cant seem to tear yourself away from the reflection in front of you.

Not as if you could anyway, your thighs thrown over your boyfriends much larger ones, pink little skirt dragged up and now sitting around your waist.

Leaving your pretty little pussy out in the open. Satoru’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pinning your back to his chiselled front.

“Fuck” Satoru groans, mouth pressing into your shoulder, but you can see his eyes, trained on you. Watching your every move in the reflection.

“Look at you baby, pretty little thing sitting so perfect for me”

You cant do anything but sit there and take whats hes giving you, nails digging into his thighs while you did your best to still yourself. But tthe feeling of his thick digits dragging through your welcoming walls had your hips bucking uncontrollably.

“Toru~” you gasp, not exactly sure what you asking for, mind numbing with the pleasure.

“‘Shhh I know baby” he soothes, undecided on whether he wants to watch your pretty face screw up with pleasure, of if he wants to watch your greedy little cunt suck his fingers in deeper and deeper with each thrust. He cant help himself from moaning at the feeling, his cock pressing eagerly against your back, pretty pink tip starting to form sticky pearl of pre. But he wasn’t worries about that now, he just wanted to see you feel good.

And he was doing a good job at that, soft whines of him name leaving your mouth over and over like a prayer as he brought you closer and closer to the edge

“Look at that face hmm? You close baby” his lips pressing against your ear, knowing damn well hes not going to get an answer from you. “That’s the face you make before you come, right pretty girl?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and that because hes right, he knows he right. He can feel it in the way you’re squeezing him, the way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan.

Your nails dig into his thighs even harder now, unaware of the pressure you’re applying. Just trying to use the man beneath you to ground yourself. Especially with his thumb now pressing into your puffy clit, the sensation eliciting a shriek from you when he does.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.” His eyes trained on your face now, making eyecontact with you in reflection. Unable to bring yourself away from his stare. He’s whispering filthily in your ear now, doing everything he can to tip you over the edge “come on sweets, wanna see how pretty you look when I make you lose it”

And you do exactly that - back arching and eyes fluttering as he fucks you through your high. A broken moan of his name leaves your lips as you soak his fingers, walls fluttering around him as he moans at the sight. Staring at your reflection, beautiful and ruined

“Shit” he breathes, voice hoarse, “I could watch you like this forever”

REQUESTS OPEN 🔥

[halfway-happyyy]

inspired by your fic but frank trusting his girl to wash his hair:(( the intimacy of it all as she runs her hand through his scars and wounds over his scalp, hands massaging gently and he could almost purr. small soapy kisses over each other's skin as they just take each other in atm. 😖😖 i'm sick

i am sick also... but from the softness, because that is what this ask is. it truly is one of my all-time favourite tropes. it's why i include it in a lot of my pieces because it just is so... soft. so romantic. the sheer intimacy of sharing space in that way can never be overstated. especially when it comes to someone like frank.

and like - let's really just think about it for a sec. say frank gets home late from an eventful evening out, so late that you've likely been asleep for hours at this point. but you're a light sleeper, and his presence rouses you from your shallow slumber almost immediately. (and to his credit, he does try to be as quiet as possible, but given his size, it just isn't in the cards).

you exit the warm comfort of your bed and frown at the red glowing digits of the clock on his side of the bed that read '4.07 A', and make your way down the hallway to the kitchen, hugging your arms tighter to your body to ward off the early morning chill.

he's leant against the kitchen island, staring blankly into the void of space before him.

"frank?"

he doesn't startle at the sound of your voice, but his eyes are a little wild when they find yours. " aw shit, did I wake you?"

and you lie and say no, because you can't bear the brunt of frank's guilt.

"don't come any closer, kid. i'm uh... a little banged up, and i don't want you to see it." his voice is hoarse; wrecked under the solid weight of whatever transpired earlier.

you sigh, and turn on a heel. "meet me in the washroom, frank."

he waits patiently while you help to rid him of his soiled clothing; his warm hand planted firmly around the curve of your shoulder, to steady himself. he could protest - normally he does - but exhaustion washes over him like a warm wave, and the energy it takes to do so, evaporated the moment he stepped back into the apartment.

"you absolutely understated when you said you were a little banged up, frank."

his only response is a non-committal grunt in the back of his throat.

when you've ascertained that none of his wounds require immediate stitching, you coax him into the shower.

"just wanna go to bed, kid."

you press a soft kiss to the side of his bloody arm. "we will, frank. as soon as i get you cleaned up, alright?"

shucking the pajamas from your own body, you follow him into the shower and get him settled against the shelf in the corner of the tub. his eyes fall shut as you start the water.

you're both quiet as you pour a dime-size amount of shampoo into your hand and begin to massage it through his hair, paying special attention to the sensitive skin of his scalp. you do it for him the way you know he likes it; firm, purposeful fingertips moving in roving circles. his eyes haven't opened since you began, and his mouth - so constantly set in a firm line - falls slack at the sensation of your ministrations.

"christ, you could charge big money for this kid," frank groans.

"i'll make sure to send you the bill later." you smirk.

and while there are many ways of taking care of your man, this one is up there in your top favourites. he just spent the evening risking his life in a (futile?) attempt to banish crime and corruption in your city, and instead of staying out longer, or simply not coming home at all, he comes home trusting you implicitly. knows in his heart that you genuinely have his back no matter what. knows that in your hands, he's in the safest place he's ever been.

frank dozes off in the corner of the shower while he waits for you to be done, and when you are finished, you press your lips to his stubbled cheek and take his hand in your own. "come on frankie, let's go to bed."

right before he drifts off for good, he whispers an almost inaudible, "thank you, kid."

you don't ask him what for; you already know. instead you smile and say, "a million mornings, frank."

he smiles tiredly, and says it right back.

[alchemistc]

you know what is currently Wrecking me about all this? buck's whole thing this whole show has been that people keep leaving him. abby, ali, maddie, eddie, tommy. but this time, bobby asked HIM to leave, and he did. the one time it's permanent, buck's the one who left. because bobby asked, of course, but still. he left bobby there, and bobby died.

Hey nonny? Hey?

With absolute love and adoration in my heart, fuck ALL THE WAY OFF.

"I think I need to, like, talk to him?"

Tommy's already reaching for his keys, like he understands, like he's there in the same place as Buck, like -

Buck wishes he knew who Tommy had lost.

It's been a month, and this anger has surfaced out of nowhere - he's been short at work, mean on calls, he was an asshole to Jee yesterday, and he just spend twenty minutes absolutely tearing into Tommy.

Buck hadn't even told him what 'he' he meant, but it's not like Tommy wasn't - there, or hasn't been here since. Everything lately distills down to Bobby.

("I just want it to get better."

"It doesn't really get better, sweetheart. You just...learn to manage it. Learn to appreciate what you had, and be grateful for the time you had it."

Buck had been so pissed off by the idea of being grateful that he'd picked a fucking fight about Tommy's habit of romanticizing things instead of living in them.)

The ride is quiet. Tommy doesn't say anything, doesn't defend himself from all the -now that he's had a second to think about it - truly rancid shit Buck just spewed at him. He keeps his hands at ten and two and his eyes on the road and he doesn't complain when Buck leans forward to turn off the radio, NPR fading out into a silence that doesn't seem as heavy for Tommy as it does for Buck.

"He made me leave," Buck says, three minutes out from the long lines of headstones, the gated swaths of green and grey. "He made me leave, Tommy."

Tommy's eyes don't leave the road - it's close to rush hour, and LA roadways are insane even without that added rat trap - but his right hand reaches out, palm up across the center console. Buck grasps it like the lifeline it is.

---

"Did you really kick his headstone, or was I imagining that?"

Evan has the grace to look abashed. "It's, uh... solid. Good handiwork."

"Do we need to make a stop at Urgent Care before we head home?"

Home, he says, and tries to remember when that had sent him into a panicked tailspin. It's still there, simmering, waiting for him. Waiting for the time he decides he can take a break from being the only solid thing in Evan's life besides his captain-cum-dad's headstone.

Evan eyes him carefully, red rimmed eyes and swollen nose, beautiful in the dying rays of sunlight. Tommy wants to crack open his ribcage and tuck him inside. Keep him safe. Keep him warm. Allow him to shove his way through all the viscera to cling to the center of him. "Are you staying, again?" he asks, cracked voice and tentative hope, and Tommy had left him to his private rage, stayed in the cab while Evan paced and gestured and yelled and knelt to trace the curves of a bold B. So he doesn't know, exactly, what Evan had said to Bobby. What he needed so desperately to get out.

There'd certainly been some context clues, though.

"You'll have to make me go," he says, and Evan's face is a whirlwind - pain, fear, disbelief, understanding. It settles somewhere around hope.

"You, uh... You don't mind? That that's never gonna happen?"

Evan's had that mantle ripped from him in the worst way possible. Maybe it's Tommy's turn to bear the weight of it, until they can share it together.

Tommy curls a hand around his neck, awkward though it is in the space of the cab. He's choosing to allow himself to read into the way Evan's whole body relaxes. "I don't mind at all."

[coltcassidyy]

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Absolutely cause this is fire. Probably gonna write head canons for this cause I suck

Also the only ever starfire related media I’ve consumed is um teen titans go so bear with me here.

Tw : some nsfw? Or suggestiveness. A little tiny bit of rough stuff (mentions of possessiveness, manhandling)

Starfire inspired male reader x mark and his variants

Mainstream mark

At first he was kinda … weirded out by you. It was odd, a random person from a random planet just coming to earth for no reason, barely accustomed to the human culture (ok man)

But you grew on him, and fast. Sometimes he thinks it’s hilarious, how you talk, how you act, how you ... just, behave in general, sometimes he considers taunting you but that’s too cruel

Fucking died laughing at your grammar it’s so funny to him

Sometimes finds it kinda hard to keep up with your optimism. He loves you for it, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he gets genuinely confused on how you can see the bright side of everything. It never fails to cheer him up whenever he’s down

LOVES how possessive you can be at times. It makes him feel loved, and with everything that’s happened to him, he doesn’t mind if the reminder is a little rough

He likes teaching you how to cook too. Mark’s a mama’s boy, and his mama’s an amazing cook. He shows you most of her recipes, even some he’s made himself (even though they aren’t as good as his mom’s, you still praise him to the moon and back). He likes how intimate cooking together can be, and he loves teaching you things about humans and their customs

DEFINITELY made you read seance dog, or some of his other comics. Sometimes he gets a little excited and geeks out to you about comics, sometimes comparing the both of you to his favorite comic couples, even one time getting the idea to make a comic based on the both of you. But ultimately, and unfortunately, his hands were a bit full.

He 100% taught you how to kiss and it was 100% awkward and giggly and silly fun fun

Sinister mark

Oh this guy hated you bruh

Genuinely wanted to rip his eyes out when he first met you. Got him on some tweaker shit

But upon your second interaction (more so, him watching you fight a villain with less than / equal to strength than you, and winning), got him bricked like a mad man

Went home and jerked his shit I promise you

Also thinks your language (?) barrier is hilarious. But unlike mainstream mark, he isn’t afraid to be mean about it. Just straight up mocks you sometimes. He thinks that because of your speech pattern that you’re dumber than him, less than him and that gets him going

Gets him going. To his bedroom so he can jerk off. Get it

Sometimes he says or does shit to intentionally piss you off just cause it gets a kick out of him watching you try to convey anger with that ‘silly accent’

Bruh’s just a dick

Can you tell sinister mark isn’t my favorite

Full mask mark ( I came here to find mom and bring her back with me )

His heart stopped when he first saw you. He Thought (knew) you where the prettiest boy he has ever had the fortune to lay his eyes upon

He’d bring you little gifts under the guise of ‘teaching you human culture’. Things like bringing you flowers ( “humans do this for one another to express gratitude” ), little snacks that he knows you like ( “this is an example of how humans show each other that they care about one another’s well being, by bringing them food, nutrients” ), or even occasionally one of his sweaters or shirts ( “this is to show I trust you with my belongings” ), hoping you’ll return the favor.

This man is a yearner, a lover. Before the both of you were even romantically involved, he’d come flying to your window and begging for attention after every fight like a kicked puppy (I mean, it’s not too far off).

So soft, so gentle with you like he thinks you’ll break if he handles you too rough.

Unlike the other marks, he doesn’t think you’re stupid for your accent. He thinks it’s beautiful and unique, and on a particularly good day, he’s telling you how much he loves your voice.

Sometimes he sits you down and makes you talk to him about your day purely because he loves your accent so much.

He lets you take control the first time you two have sex. He tries to teach you and talk you through it, but it’s hard to understand what he’s saying when he’s whimpering and moaning between syllables. But you aren’t complaining! The sound is music to your ears.

Straight up GOONED when he saw you fight for the first time. Seeing how tough you are, and how capable you are in meanings of self-defense and attack— it made him feel 100x more safe around you.

Viltrumite mark

At first, he only saw you as a compatible mate. A way to grow the viltrumite empire.

But boy, he fell in love. And he fell hard.

Being a viltrumite, and knowing nothing about foreign culture, especially Tamarian, it was a struggle for him to show affection towards you at first.

But he grew, and he learned. From longing ( and kinda creepy ) stares and brief touches, to sweet kisses that linger warmth for hours on end and gentle words of reassurance and love. Gentle, in public, at least

When the two of you are alone is when he can really prove his love to you.

Sex with him is downright filthy— messy. He’s a viltrumite, he has high stamina, and he’s cumming as many times as he sees fit.

Even if you can’t biologically get pregnant, it doesn’t stop him from trying. What’s a man for hoping?

He’s pressing your thighs down to the bed and thrusting in you like there’s no tomorrow, muttering filth in your ear about how he longs to see you carrying his young— how pretty you’d look with a little bump in your tummy, how warm and soft and absolutely fucking delicious you are and how he’s so thankful to have claimed you when he had the chance.

Kinda like full mask mark, he’s a lover. Like I said earlier, he might be less lovey-dovey in public, but you have to trust that after he learns how, he’s showering you in affection

It’s constant praise, little gifts he gets you that he knows remind you of Tamaran, sometimes even having your planet’s traditional cultural meals cooked up.

He’s kinda stupid though. At one point he tried to get you involved in like some ‘proper English’ class thingy and you took it as an insult and you locked yourself in the bathroom for a little. Quite hilarious

(( sorry this was kinda ass and I didn’t do a lot of variants. If you like this, I can make a part 2 ))

[writeriguess]

heey, I really love you writing and I wanna do a request Bakugo x Reader where Reader and Shinso are bff, but Bakugo and Shinso don't like each other, every time they meet they fight, over petty things like: "I know that I'll be at her wedding, 'cause I'm her best friend, but what bout you?" And Bakugo gets angry or every time Reader and Bakugo are in some intimate or affectionate moment, Shinso gets in the way (even without meaning to) and makes fun of them saying it's too much sugar. Basically, Bakugo it's jealous and Shinso loves to tease him, and the reader is between the devil and the deep sea. Just if you can do that🫶

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

You knew from the very first introduction that Bakugo and Shinso would never get along. It was instinctual—like two alley cats hissing at each other over territory they didn’t even need to fight over.

And unfortunately for you, you were the territory.

Shinso had been your best friend since your first year at U.A., back when he was still in General Studies and had to prove himself every day. You were there through it all—his training with Aizawa, the doubts he had about his quirk, the grueling entrance into the hero course. You were ride or die, and he was the same for you.

Then, there was Bakugo. Your loud, explosive, short-fused, absolutely infuriating boyfriend. It was a miracle he had fallen for you, even more of a miracle that he had admitted it. And an absolute disaster that he and Shinso couldn’t be in the same room for more than five minutes without launching into some stupid argument.

Which led you to now—sitting on the couch of your shared apartment, sandwiched between Bakugo and Shinso, who had decided to drop by unannounced with food in hand, as he often did.

"You again?" Bakugo grumbled, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Shinso.

"Yeah, me again," Shinso said with a lazy smirk, setting the takeout bags on the coffee table. "You’re not the only one allowed to spend time with her, you know."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"It means I was here first," Shinso said smugly, grabbing his food and leaning back. "Best friend privileges."

Bakugo’s eye twitched. "Tch. Like I give a shit about that. She’s my girlfriend, dumbass."

"And I’m her best friend," Shinso countered. "So I’ll be at her wedding for sure. What about you?"

You watched Bakugo’s face go from irritated to downright murderous in two seconds flat. His hands clenched into fists, and you could practically hear the way his teeth gritted together.

"You wanna fucking repeat that?"

Shinso just smirked, chewing on a fry like he hadn’t just ignited World War III.

You groaned, slumping in the middle of them. "Can you guys not?"

"No," they said in unison.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. You loved them both, you really did, but this constant bickering was going to be the death of you.

—

It didn’t help that Shinso had a habit of showing up at the absolute worst times.

Like now, when you were sitting on Bakugo’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, exchanging lazy, drawn-out kisses after a long day.

"You taste like cinnamon," you murmured against his lips.

Bakugo smirked, squeezing your waist. "Yeah? Maybe you should get another taste, then—"

"God, get a room, you two."

You flinched so hard you nearly fell off Bakugo’s lap. Bakugo, on the other hand, groaned loudly, throwing his head back in frustration.

"For fuck’s sake, Shinso, do you have a fucking tracker on her or somethin’?!"

Shinso leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the ever-present smug look on his face. "Nah, just good timing."

"Good timing, my ass!" Bakugo barked. "You do this shit on purpose!"

Shinso shrugged, stepping further into the room. "I dunno what you’re talking about. I just happen to walk in when you two are acting disgustingly in love." He made a gagging motion. "Seriously, it's like watching a rom-com in real life. Too much sugar."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Hitoshi…"

Shinso only grinned. "What? Just calling it like I see it."

Bakugo’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you possessively against him. "You jealous or somethin’?"

Shinso raised a brow. "Jealous of what?"

"That she’s with me and not with your smug, sleep-deprived ass," Bakugo sneered.

Shinso actually looked mildly offended for once. "Excuse you, I get plenty of sleep."

"You nap like a goddamn cat all the time. That don’t count."

Shinso scoffed. "Whatever. Point is, I just don’t like third-wheeling in my best friend’s life." He shot you a teasing glance. "You used to be cool before you started dating a raging porcupine."

Bakugo looked ready to explode. "THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!"

"Guys!" you shouted, slapping both of their arms. "Can you stop? Just for one day?!"

Bakugo grumbled under his breath but kept his arms firmly around you. Shinso held up his hands in surrender but still had that smug little smirk on his face.

—

The worst fight, though, came when Shinso found out about a certain nickname.

It was supposed to be a peaceful night. You and Bakugo were curled up on the couch, watching a movie, your head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly played with your fingers.

Then your phone rang.

You glanced at the screen. Shinso.

"Hey," you answered, putting it on speaker.

"Yo," Shinso greeted, his voice relaxed as always. "Wanna grab some food? I know this new place that—"

"She’s busy," Bakugo cut in, tightening his hold on you.

You sighed. "Katsuki—"

"What, I’m just answering for you since your dumbass best friend can’t take a hint."

Shinso scoffed. "Y’know, for someone who supposedly likes you so much, he’s kinda possessive."

"Shut up, Brainwash."

Shinso chuckled. "Oh? Cute nickname. But not as cute as Teddy Bear."

Dead silence.

You swore you felt Bakugo's soul leave his body.

"The fuck did you just call her?"

Shinso grinned through the phone. "Teddy Bear. You didn’t know? I’ve been calling her that since first year. It suits her, doesn’t it?"

Bakugo's entire body went rigid beneath you. "Why the fuck would you be calling her that?!"

"Because she's soft and cuddly," Shinso answered casually. "And because she always used to carry that little keychain bear on her bag. You still have that, don’t you, Teddy Bear?"

You gulped. "Uh…"

Bakugo shot you a betrayed look. "The fuck is this?! Why didn’t I know about this?!"

Shinso laughed. "Damn, so she never told you? That’s rough, buddy."

Bakugo shot up so fast you nearly tumbled to the floor. "You motherfu—"

You grabbed his face before he could launch into a full-blown explosion. "Babe. Babe. Breathe."

His eye twitched. "Teddy Bear?"

Shinso chuckled through the phone. "You sound jealous, Bakugo."

"I’M NOT FUCKING JEALOUS!"

"Liar," Shinso sang.

"I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, SHINSO—"

You sighed, already dreading the next inevitable argument.

Between the devil and the deep blue sea, indeed.

[story-box]

STATIC ON THE LINE

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x Y/N

Summary: Eddie ghosted you to “set you free”—so you came home to ruin his pity party and remind him you're nobody's damsel.

—

You should have set his trailer on fire.

Okay, maybe not literally — arson was still technically illegal — but metaphorically?

Oh, absolutely.

Because if Eddie Munson thought he could ghost you like some coward in a metal band who suddenly decided he was too emotionally fragile to answer a letter, then he clearly forgot who he was dating.

You had written twenty-one letters. Twenty-one. Plus, three postcards you thought were charming and a freaking cassette mix you made with actual effort and very questionable transitions. ("Careless Whisper" into Black Sabbath — sue you, you were emotional.)

And what did you get in return?

Silence.

Avoidance.

The occasional 'your letter was received' from Wayne when you called the Munson trailer, followed by an uncomfortable pause like the old man wanted to say more but wouldn’t.

You had tried to be patient. Really. You reminded yourself that Eddie wasn’t exactly known for healthy coping mechanisms.

But there’s only so much you can take before you start imagining exactly how hard youmee going to throw that shoebox full of unsent letters at his stupid, beautiful, stubborn head.

Because here’s the thing: You didn’t fall in love with him because he had perfect grades or a five-year plan. You fell in love with the idiot who played Dio songs like they were sacred texts, who gave voices to dungeon monsters and talked about fate like it was something he could fight.

And now? Now he was playing tragic martyr like it was some noble sacrifice.

You stared at your phone, hanging up on the wall. Again. Like it might magically spring to life with his voice on the other end.

It didn’t.

Instead, you whispered to no one, "If you think you're protecting me, Eddie Munson, you're dumber than that time you tried to climb my dorm window and got stuck halfway like a stray cat."

Maybe it was time to come home for a weekend.

And maybe it was time to make some noise…

. . .

The trailer looks smaller than you remember. Maybe it’s the winter light — flat and grey, like everything’s been dulled down without you here. Or maybe it’s just Eddie.

Because he’s standing in the doorway, sleep-creased and shoeless, hair a mess, looking like regret and cheap weed had a baby and named it "avoidant behavior."

You cross your arms and lean against your car, giving him the kind of look that says: Go ahead. Explain yourself. I’ll wait. Probably won’t believe you, but I’ll wait.

He blinks like he thinks you’re a hallucination. Which, fair. You did show up unannounced, in your Friday jeans and a pissed-off aura that could probably kill a small god.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“That’s all you’ve got?” you ask. “‘Holy shit’? After ignoring me for three months?”

He rubs the back of his neck. Classic. You’d almost missed that stupid nervous tic.

Almost.

“I thought you were… I don’t know. Gone.”

You laugh — sharp, not sweet. “Yeah. That tends to happen when someone stops answering your letters, calls, telepathic pleas—should I go on?”

His mouth opens like he wants to defend himself. Then closes again, like he realizes there is no defense. And honestly? Good. Let him stew. Let him feel the way your chest has felt every time you checked the mailbox and found nothing but silence.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he finally mutters.

You throw your hands up. “Try anything. ‘Hey, I suck at feelings, give me a minute’? ‘Sorry I’m an emotionally constipated disaster’? Even a postcard that just says ‘still alive’ would’ve been better than radio silence.”

He flinches. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

But then he says, voice low and stupidly sincere, “I thought if I let you go, you’d move on. Meet someone better. Someone who doesn’t live in a trailer and get held back and—”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan. “You don’t get to martyr yourself and act like you’re doing me a favor. I’m not some romcom character who blossoms without the sad boy weighing her down. I chose you, you idiot.”

He stares at you, like maybe he didn’t quite believe it until you said it out loud. Like he’s terrified hope might be real.

You step closer. Close enough that he can see the tear line in your eyeliner and the months of unsent anger burning just behind your eyes.

“If you ever ghost me again,” you whisper, “I will break into your room, steal your favorite guitar, and replace all your good vinyls with Barry Manilow."

He chokes on a laugh.

You almost kiss him right then. Almost. But he has to earn that.

So instead, you say, “Now let me in before I freeze out here. We’re not done talking.”

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . violence, mentions and descriptions of blood, use of weapons, cursing, kissing, suggestive scenes, slight panic attack, being stuck in a state of shock.

CHAPTER FOUR: CLOSE CALL

read other parts here!

you’re walking back from the gas station with twinkies in your bag, sweat on your neck, and your thoughts doing that annoying thing where they keep circling back to matt’s hand on your waist. the way he looked at you when you stumbled. how close his face was. how he didn’t let go until you absolutely had to move.

you’ve barely said two words since. not because you don’t want to. because your brain is in a full emotional reboot.

nick’s a few feet ahead, giving a passionate monologue about tactical snack rations. chris is trailing behind, talking to lieutenant whiskers like he’s a real person—which, at this point, he might as well be. matt is walking right beside you again, close enough that your arms brush every so often, and every single time it happens your heart taps out a little morse code of please stop or don’t ever stop, pick one.

you’re rounding a corner near an abandoned laundromat when everything goes to hell. the smell hits you first—wet, rotting meat and sour breath—and then a flash of movement from the side. you don’t even have time to shout. one of them was hiding under a pile of clothes. a fast one. it lunges.

and then it’s on you.

you hit the ground hard. the impact knocks the air right out of your lungs. your back slams against the pavement, sharp pain ricocheting through your ribs. the zombie snarls, jaw wide, and you can feel the heat of its breath as it snaps at your face. its hands grip your arms like a vice.

you scream.

it’s not a controlled, cool scream. it’s raw, panicked—ripped straight from your lungs. your knife’s in your hand, but your arm is pinned, and your head is swimming, and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

then matt’s there.

then you hear the sound of metal meeting bone.

the zombie jerks once, then twice. its weight slumps on top of you, and blood—thick, dark, and warm—spills across your chest and neck. you’re frozen. you can’t move. you can’t even scream anymore.

matt shoves the corpse off you and drops to his knees beside you, eyes wide with panic. “hey—hey,” he says, breathless, hands hovering but not touching. “look at me. are you okay? did it bite you?”

you blink up at him, but the world feels warped and underwater. your chest is heaving but no air’s going in. your fingers won’t unclench from the ground. you can’t speak. you just shake your head, or maybe you don’t. you’re not even sure.

“shit,” he mutters. he grabs your face gently, tilting it toward him. “breathe f’me. come on. in through your nose. just like that. i’ve got you. you’re okay.” your breath hitches, then shudders out of you, you let out soft whimpers.

“you’re okay,” he says again, softer this time. his voice cracks just a little. “i’ve got you.” you finally suck in a lungful of air and then another. your body trembles so hard your teeth clack.

he doesn’t let go of your face.

you’re suddenly aware of everything—his hands on your cheeks, the blood sticking your shirt to your skin, the way his chest is rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, and how terrified he looks. “you’re okay,” he says again, almost like he’s trying to convince himself now. “just keep breathing..”

“i… i didn’t see it,” you whisper, voice shaky and hoarse.

“i know,” he says. “it’s okay. you’re safe now.”

your head’s spinning. your arms feel like rubber. you’re covered in blood, and some of it isn’t yours. “we need to get you cleaned up,” he says after a beat, like he just realized how much you’re shaking. “come on.”

he helps you sit up slowly, then pulls you into him without thinking. your forehead presses against his shoulder and you don’t protest. you can’t. his arms are strong and warm and shaking just a little, too. when he finally pulls back, you’re still dazed. he takes your hand and leads you to a nearby alcove with some shade. you sit on a broken crate, and he crouches in front of you, pulling a rag from his bag and wetting it with his canteen.

“i’ve got you,” he says again, quieter this time. “just… hold still.” he starts wiping the blood from your neck, slow and careful. too careful.

you’re hyperaware of every motion. his fingers brush your skin. the cloth drags across your collarbone. he moves to clean your jaw, and his thumb lingers just beneath it. he’s close. really close. and his eyes keep flicking to your lips.

“you scared the shit out of me,” he says quietly, voice low and raw. “i thought i was gonna lose you.”

your heart stops.

“you didn’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking but real. he doesn’t respond right away. just watches you. the cloth falls from his hand, forgotten.

then, very slowly, he leans in.

your breath catches again—but for a very different reason this time. his lips brush yours, soft and uncertain. it’s not hungry or rushed—it’s tentative, like he’s asking, not taking.

you kiss him back. your hands slide into his hair. his grip tightens on your waist. the world disappears in the heat between you, the closeness, the adrenaline still crashing through your system like lightning. you let out a soft moan into his mouth, the sound making matt melt as he kissed you harder, more messily. when he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard again—but not from fear this time.

“fuck..you have no idea how long i’ve been wanting to do that,” he says, forehead resting against yours. you laugh, shakily. “then why didn’t you?” he closes his eyes and leans in again, pressing a kiss to your cheek this time. “just been waiting for the right moment.”

even if the world’s falling apart.

even if you’re a bloody, shaky mess.

even if your heart’s doing cartwheels and your brain is screaming what the hell just happened.

you trust him, he just saved your life after all.

and, that’s all you need.

© delilahsturniolo

[bullet-prooflove]

6500 Follower Bingo Card Celebration: The Shirt: John Shen x Reader (feat: Jack Abbot)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood @yousigned-upforthis

Hitting The Bingo Squares: Wearing His Shirt

Companion piece to:

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

Silly Little Boys (NSFW) - John's not like the other men you've been with.

In The Summer - You discover John's secret.

Tiger, Tiger - John reveals the truth between his engagement and his history.

Jack - John's mother opens up old wounds by giving John a copy of your DCFS file.

Bare (NSFW) - John and you commit to each other in a special way.

It’s the shirt that tips Jack off, that followed by the body language.

It’s royal blue with faded gold branding for the Pittsburgh food festival you went to last week. The thing is that shirt, it’s too big, not enough to swamp you but enough for him to know it’s a boyfriend shirt even if you are tucking it into the waistband of your jeans.

He doesn’t say anything about it when you hand back his keys after borrowing the car, he’s still putting the pieces together because you’ve not mentioned you’re seeing someone, that it might be getting serious.

The question is why?

It’s answered almost immediately when his gaze shifts to Shen, whose mouth twitches up into an subtle smile when he lays eyes on you.  You smile back and that’s when he realises that the breaks Shen takes in the ambulance bay, they’re not really about getting a couple minutes of fresh air.

You could do a lot worse, he supposes. He should know, it was him who let down the tires on Pharma Bro’s Audi after you found out he was also seeing Ivy. The dumbass had ended up calling AAA to get the thing towed.

It’s a couple of hours later he finds himself alone with the other man, the two of them are both standing in front of the intake board, surveying their options. The silence, it stretches between the two of them, thickening until it becomes uncomfortable and still neither moves, neither flinches, they just stand there waiting for the other to break.

“You know don’t you?” Shen says finally and Jack makes an affirmative noise.

“I do.” He states crossing his arms over his chest.

“Cici wants to tell you this weekend-.”

“I’ll work on my surprised face.”

“Look I get you’re pissed-”

Jack huffs out a laugh.

“You think I’m pissed?” Jack says turning his face towards Shen. “I’m not. I know you, I know you’re not one of those assholes that’s gonna run around behind her back but Cici is handle with care-”

“I know.” Shen says pointedly and that’s another surprise because Cici, she doesn’t talk about that time of her life, not to anyone.

“Huh.” Jack responds, his whiskey eyes meeting Shen’s with an intensity that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “Then you know if you fuck things up with her, you’re probably gonna have to transfer to another hospital right? Because I will make your life an absolute misery. I’m talking shit you couldn’t even imagine, real Psyops level, fuck with your head kinda stuff.”

“That’s fair.” Shen says before turning his attention back to the board. “So which one you want? Shitting through the eye of a needle, or vomiting up blood?”

“Vomit.” Jack says, snatching up a pair of latex gloves from the box on the counter. “I’ll take puke over anal seepage any day.”

Love John? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[rottenk1sses]

hiii mommy art donaldson anon here again and i looooved how you writed!! i'm so happy to read more pegging art fics i live for that shit and i absolutely love your writing

and i have silly little idea again hihihi

imagine you're fucking him full with the strap, and he's sooooo stimulated, dumb in your cock repeating everything you tell him. and you play into it for a while, telling him he's a good boy, that he's doing so good for you, you know, the usual. but then a sparkling idea comes to mind.

"you're gonna make daddy come if you keep moaning like that baby, you don't want to become a mommy so soon right?"

i know he would eat that shit up and start calling you daddy in a second

aaah hi hi lovely ! ! thank you so much <3 and i loved your ask, it definitely got me thinking

always happy to write more stuff about pegging art

usually art gets to relax when you’ve got your strap inside his guts, but tonight is different. he insisted on it being different, actually.

your back is pressed into the wooden headboard as he bounces over your lap, his warm face smushed into your neck as he pants and clings to your body—his hands holding the sides of your torso, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

he’s moaning like he’s got something to prove with you; a sharp cry muffled into your shoulder when he swivels his hips just right and gets his prostate bumped by the tip of the silicone rod. every time he slides back down the length of it, he lets out the prettiest “aah”.

“i wouldn’t mind if you wanted to go faster,” you whisper into his hair. one of your hands moving from his rear to stroke the nape of his neck. he swallows; you can feel his adam’s apple bob.

“faster?” he whines, automatically grinding quicker over the toy which only forces him to start whimpering between the rest of his usual gasps and groans.

you beam.

“fuuuck, artie.. god, you’re so good at this..”

the praise goes straight to his belly and boils its way up to his neglected, aching cock.

“mmngh, hngh—hngh—hngh, can i touch?”

such an obedient little thing he is when he gets like this. it’s precious.

“want me to?”

he nods before the words are even fully out of your mouth. you reach down and wrap a hand around his thick appendage, and he immediately jolts in your grasp, rocking faster and faster over the dildo. you scoop up the precome that’s been seeping from his tip for the last ten minutes and use it to start pumping him rhythmically.

his head snaps up from your shoulder and his back arches beautifully—his toned abdomen clenching and twitching as he clearly fights the orgasm that’s just seconds away. his balls draw up in the next moment. he hiccups around a broken sob.

but now that he’s pulled away, you get a view of his chest too. his pecs. the way they bounce with each of his movements. hm. it sparks something in you that’s all-too-familiar now.

“shit,” you suddenly groan, your voice lower and raspier than before, “if you keep that up, you’re gonna make daddy come.. and you don’t want to be a mommy yet, do you?”

and those perfectly-timed words are all that it takes to send him hurtling into his climax at full-force. blinding white pleasure thrumming through his entire body as he clutches at yours and wails, slamming himself down once more and letting his orgasm shoot out and into your touch. he doesn’t care that he can’t really get pregnant, because in that moment, when you’ve got his head spinning and his cock throbbing, he almost believes that he can. yes, he wants to be a mommy, he wants you to get him pregnant with your strap, that’s all he wants..!

“im c-cumming,” he shakes, as if you didn’t already know, your fist still stroking him as the prickles of overstimulation begin to creep in.

“gonna put a kid in you, baby,” you can’t help but rasp, deliriously and empathetically stuck in your lover’s pleasure.

and it’s damn near enough to make him meet his end.

[tawked]

I kinda wish more versions of Batman embraced his mental illness in a more, I don't know, neutral or literal way.

If you accept Batman as mentally ill throughout the 1980s - 2000s as many writers working on him (Miller, O'Neil, Dixon, Moore, Morrison, others I don't care about) would often imply then there's kind of an element of... How to put this.

His mental illness is kind of supercrip adjacent in that his ability to be obsessive is framed as core to his detective methods and is a part of his whole "Batman's superpower is determination" metafictional conceit. It's giving Aspie Supremacy. But his mental illness is also written as informing pretty much every single social conflict he has, this idea that, like an autistic stereotype, he is absolutely emotionally unavailable in the sense of being unable to comprehend other's emotional needs or realities, or being so focused on his own perspective and trauma that he (contradicting the very reasons he adopted Dick Grayson and Jason Todd!) cannot understand when Dick is upset about shit.

It's kinda like Monk.

Except instead of touching every doorknob six times or whatever, he's just a real asshole to everybody all the time lol.

There's potentially something extremely relatable about Robin as an Emotional Support Child that people with disabled, especially mentally ill, parents might be able to extract something meaningful from. There's an inherent complex inversion of many parent-child roles in that. That Dick Grayson chooses to leave and live his own life in his platonic polycule with his hot alien ladywife is honestly extremely relatable and potentially a real statement about the raw emotional weight of needing to support an adult who, by normalized social roles, has all this power over you, while you attempt to keep them from falling apart on a nightly basis.

I'm not really interested in Tim Drake because I thought his earliest stories were racist garbage written by a man who, caaaan yoooou believe it, went on to work with an actual real neo nazi on an explicitly branded-as-alt-right superhero line. Wow! What a shock! lol I also just haven't read his modern stuff. idk, Neutral with Tim Nation, do not want to fight, but I say this to say he is not for me in canon --

But Tim Drake especially had the potential to really be interesting in this role if this theme were appropriately explored. You have his support of Batman as a mentally ill adult man and his support of his father as a physically disabled adult man, in relationships intentionally designed to parallel. He knows Barbara while she's dealing with the trauma of acquired disability during an arc where she learns to be comfortable in her own body and re-enters society, paralleling a hypothetical better version of Harold as a disabled man born with his condition and who thus has no concept of self as able-bodied who has totally and absolutely retreated from society.

You have Tim paralleling Dick Grayson, the boy who walked away, Jason, the boy was about to but didn't have the chance, and himself, the boy who just walked in, all in complex child-as-carer roles.

There so much potential here it's like watching people fumble a ball that's practically glued to their hands bro.

But the people who write this shit often don't really have any inroads into communities and, being Americans, likely experience mental illness themselves in that very American atomized "it's not a disability, it's something different" way. Y'know, they're isolated from any form of disability cultural concepts. It's a cool concept that the writers of the time simply did not have the tools or understanding to build anything from. Y'know, Barbara's arc is amazing and one of the best in superhero comics, but at times it does feel like the writers are saying "okay, yes, no leggies is sad, but like just be happy instead you big floppy bitch" lol. Harold in general, oh my god, Harold. I love Harold and they shouldn't have done that. They shouldn't have done my boy like that.

[maxdibert]

sometimes when I'm bored I'll click on random marauders era fics with Severus tagged in them and read through his parts - and every time he's acting like an irredemable cunt I'll be thinking to myself yassss slay! they have that boy behaving worse than Voldemort AT SCHOOL, you simply have to respect his commitment to being nasty. I sure wish he had acted the way they depict him - at least then he'd "deserve" to be relentlessly bullied 🤨

Yesterday, a Jily fanfic popped up in the damn Snape tag, and in it, they were clearly projecting onto Severus, making him out to be a total asshole doing emotional gaslighting to Lily and defending blood purity and some other crap, and I’m like… seriously? Like, you don’t need to turn him into an emotional manipulator just to justify James and Lily being together. They’re literally canon — they’re going to end up together anyway. There’s absolutely nothing in the books that even remotely suggests Severus was some kind of gaslighter and Lily some poor saint who patiently endured all his crappy comments. That’s just not how it was.

I mean, it was basically like "oh well, you're not like the other Mudbloods" and I’m just— what?? If Severus had ever talked to Lily like that, she would’ve slapped him across the face. Because if there’s one thing that’s super clear in the books, it’s that Severus was basically her lapdog, and the moment he sensed the slightest hint of Lily being pissed off, he immediately backed down and corrected himself. She was the one who led and dominated that relationship.

But whatever, I guess they need to inject unnecessary drama into every Jily fic because they’re the most ridiculously vanilla, flat, and boring pairing out there, and if they don’t create villains, there’s no conflict to work with.

And hey — nothing against Jily, I think it’s great that they’re together, equally boring and traditional and caffeine-free. They’re like Diet Coke or a sugar-free cake, you know? The kind of couple where you’re just like, ugh, I’d never read a fic about them — not because I dislike them or the characters, but because they’re the embodiment of anti-drama. Like, literally your grandparents after 50 years of marriage, both in wheelchairs, are a more interesting couple than those two LOL

Obviously, I’m not going to say what I saw or which fic it was, and I haven’t said anything because I have a lot of respect for people who write or make fanart — and even if something gives me the worst secondhand embarrassment in the world, you’ll never see me reposting or tagging anyone’s work. But hey, I can absolutely shit on the way people project onto characters — that’s always fair game lol

[moonshynecybin]

same age au marc showing up to a race in vale's merch when hes out w his arm injury....

scream ignoring that if marc showed up in a yamaha zip up in 2005 the HRC pr guy would probably fly tackle him fucked up arm or not (lets assume its not yamaha branded, its just vale's own merch. still.), i think vale would conceptually LOVEEE that shit, but also maybe love it in a way that feels. guilty lol. REALLY guilty. truly like marc doing classic wag stuff dressed head to toe in his merch his name his number (everyone in his inner circle having a 46 tattoo but vale DOESNT... bc 46 is HIM... a lot there ego wise lol) cheering him on excising all the ego clash and insecurity and injury anxiety right tf out of their relationship for one beautiful weeked (he doesnt have to worry about killing marc/marc killing him on track hashtag blessed) BUT marc is also injured miserable beautiful and crucially not racing. like everything vale wants in theory, but marc is so obviously unhappy about it at the same time AND vale isnt even having as much fun on the track which as we all know rankles him down to his bones.... so i think its a bit of a monkey's paw for vale and DEEPLY unsettles him in ways he cannot quite bring himself to articulate and ways marc absolutely does not pick up on whatsoever