#I will be here soon to dig into my drafts

[iiryoku]

I love how unhinged Boothill's VA is. He is one of my favorites.

[abbotjack]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ Built for Battle, Never for Me ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚

“And I will fuck you like nothing matters.”

summary : You loved Jack through four deployments and every version of the man he became, even when he stopped choosing you. Years later, fate shoves you back into his trauma bay, unconscious and bleeding, and everything you buried resurfaces.

content/warning : 18+ MDNI!!! long-form emotional trauma, war and military themes, medical trauma, car accident (graphic details), infidelity (emotional & physical), explicit smut with intense emotional undertones, near-death experiences, emotionally unhealthy relationships, and grief over a still-living person

word count : 13,078 ( read on ao3 here if it's too large )

a/n : ok this is long! but bare with me! I got inspired by Nothing Matters by The Last Dinner Party and I couldn't stop writing. College finals are coming up soon so I thought I'd put this out there now before I am in the trenches but that doesn't mean you guys can't keep sending stuff to my inbox!

You were nineteen the first time Jack Abbot kissed you.

Outside a run-down bar just off base in the thick of Georgia summer—air humid enough to drink, heat clinging to your skin like regret. He had a fresh cut on his knuckle and a dog-eared med school textbook shoved into the back pocket of his jeans, like that wasn’t the most Jack thing in the world—equal parts violence and intellect, always straddling the line between bare-knuckle instinct and something nobler. Half fists, half fire, always on the verge of vanishing into a cause bigger than himself.

You were his long before the letters trailed behind his name. Before he learned to stitch flesh beneath floodlights and call it purpose. Before the trauma became clockwork, and the quiet between you started speaking louder than words ever could. You loved him through every incarnation—every rough draft of the man he was trying to become. Army medic. Burned-out med student. Warzone doctor with blood on his boots and textbooks in his duffel. The kind of man who took people apart just to understand how to hold them together.

He used to say he’d get out once it was over. Once the years were served, the boxes checked, the blood debt paid in full. He promised he’d come back—not just in body, but in whatever version of wholeness he still had left. Said he’d pick a city with good light, buy real furniture instead of folding chairs and duffel bags, learn how to sleep through the night like people who hadn’t taught themselves to live on adrenaline and loss.

You waited. Through four deployments. Through static-filled phone calls and letters that always said soon. Through nights spent tracing his name like it was a map back to yourself. You clung to that promise like it was gospel. And now—he was standing in your bedroom, rolling his shirts with the same clipped, clinical precision he used to pack a field kit. Each fold a quiet betrayal. Each movement a confirmation: he was leaving again. Not called. Choosing.

“I’m not being deployed,” he said, eyes fixed on the duffel bag instead of you. “I’m volunteering.”

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, nails digging into the fabric of your sleeves. “You’ve fulfilled your contract, Jack. You’re not obligated anymore. You’re a doctor now. You could stay. You could leave.”

“I know,” he said, quiet. Measured. Like he’d practiced saying it in his head a hundred times already.

“You were offered a civilian residency,” you pressed, your voice rising despite the lump building in your throat. “At one of the top trauma programs in D.C. You told me they fast-tracked you. That they wanted you.”

“I know.”

“And you turned it down.”

He exhaled through his nose. A long, deliberate breath. Then reached for another undershirt, folded it so neatly it looked like a ritual. “They need trauma-trained docs downrange. There’s a shortage.”

You laughed—a bitter, breathless sound. “There’s always a shortage. That’s not new.”

He paused. Briefly. His hand flattened over the shirt like he was smoothing something that wouldn’t stay still. “You don’t get it.”

“I do get it,” you snapped. “That’s the problem.”

He finally looked up at you then. Just for a second.

Eyes tired. Distant. Fractured in a way that made you want to punch him and hold him at the same time.

“You think this makes you necessary,” you whispered. “You think chaos gives you purpose. But it’s just the only place you feel alive.”

He turned toward you slowly, shirt still in hand. His hair was longer than regulation—he hadn’t shaved in days. His face looked older, worn down in that way no one else seemed to notice but you did. You knew every line. Every scar. Every inch of the man who swore he’d come back and choose something softer.

You.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you whispered. “Tell me this isn’t just about being needed again. About being irreplaceable. About chasing adrenaline because you’re scared of standing still.”

Jack didn’t say anything else.

Not when your voice broke asking him to stay—not loud, not theatrical, not in the kind of way that could be dismissed as a moment of weakness or written off as heat-of-the-moment desperation. You’d asked him softly. Carefully. Like you were trying not to startle something fragile. Like if you stayed calm, maybe he’d finally hear you.

And not when you walked away from him, the space between you stretching like a fault line you both knew neither of you would cross again.

You’d seen him fight for the life of a stranger—bare hands pressed to a wound, blood soaking through his sleeves, voice low and steady through chaos. But he didn’t fight for this. For you.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the day.

He packed in silence. You did laundry. Folded his socks like it mattered. You couldn’t decide if it felt more like mourning or muscle memory.

You didn’t touch him.

Not until night fell, and the house got too quiet, and the space beside you on the couch started to feel like a ghost of something you couldn’t bear to name.

The windows were open, and you could hear the city breathing outside—car tires on wet pavement, wind slinking through the alley, the distant hum of a life you could’ve had. One that didn’t smell like starch and gun oil and choices you never got to make.

Jack was in the kitchen, barefoot, methodically washing a single plate. You sat on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest, half-wrapped in the blanket you kept by the radiator. There was a movie playing on the TV. Something you'd both seen a dozen times. He hadn’t looked at it once.

“Do you want tea?” he asked, not turning around.

You stared at his back. The curve of his spine under that navy blue t-shirt. The tension in his neck that never fully left.

“No.”

He nodded, like he expected that.

You wanted to scream. Or throw the mug he used every morning. Or just… shake him until he remembered that this—you—was what he was supposed to be fighting for now.

Instead, you stood up.

Walked into the kitchen.

Pressed your palms flat against the cool tile counter and watched him dry his hands like it was just another Tuesday. Like he hadn’t made a choice that ripped something fundamental out of you both.

“I don’t think I know how to do this anymore,” you said.

Jack turned, towel still in hand. “What?”

“This,” you gestured between you, “Us. I don’t know how to keep pretending we’re okay.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then leaned against the sink like the weight of that sentence physically knocked him off balance.

“I didn’t expect you to understand,” he said.

You laughed. It came out sharp. Ugly. “That’s the part that kills me, Jack. I do understand. I know exactly why you're going. I know what it does to you to sit still. I know you think you’re only good when you’re bleeding out in a tent with your hands in someone’s chest.”

He flinched.

“But I also know you didn’t even try to stay.”

“I did,” he snapped. “Every time I came back to you, I tried.”

“That’s not the same as choosing me.”

The silence that followed felt like the real goodbye.

You walked past him to the bedroom without a word. The hallway felt longer than usual, quieter too—like the walls were holding their breath. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The bed still smelled like him. Like cedarwood aftershave and something darker—familiar, aching. You crawled beneath the sheets, dragging the comforter up to your chin like armor. Turned your face to the wall. Every muscle in your back coiled tight, waiting for a sound that didn’t come.

And for a long time, he didn’t follow.

But eventually, the floor creaked—soft, uncertain. A pause. Then the familiar sound of the door clicking shut, slow and final, like the closing of a chapter neither of you had the courage to write an ending for. The mattress shifted beneath his weight—slow, deliberate, like every inch he gave to gravity was a decision he hadn’t fully made until now. He settled behind you, quiet as breath. And for a moment, there was only stillness.

No touch. No words. Just the heat of him at your back, close enough to feel the ghost of something you’d almost forgotten.

Then, gently—like he thought you might flinch—his arm slid across your waist. His hand spread wide over your stomach, fingers splayed like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body through fabric and time and everything he’d left behind.

Like maybe, if he held you carefully enough, he could keep you from slipping through the cracks he’d carved into both of your lives. Like this was the only way he still knew how to say please don’t go.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he breathed into the nape of your neck, voice rough, frayed at the edges.

Your eyes burned. You swallowed the lump in your throat. His lips touched your skin—just below your ear, then lower. A kiss. Another. His mouth moved with unbearable softness, like he thought he might break you. Or maybe himself.

And when he kissed you like it was the last time, it wasn’t frantic or rushed. It was slow. The kind of kiss that undoes a person from the inside out.

His hand slid under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your ribs as if relearning your shape. You rolled to face him, breath catching when your noses bumped. And then he was kissing you again—deeper this time. Tongue coaxing, lips parted, breath shared. You gasped when he pressed his thigh between yours. He was already hard. And when he rocked into you, It wasn’t frantic—it was sacred. Like a ritual. Like a farewell carved into skin.

The lights stayed off, but not out of shame. It was self-preservation. Because if you saw his face, if you saw what was written in his eyes—whatever soft, shattering thing was there—it might ruin you. He undressed you like he was unwrapping something fragile—careful, slow, like he was afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast. Each layer pulled away with quiet tension, each breath held between fingers and fabric.

His mouth followed close behind, brushing down your chest with aching precision. He kissed every scar like it told a story only he remembered. Mouthed at your skin like it tasted of something he hadn’t let himself crave in years. Like he was starving for the version of you that only existed when you were underneath him. 

Your fingers threaded through his hair. You arched. Moaned his name. He pushed into you like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Like this was the only place he still knew. His pace was languid at first, drawn out. But when your breath hitched and you clung to him tighter, he fucked you deeper. Slower. Harder. Like he was trying to carve himself into your bones. Your bodies moved like memory. Like grief. Like everything you never said finally found a rhythm in the dark. 

His thumb brushed your lower lip. You bit it. He groaned—low, guttural.

“Say it,” he rasped against your mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered, already crying. “God, I love you.”

And when you came, it wasn’t loud. It was broken. Soft. A tremor beneath his palm as he cradled your jaw. He followed seconds later, gasping your name like a benediction, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slick and shaking.

After, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just stayed curled around you, heartbeat thudding against your spine like punctuation.

Because sometimes the loudest heartbreak is the one you don’t say out loud.

The alarm never went off.

You’d both woken up before it—some silent agreement between your bodies that said don’t pretend this is normal. The room was still dark, heavy with the thick, gray stillness of early morning. That strange pocket of time that doesn’t feel like today yet, but is no longer yesterday.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, elbows resting on his thighs, spine curled slightly forward like the weight of the choice he’d made was finally catching up to him. He was already dressed in the uniform in his head.

You stayed under the covers, arms wrapped around your own body, watching the muscles in his back tighten every time he exhaled.

You didn’t speak. 

What was there left to say?

He stood, moved through the room with quiet efficiency. Pulling his pants on. Shirt. Socks. He tied his boots slowly, like muscle memory. Like prayer. You wondered if his hands ever shook when he packed for war, or if this was just another morning to him. Another mission. Another place to be.

He finally turned to face you. “You want coffee?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to speak.

He paused in the doorway, like he might say something—something honest, something final. Instead, he just looked at you like you were already slipping into memory.

The kitchen was still warm from the radiator kicking on. Jack moved like a ghost through it—mug in one hand, half a slice of dry toast in the other. You sat across from him at the table, knees pulled into your chest, wearing one of his old t-shirts that didn’t smell like him anymore. The silence was different now. Not tense. Just done. He set his keys on the table between you.

“I left a spare,” he said.

You nodded. “I know.”

He took a sip of coffee, made a face. “You never taught me how to make it right.”

“You never listened.”

His lips twitched—almost a smile. It died quickly. You looked down at your hands. Picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Will you write?” you asked, quietly. Not a plea. Just curiosity. Just something to fill the silence.

“If I can.”

And somehow that hurt more.

When the cab pulled up outside, neither of you moved right away. Jack stared at the wall. You stared at him. 

He finally stood. Grabbed his bag. Slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He didn’t look like a man leaving for war. He looked like a man trying to convince himself he had no other choice.

At the door, he paused again.

“Hey,” he said, softer this time. “You’re everything I ever wanted, you know that?”

You stood too fast. “Then why wasn’t this enough?”

He flinched. And still, he came back to you. Hands cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he was trying to memorize it.

“I love you,” he said.

You swallowed. Hard. “Then stay.”

His hands dropped. 

“I can’t.”

You didn’t cry when he left.

You just stood in the hallway until the cab disappeared down the street, teeth sunk into your lip so hard it bled. And then you locked the door behind you. Not because you didn’t want him to come back.

But because you didn’t want to hope anymore that he would.

PRESENT DAY : THE PITT - FRIDAY 7:02 PM

Jack always said he didn’t believe in premonitions. That was Robby’s department—gut feelings, emotional instinct, the kind of sixth sense that made him pause mid-shift and mutter things like “I don’t like this quiet.” Jack? He was structure. Systems. Trauma patterns on a 10-year data set. He didn’t believe in ghosts, omens, or the superstition of stillness.

But tonight?

Tonight felt wrong.

The kind of wrong that doesn’t announce itself. It just settles—low and quiet, like a second pulse beneath your skin. Everything was too clean. Too calm. The trauma board was a blank canvas. One transfer to psych. One uncomplicated withdrawal on fluids. A dislocated shoulder in 6 who kept trying to flirt with the nurses despite being dosed with enough ketorolac to sedate a linebacker.

That was it. Four hours. Not a single incoming. Not even a fender-bender.

Jack stood in front of the board with his arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw was clenched, shoulders stiff, body still in that way that wasn’t restful—just waiting. Like something in him was already bracing for impact.

The ER didn’t breathe like this. Not on a Friday night in Pittsburgh. Not unless something was holding its breath.

He rolled his shoulder, cracked his neck once, then twice. His leg ached—not the prosthetic. The other one. The real one. The one that always overcompensated when he was tense. The one that still carried the habits of a body he didn’t fully live in anymore. He tried to shake it off. He couldn’t. He wasn’t tired.

But he felt unmoored.

7:39 PM

The station was too loud in all the wrong ways.

Dana was telling someone—probably Perlah—about her granddaughter’s birthday party tomorrow. There was going to be a Disney princess. Real cake. Real glitter. Jack nodded when she looked at him but didn’t absorb any of it. His hands were hovering over the computer keys, but he wasn’t charting. He was watching the vitals monitor above Bay 2 blink like a metronome. Too steady. Too normal.

His stomach clenched. Something inside him stirred. Restless. Sharp. He didn’t even hear Ellis approach until her shadow slid into his peripheral.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

Jack blinked. “Doing what?”

“That thing. The haunted soldier stare.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Didn’t realize I had a brand.”

“You do.” She leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You get real still when it’s too quiet in here. Like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Jack tilted his head slightly. “I’m always waiting for the other shoe.”

“No,” she said. “Not like this.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. They both knew what kind of quiet this was.

7:55 PM

The weather was turning.

He could hear it—how the rain hit the loading dock, how the wind pushed harder against the back doors. He’d seen it out the break room window earlier. Clouds like bruises. Thunder low, miles off, not angry yet—just gathering. Pittsburgh always got weird storms in the spring—cold one day, burning the next. The kind of shifts that made people do dumb things. Drive fast. Get careless. Forget their own bodies could break.

His hand flexed unconsciously against the edge of the counter. He didn’t know who he was preparing for—just that someone was coming. 

8:00 PM

Robby’s shift was ending. He always left a little late—hovered by the lockers, checking one last note, scribbling initials where none were needed. Jack didn’t look up when he approached, but he heard the familiar shuffle, the sound of a hoodie zipper pulled halfway.

“You sure you don’t wanna switch shifts tomorrow?” Robby asked, thumb scrolling absently across his phone screen, like he was trying to sound casual—but you could hear the edge of something in it. Fatigue. Or maybe just wariness.

Jack glanced over, one brow arched, already sensing the setup. “What, you finally land that hot date with the med student who keeps calling you sir, looks like she still gets carded for cough syrup and thinks you’re someone’s dad?”

Robby didn’t look up from his phone. “Close. She thinks you’re the dad. Like… someone’s brooding, emotionally unavailable single father who only comes to parent-teacher conferences to say he’s doing his best.”

Jack blinked. “I’m forty-nine. You’re fifty-three.”

“She thinks you’ve lived harder.”

Jack snorted. “She say that?”

“She said—and I quote—‘He’s got that energy. Like he’s seen things. Lost someone he doesn’t talk about. Probably drinks his coffee black and owns, like, one picture frame.’”

Jack gave a slow nod, face unreadable. “Well. She’s not wrong.”

Robby side-eyed him. “You do have ghost-of-a-wife vibes.”

Jack’s smirk twitched into something more wry. “Not a widower.”

“Could’ve fooled her. She said if she had daddy issues, you’d be her first mistake.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”

“I told her you’re just forty-nine. Prematurely haunted.”

Jack smiled. Barely. “You’re such a good friend.”

Robby slipped his phone into his pocket. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell her about the ring. She thinks you’re tragic. Women love that.”

Jack muttered, “Tragic isn’t a flex.”

Robby shrugged. “It is when you’re tall and say very little.”

Jack rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “Still not switching.”

Robby groaned. “Come on. Whitaker is due for a meltdown, and if I have to supervise him through one more central line attempt, I’m walking into traffic. He tried to open the kit with his elbow last week. Said sterile gloves were ‘limiting his dexterity.’ I said, ‘That’s the point.’ He told me I was oppressing his innovation.”

Jack stifled a laugh. “I’m starting to like him.”

“He’s your favorite. Admit it.”

“You’re my favorite,” Jack said, deadpan.

“That’s the saddest thing you’ve ever said.”

Jack’s grin tugged wider. “It’s been a long year.”

They stood in silence for a moment—one of those rare ones where the ER wasn’t screeching for attention. Just a quiet hum of machines and distant footsteps. Then Robby shifted, leaned a little heavier against the wall.

“You good?” he asked, voice low. Not pushy. Just there.

Jack didn’t look at him right away. Just stared at the trauma board. Too long. Long enough that it said more than words would’ve.

Then—“Fine,” Jack said. A beat. “Just tired.”

Robby didn’t press. Just nodded, like he believed it, even if he didn’t.

“Get some rest,” Jack added, almost an afterthought. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You always do,” Robby said.

And then he left, hoodie half-zipped, coffee in hand, just like always.

But Jack didn’t move for a while.

Not until the ER stopped pretending to be quiet.

8:34 PM

The call hits like a starter’s pistol.

“Inbound MVA. Solo driver. High velocity. No seatbelt. Unresponsive. GCS three. ETA three minutes.”

The kind of call that should feel routine.

Jack’s already in motion—snapping on gloves, barking out orders, snapping the trauma team to attention. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t feel. He just moves. It’s what he’s best at. What they built him for.

He doesn’t know why his heart is hammering harder than usual.

Why the air feels sharp in his lungs. Why he’s clenching his jaw so hard his molars ache.

He doesn’t know. Not yet.

“Perlah, trauma cart’s prepped?”

“Yeah.”

“Mateo, I want blood drawn the second she’s in. Jesse—intubation tray. Let’s be ready.”

No one questions him. Not when he’s in this mode—low voice, high tension. Controlled but wired like something just beneath his skin is ready to snap. He pulls the door to Bay 2 open, nods to the team waiting inside. His hands go to his hips, gloves already on, brain flipping through protocol.

And then he hears it—the wheels. Gurney. Fast.

Voices echoing through the corridor.

Paramedic yelling vitals over the noise.

“Unidentified female. Found unresponsive at the scene of an MVA—single vehicle, no ID on her. Significant blood loss, hypotensive on arrival. BP tanked en route—we lost her once. Got her back, but she’s still unstable.”

The doors bang open. They wheel her in. Jack steps forward. His eyes fall to the body. Blood-soaked. Covered in debris. Face battered. Left cheek swelling fast. Gash at the temple. Lip split. Clothes shredded. Eyes closed.

He freezes. Everything stops. Because he knows that mouth. That jawline. That scar behind the ear. That body. The last time he saw it, it was beneath his hands. The last time he kissed her, she was whispering his name in the dark. And now she’s here.

Unconscious. Barely breathing. Covered in her own blood. And nobody knows who she is but him.

“Jack?” Perlah says, uncertain. “You good?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s already at the side of the gurney, brushing the medic aside, sliding in like muscle memory.

“Get me vitals now,” he says, voice too low.

“She’s crashing again—”

“I said get me fucking vitals.”

Everyone jolts. He doesn’t care. He’s pulling the oxygen mask over your face. Hands hovering, trembling.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “What happened to you?”

Your eyes flutter, barely. He watches your chest rise once. Then falter.

Then—Flatline.

You looked like a stranger. But the kind of stranger who used to be home. Where had you gone after he left?

Why didn’t you come back?

Why hadn’t he tried harder to find you?

He never knew. He told himself you were fine. That you didn’t want to be found. That maybe you'd met someone else, maybe moved out of state, maybe started the life he was supposed to give you.

And now you were here. Not a memory. Not a ghost. Not a "maybe someday."

Here.

And dying.

8:36 PM

The monitor flatlines. Sharp. Steady. Shrill.

And Jack—he doesn’t blink. He doesn’t curse. He doesn’t call out. He just moves. The team reacts first—shock, noise, adrenaline. Perlah’s already calling it out. Mateo goes for epi. Jesse reaches for the crash cart, his hands a little too fast, knocking a tray off the edge.

It clatters to the floor. Jack doesn’t flinch.

He steps forward. Takes position. Drops to the right side of your chest like it’s instinct—because it is. His hands hover for half a beat.

Then press down.

Compression one.

Compression two.

Compression three.

Thirty in all. His mouth is tight. His eyes fixed on the rise and fall of your body beneath his hands. He doesn’t say your name. He doesn’t let them see him.

He just works.

Like he’s still on deployment.

Like you’re just another body.

Like you’re not the person who made him believe in softness again.

Jack doesn’t move from your side.

Doesn’t say a thing when the first shock doesn’t bring you back. Doesn’t speak when the second one stalls again. He just keeps pressing. Keeps watching. Keeps holding on with the one thing left he can control.

His hands.

You twitch under his palms on the third shock.

The line stutters. Then catches. Jack exhales once. But he still doesn’t speak. He doesn’t check the room. Doesn’t acknowledge the tears running down his face. Just rests both hands on the edge of the gurney and leans forward, breathing shallow, like if he stands up fully, something inside him will fall apart for good.

“Get her to CT,” he says quietly.

Perlah hesitates. “Jack—”

He shakes his head. “I’ll walk with her.”

“Jack…”

“I said I’ll go.”

And then he does.

Silent. Soaking in your blood. Following the gurney like he followed field stretchers across combat zones. No one asks questions. Because everyone sees it now.

8:52 PM 

The corridor outside CT was colder than the rest of the hospital. Some architectural flaw. Or maybe just Jack’s body going numb. You were being wheeled in now—hooked to monitors, lips cracked and flaking at the edges from blood loss.

You hadn’t moved since the trauma bay. They got your heart back. But your eyes hadn’t opened. Not even once.

Jack walked beside the gurney in silence. One hand gripping the edge rail. Gloved fingers stained dark. His scrub top was still soaked from chest compressions. His pulse hadn’t slowed since the flatline. He didn’t speak to the transport tech. Didn’t acknowledge the nurse. Didn’t register anything except the curve of your arm under the blanket and the smear of blood at your temple no one had cleaned yet.

Outside the scan room, they paused to prep.

“Two minutes,” someone said.

Jack barely nodded. The tech turned away. And for the first time since they wheeled you in—Jack looked at you.

Eyes sweeping over your face like he was seeing it again for the first time. Like he didn’t recognize this version of you—not broken, not bloodied, not dying—but fragile. His hand moved before he could stop it. He reached down. Brushed your hair back from your forehead, fingers trembling. 

He leaned in, close enough that only the machines could hear him. Voice raw. Shaky.

“Stay with me.” He swallowed. Hard. “I’ll lie to everyone else. I’ll keep pretending I can live without you. But you and me? We both know I’m full of shit.”

He paused. “You’ve always known.”

Footsteps echoed around the corner. Jack straightened instantly. Like none of it happened. Like he wasn’t bleeding in real time. The tech came back. “We’re ready.”

Jack nodded. Watched the doors open. Watched them wheel you away. Didn’t follow. Just stood in the hallway, alone, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

10:34 PM

Your blood was still on his forearms. Dried at the edge of his glove cuff. There was a fleck of it on the collar of his scrub top, just beneath his badge. He should go change. But he couldn’t move. The last time he saw you, you were standing in the doorway of your apartment with your arms crossed over your chest and your mouth set in that way you did when you were about to say something that would ruin him.

Then stay.

He hadn’t.

And now here you were, barely breathing.

God. He wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He never did.

Footsteps approached from the left—light, careful.

It was Dana.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the wall beside him with a soft exhale and handed him a plastic water bottle.

He took it with a nod, twisted the cap, but didn’t drink.

“She’s stable,” Dana said quietly. “Neuro’s scrubbing in. Walsh is watching the bleed. They're hopeful it hasn’t shifted.”

Jack stared straight ahead. “She’s got a collapsed lung.”

“She’s alive.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

He could hear Dana shift beside him. “You knew her?”

Jack swallowed. His throat burned. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“I didn’t know,” Dana said, gently. “I mean, I knew there was someone before you came back to Pittsburgh. I just never thought...”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Jack,” she said, softer now. “You shouldn’t be the one on this case.”

“I’m already on it.”

“I know, but—”

“She didn’t have anyone else.”

That landed like a punch to the ribs. No emergency contact. No parents listed. No spouse. No one flagged to call. Just the last ID scanned from your phone—his name still buried somewhere in your old records, from years ago. Probably forgotten. Probably never updated. But still there. Still his.

Dana reached out, laid a hand on his wrist. “Do you want me to sit with her until she wakes up?”

He shook his head.

“I should be there.”

“Jack—”

“I should’ve been there the first time,” he snapped. Then his voice broke low, quieter, strained: “So I’m gonna sit. And I’m gonna wait. And when she wakes up, I’m gonna tell her I’m sorry.”

Dana didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just nodded. And walked away.

1:06 AM

Jack sat in the corner of the dimmed recovery room.

You were propped up slightly on the bed now, a tube down your throat, IV lines in both arms. Bandages wrapped around your ribs, temple, thigh. The monitor beeped with painful consistency. It was the only sound in the room.

He hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes. He just sat there. Watching you like if he looked away, you’d vanish again. He leaned back eventually, scrubbed both hands down his face.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You really never changed your emergency contact?”

You didn’t get married. You didn’t leave the state.You just… slipped out of his life and never came back.

And he let you. He let you walk away because he thought you needed distance. Because he thought he’d ruined it. Because he didn’t know what to do with love when it wasn’t covered in blood and desperation. He let you go. And now you were here. 

“Please wake up,” he whispered. “Just… just wake up. Yell at me. Punch me. I don’t care. Just—”

His voice cracked. He bit it back.

“You were right,” he said, so soft it barely made it out. “I should’ve stayed.”

You swim toward the surface like something’s pulling you back under. It’s slow. Syrupy. The kind of consciousness that makes pain feel abstract—like you’ve forgotten which parts of your body belong to you. There’s pressure behind your eyes. A dull roar in your ears. Cold at your fingertips.

Then—sound. Beeping. Monitors. A cart wheeling past. Someone saying Vitals stable, pressure’s holding. A laugh in the hallway. Fluorescents. Fabric rustling. And—

A chair creaking.

You know that sound.

You’d recognize that silence anywhere. You open your eyes, slowly, blinking against the light. Vision blurred. Chest tight. There’s a rawness in your throat like you’ve been screaming underwater. Everything hurts, but one thing registers clear:

Jack.

Jack Abbot is sitting beside you.

He’s hunched forward in a chair too small for him, arms braced on his knees like he’s ready to stand, like he can’t stand. There’s a hospital badge clipped to his scrub pocket. His jaw is tight. There’s something smudged on his cheekbone—blood? You don’t know. His hair is shorter than you remember, greyer.

But it’s him. And for a second—just one—you forget the last seven years ever happened.

You forget the apartment. The silence. The day he walked out with his duffel and didn’t look back. Because right now, he’s here. Breathing. Watching you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse.

You try to swallow. You can’t.

“Don’t—” he sits up, suddenly, gently. “Don’t try to talk yet. You were intubated. Rollover crash—” He falters. “Jesus. You’re okay. You’re here.”

You blink, hard. Your eyes sting. Everything is out of focus except him. He leans forward a little more, his hands resting just beside yours on the bed.

“I thought you were dead,” he says. “Or married. Or halfway across the world. I thought—” He stops. His throat works around the words. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

You close your eyes for a second. It’s too much. His voice. His face. The sound of you’re okay coming from the person who once made it hurt the most. You shift your gaze—try to ground yourself in something solid.

And that’s when you see it.

His hand.

Resting casually near yours.

Ring finger tilted toward the light.

Gold band. 

Simple.

Permanent.

You freeze.

It’s like your lungs forget what to do.

You look at the ring. Then at him. Then at the ring again.

He follows your gaze.

And flinches.

“Fuck,” Jack says under his breath, immediately leaning back like distance might make it easier. Like you didn’t just see it.

He drags a hand through his hair, rubs the back of his neck, looks anywhere but at you.

“She’s not—” He pauses. “It’s not what you think.”

You’re barely able to croak a whisper. Your voice scrapes like gravel: “You’re married?”

His head snaps up.

“No.” Beat. “Not yet.”

Yet. That word is worse than a bullet. You stare at him. And what you see floors you.

Guilt.

Exhaustion.

Something that might be grief. But not regret. He’s not here asking for forgiveness. He’s here because you almost died. Because for a minute, he thought he’d never get the chance to say goodbye right. But he didn’t come back for you.

He moved on.

And you didn’t even get to see it happen. You turn your face away. It takes everything you have not to sob, not to scream, not to rip the IV out of your arm just to feel something other than this. Jack leans forward again, like he might try to fix it.

Like he still could.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “I didn’t know I’d ever see you again.”

“I didn’t know you’d stop waiting,” you rasp.

And that’s it. That’s the one that lands. He goes very still.

“I waited,” he says, softly. “Longer than I should’ve. I kept the spare key. I left the porch light on. Every time someone knocked on the door, I thought—maybe. Maybe it’s you.”

Your eyes well up. He shakes his head. Looks away. “But you never called. Never sent anything. And eventually... I thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper. “Because I didn’t want to know you’d already replaced me.”

The silence after that is unbearable. And then: the soft knock of a nurse at the door.

Dana. 

She peeks in, eyes flicking between the two of you, and reads the room instantly.

“We’re moving her to step-down in fifteen,” she says gently. “Just wanted to give you a heads up.” Jack nods. Doesn’t look at her. Dana lingers for a beat, then quietly slips out. You don’t speak. Neither does he. He just stands there for another long moment. Like he wants to stay. But knows he shouldn’t. Finally, he exhales—low, shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Not for leaving. Not for loving someone else. Just for the wreckage of it all. And then he walks out. Leaving you in that bed. 

Bleeding in places no scan can find.

9:12 AM

The room was smaller than the trauma bay. Cleaner. Quieter.

The lights were soft, filtered through high, narrow windows that let in just enough Pittsburgh morning to remind you the world kept moving, even when yours had slammed into a guardrail at seventy-three miles an hour.

You were propped at a slight angle—enough to breathe without straining the sutures in your side. Your ribs still ached with every inhale. Your left arm was in a sling. There was dried blood in your hairline no one had washed out yet. But you were alive. They told you that three times already.

Alive. Stable. Awake.

As if saying it aloud could undo the fact that Jack Abbot is engaged. You stared at the wall like it might give you answers. He hadn't come back. You didn’t ask for him. And still—every time a nurse came in, every time the door clicked open, every shuffle of shoes in the hallway—you hoped. 

You hated yourself for it.

You hadn’t cried yet.

That surprised you. You thought waking up and seeing him again—for the first time in years, after everything—would snap something loose in your chest. But it didn’t. It just… sat there. Heavy. Silent. Like grief that didn’t know where to go.

There was a soft knock on the frame.

You turned your head slowly, your throat too raw to ask who it was.

It wasn’t Jack.

It was a man you didn’t recognize. Late forties, maybe fifties. Navy hoodie. Clipboard. Glasses slipped low on his nose. He looked tired—but held together in the kind of way that made it clear he'd been the glue for other people more than once.

“I’m Dr. Robinavitch.” he said gently. You just blinked at him.

“I’m... one of the attendings. I was off when they brought you in, but I heard.”

He didn’t step closer right away. Then—“Mind if I sit?”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t say no. He pulled the chair from the corner. Sat down slow, like he wasn’t sure how fragile the air was between you. He didn’t check your vitals. Didn’t chart.

Just sat.

Present. In that quiet, steady way that makes you feel like maybe you don’t have to hold all the weight alone.

“Hell of a night,” he said after a while. “You had everyone rattled.”

You didn’t reply. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling again. He rubbed a hand down the side of his jaw.

“Jack hasn’t looked like that in a long time.”

That made you flinch. Your head turned, slow and deliberate.

You stared at him. “He talk about me?” 

Robby gave a small smile. Not pitying. Not smug. Just... true. “No. Not really.”

You looked away. 

“But he didn’t have to,” he added.

You froze.

“I’ve seen him leave mid-conversation to answer texts that never came. Watched him walk out into the ambulance bay on his nights off—like he was waiting for someone who never showed. Never stayed the night anywhere but home. Always looked at the hallway like something might appear if he stared hard enough.”

Your throat burned.

“He never said your name,” Robby continued, voice low but certain. “But there’s a box under his bed. A spare key on his ring—been there for years, never used, never taken off. And that old mug in the back of his locker? The one that doesn’t match anything? You start to notice the things people hold onto when they’re trying not to forget.”

You blinked hard. “There’s a box?”

Robby nodded, slow. “Yeah. Tucked under the bed like he didn’t mean to keep it but never got around to throwing it out. Letters—some unopened, some worn through like he read them a hundred times. A photo of you, old and creased, like he carried it once and forgot how to let it go. Hospital badge. Bracelet from some field clinic. Even a napkin with your handwriting on it—faded, but folded like it meant something.”

You closed your eyes. That was worse than any of the bruises.

“He compartmentalizes,” Robby said. “It’s how he stays functional. It’s what he’s good at.”

You whispered it, barely audible: “It was survival.”

“Sure. Until it isn’t.”

Another silence settled between you. Comfortable, in a way.

Then—“He’s engaged,” you said, your voice flat.

Robby didn’t blink. “Yeah. I know.”

“Is she…?”

“She’s good,” he said. “Smart. Teaches third grade in Squirrel Hill. Not from medicine. I think that’s why it worked.”

You nodded slowly.

“Does she know about me?”

Robby looked down. Didn’t answer. You nodded again. That was enough. 

He stood eventually.

Straightened the front of his hoodie. Rested the clipboard against his side like he’d forgotten why he even brought it.

“He’ll come back,” he said. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.”

You didn’t look at him. Just stared out the window. Your voice was quiet.

“I don’t want him to.”

Robby gave you one last look.

One that said: Yeah. You do.

Then he turned and left.

And this time, when the door clicked shut—you cried.

DAY FOUR– 11:41 PM

The hospital was quiet. Quieter than it had been in days.

You’d finally started walking the length of your room again, IV pole rolling beside you like a loyal dog. The sling was irritating. Your ribs still hurt when you coughed. The staples in your scalp itched every time the air conditioner kicked on.

But you were alive. They said you could go home soon. Problem was—you didn’t know where home was anymore. The hallway light outside your room flickered once. You’d been drifting near sleep, curled on your side in the too-small hospital bed, one leg drawn up, wires tugging gently against your skin.

Before you could brace, the door opened. And there he was.

Jack didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, shadowed in the doorway, scrub top wrinkled like he’d fallen asleep in it, hair slightly damp like he’d washed his face too many times and still didn’t feel clean. You sat up slowly, heart punching through your chest.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t look like the man who used to make you coffee barefoot in the kitchen, or fold your laundry without being asked, or trace the inside of your wrist when he thought you were asleep.

He looked like a stranger who remembered your body too well.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he said quietly, finally. You didn’t respond.

Jack stepped inside. Closed the door gently behind him.

The room felt too small.

Your throat ached.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he continued, voice low. “Didn’t know if you’d want to see me. After... everything.”

You sat up straighter. “I didn’t.”

That hit.

But he nodded. Took it. Absorbed it like punishment he thought he deserved.

Still, he didn’t leave. He stood at the foot of your bed like he wasn’t sure he was allowed any closer.

“Why are you here, Jack?”

He looked at you. Eyes full of everything he hadn’t said since he walked out years ago.

“I needed to see you,” he said, and it was so goddamn quiet you almost missed it. “I needed to know you were still real.”

Your heart cracked in two.

“Real,” you repeated. “You mean like alive? Or like not something you shoved in a box under your bed?”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “You think any of this is fair?”

Jack stepped closer.

“I didn’t plan to love you the way I did.”

“You didn’t plan to leave, either. But you did that too.”

“I was trying to save something of myself.”

“And I was collateral damage?”

He flinched. Looked down. “You were the only thing that ever made me want to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He shook his head. “Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to come back and be yours forever when all I’d ever been was temporary.” Silence crashed into the space between you. And then, barely above a whisper:

“Does she know you still dream about me?”

That made him look up. Like you’d punched the wind out of him. Like you’d reached into his chest and found the place that still belonged to you. He stepped closer. One more inch and he’d be at your bedside.

“You have every reason not to forgive me,” he said quietly. “But the truth is—I’ve never felt for anyone what I felt for you.”

You looked up at him, voice raw: “Then why are you marrying her?”

Jack’s mouth opened. But nothing came out. You looked away.

Eyes burning.

Lips trembling.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you said. “I want the version of you that stayed.”

He stepped back, like that was the final blow.

But you weren’t done.

“I loved you so hard it wrecked me,” you whispered. “And all I ever asked was that you love me loud enough to stay. But you didn’t. And now you want to stand in this room and act like I’m some kind of unfinished chapter—like you get to come back and cry at the ending?”

Jack breathed in like it hurt. Like the air wasn’t going in right.

“I came back,” he said. “I came back because I couldn’t breathe without knowing you were okay.”

“And now you know.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy, jaw tight.

“So go home to her.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t do what you asked.

He just stood there—bleeding in the quiet—while you looked away.

DAY SEVEN– 5:12 PM

You left the hospital with a dull ache behind your ribs and a discharge summary you didn’t bother reading. They told you to stay another three days. Said your pain control wasn’t stable. Said you needed another neuro eval.

You said you’d call.

You wouldn’t.

You packed what little you had in silence—folded the hospital gown, signed the paperwork with hands that still trembled. No one stopped you. You walked out the front doors like a ghost slipping through traffic.

Alive.

Untethered.

Unhealed.

But gone.

YOUR APARTMENT– 8:44 PM

It wasn’t much. A studio above a laundromat on Butler Street. One couch. One coffee mug. A bed you didn’t make. You sat cross-legged on top of the blanket in your hospital sweats, ribs bandaged tight beneath your shirt, hair still blood-matted near the scalp.

You hadn’t turned on the lights.

You hadn’t eaten.

You were staring at the wall when the knock came.

Three short taps.

Then his voice.

“It's me.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Then the second knock.

“Please. Just open the door.”

You stood. Slowly. Every joint screamed. When you opened it, there he was. Still in black scrubs. Still tired. Still wearing that ring.

“You left,” he said, breath fogging in the cold.

You leaned against the frame. “I wasn’t going to wait around for someone who already left me once.”

“I deserved that.”

“You deserve worse.”

He nodded. Took it like a man used to pain. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated.

Then stepped aside.

He didn’t sit. Just stood there—awkward, towering, hands in his pockets, taking in the chipped paint, the stack of unopened mail, the folded blanket at the edge of the bed.

“This place is...”

“Mine.”

He nodded again. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Silence.

You walked back to the bed, sat down slowly. He stood across from you like you were a patient and he didn’t know what was broken.

“What do you want, Jack?”

His jaw flexed. “I want to be in your life again.”

You blinked. Laughed once, sharp and short. “Right. And what does that look like? You with her, and me playing backup singer?”

“No.” His voice was quiet. “Just... just a friend.”

Your breath caught.

He stepped forward. “I know I don’t deserve more than that. I know I hurt you. And I know this—this thing between us—it's not what it was. But I still care. And if all I can be is a number in your phone again, then let me.”

You looked down.

Your hands were shaking.

You didn’t want this. You wanted him. All of him.

But you knew how this would end.

You’d sit across from him in cafés, pretending not to look at his left hand.

You’d laugh at his stories, knowing his warmth would go home to someone else.

You’d let him in—inch by inch—until there was nothing left of you that hadn’t shaped itself to him again.

And still.

Still—“Okay,” you said.

Jack looked at you.

Like he couldn’t believe it.

“Friends,” you added.

He nodded slowly. “Friends.”

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him any longer, you'd say something that would shatter you both.

Because this was the next best thing.

And you knew, even as you said it, even as you offered him your heart wrapped in barbed wire—It was going to break you.

DAY TEN – 6:48 PM Steeped & Co. Café – Two blocks from The Pitt

You told yourself this wasn’t a date.

It was coffee. It was public. It was neutral ground.

But the way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking made it feel like you were twenty again, waiting for him to show up at the Greyhound station with his army bag and half a smile.

He walked in ten minutes late. He ordered his drink without looking at the menu. He always knew what he wanted—except when it came to you.

“You’re limping less,” he said, settling across from you like you hadn’t been strangers for the last seven years. You lifted your tea, still too hot to drink. “You’re still observant.”

He smiled—small. Quiet. The kind that used to make you forgive him too fast. The first fifteen minutes were surface-level. Traffic. ER chaos. This new intern, Santos, doing something reckless. Robby calling him “Doctor Doom” under his breath.

It should’ve been easy.

But the space between you felt alive.

Charged.

Unforgivable.

He leaned forward at one point, arms on the table, and you caught the flick of his hand—

The ring.

You looked away. Pretended not to care.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, lying. “Mostly.”

He reached across the table then—just for a second—like he might touch your hand. He didn’t. Your breath caught anyway. And neither of you spoke for a while.

DAY TWELVE – 2:03 PM Your apartment

You couldn’t sleep. Again.

The pain meds made your body heavy, but your head was always screaming. You’d been lying in bed for hours, fully dressed, lights off, scrolling old texts with one hand while your other rubbed slow, nervous circles into the bandages around your ribs.

There was a text from him.

"You okay?"

You stared at it for a full minute before responding.

"No."

You expected silence.

Instead: a knock.

You didn’t even ask how he got there so fast. You opened the door and he stepped in like he hadn’t been waiting in his car, like he hadn’t been hoping you’d need him just enough.

He looked exhausted.

You stepped back. Let him in.

He sat on the edge of the couch. Hands folded. Knees apart. Staring at the wall like it might break the tension.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” you whispered. “I keep... hearing it. The crash. The metal. The quiet after.”

Jack swallowed hard. His jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

You both went quiet again. It always came in waves with him—things left unsaid that took up more space than the words ever could. Eventually, he leaned back against the couch cushion, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I think about you all the time,” he said, voice low, wrecked.

You didn’t move.

“You’re in the room when I’m doing intake. When I’m changing gloves. When I get in the car and my left hand hits the wheel and I see the ring and I wonder why it’s not you.”

Your breath hitched.

“But I made a choice,” he said. “And I can’t undo it without hurting someone who’s never hurt me.”

You finally turned toward him. “Then why are you here?”

He looked at you, eyes dark and honest. “Because the second you came back, I couldn’t breathe.”

You kissed him.

You don’t remember who moved first. If you leaned forward, or if he cupped your face like he used to. But suddenly, you were kissing him. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was devastated.

His mouth was salt and memory and apology.

Your hands curled in his shirt. He was whispering your name against your lips like it still belonged to him.

You pulled away first.

“Go home,” you said, voice cracking.

“Don’t do this—”

“Go home to her, Jack.”

And he did.

He always did.

DAY THIRTEEN – 7:32 PM

You don’t eat.

You don’t leave your apartment.

You scrub the counter three times and throw out your tea mug because it smells like him.

You sit on the bathroom floor and press a towel to your ribs until the pain brings you back into your body.

You start a text seven times.

You never send it.

DAY SEVENTEEN — 11:46 PM

The takeout was cold. Neither of you had touched it.

Jack’s gaze hadn’t left you all night.

Low. Unreadable. He hadn’t smiled once.

“You never stopped loving me,” you said suddenly. Quiet. Dangerous. “Did you?”

His jaw flexed. You pressed harder.

“Say it.”

“I never stopped,” he rasped.

That was all it took.

You surged forward.

His hands found your face. Your hips. Your hair. He kissed you like he’d been holding his breath since the last time. Teeth and tongue and broken sounds in the back of his throat.

Your back hit the wall hard.

“Fuck—” he muttered, grabbing your thigh, hitching it up. His fingers pressed into your skin like he didn’t care if he left marks. “I can’t believe you still taste like this.”

You gasped into his mouth, nails dragging down his chest. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He had your clothes off before you could breathe. His mouth moved down—your throat, your collarbone, between your breasts, tongue hot and slow like he was punishing you for every year he spent wondering if you hated him.

“You still wear my t-shirt to bed?” he whispered against your breasts voice thick. “You still get wet thinking about me?”

You whimpered. “Jack—”

His name came out like a sin.

He dropped to his knees.

“Let me hear it,” he said, dragging his mouth between your thighs, voice already breathless. “Tell me you still want me.”

Your head dropped back.

“I never stopped.”

And then his mouth was on you—filthy and brutal.

Tongue everywhere, fingers stroking you open while his other hand gripped your thigh like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

You were already shaking when he growled, “You still taste like mine.”

You cried out—high and wrecked—and he kept going.

Faster.

Sloppier.

Like he wanted to ruin every memory of anyone else who might’ve touched you.

He made you come with your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips grinding helplessly against his face, your thighs quivering around his jaw while you moaned his name like you couldn’t stop.

He stood.

His clothes were off in seconds. Nothing left between you but raw air and your shared history. His cock was thick, flushed, angry against his stomach—dripping with need, twitching every time you breathed.

You stared at it.

At him.

At the ring still on his finger.

He saw your eyes.

Slipped it off.

Tossed it across the room without a word.

Then slammed you against the wall again and slid inside.

No teasing.

No waiting.

Just deep.

You gasped—too full, too fast—and he buried his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I shouldn’t—fuck—I shouldn’t be doing this.”

But he didn’t stop.

He thrust so deep your eyes rolled back.

It was everything at once.

Your name on his lips like an apology. His hands on your waist like he’d never let go again. Your nails digging into his back like maybe you could keep him this time. He fucked you like he’d never get the chance again. Like he was angry you still had this effect on him. Like he was still in love with you and didn’t know how to carry it anymore.

He spat on his fingers and rubbed your clit until you were screaming his name.

“Louder,” he snapped, fucking into you hard. “Let the neighbors hear who makes you come.”

You came again.

And again.

Shaking. Crying. Overstimulated.

“Open your eyes,” he panted. “Look at me.”

You did.

He was close.

You could feel it in the way he lost rhythm, the way his grip got desperate, the way he whimpered your name like he was begging.

“Inside,” you whispered, legs wrapped around him. “Don’t pull out.”

He froze.

Then nodded, forehead dropping to yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

And then he came—deep, full, shaking inside you with a broken moan so raw it felt holy.

After, you lay together on the floor. Sweat-slicked. Bruised. Silent.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Because you both knew—

This changed everything.

And nothing.

DAY EIGHTEEN — 7:34 AM

Sunlight creeps in through the slats of your blinds, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floor, your shoulder, his back.

Jack’s asleep in your bed. He’s on his side, one arm flung across your stomach like instinct, like a claim. His hand rests just above your hip—fingers twitching every now and then, like some part of him knows this moment isn’t real. Or at least, not allowed. Your body aches in places that feel worshipped. 

You don’t feel guilty.

Yet.

You stare at the ceiling. You haven’t spoken in hours.

Not since he whispered “I love you” while he was still inside you.

Not since he collapsed onto your chest like it might save him.

Not since he kissed your shoulder and didn’t say goodbye.

You shift slowly beneath the sheets. His hand tightens. 

Like he knows.

Like he knows.

You stay still. You don’t want to be the one to move first. Because if you move, the night ends. If you move, the spell breaks. And Jack Abbot goes back to being someone else's.

Eventually, he stirs.

His breath shifts against your collarbone.

Then—

“Morning.”

His voice is low. Sleep-rough. Familiar.

It hurts worse than silence. You force a soft hum, not trusting your throat to form words.

He lifts his head a little.

Looks at you. Hair mussed. Eyes unreadable. Bare skin still flushed from where he touched you hours ago. You expect regret. But all you see is heartbreak.

“Shouldn’t have stayed,” he says softly.

You close your eyes.

“I know.”

He sits up slowly. Sheets falling around his waist.

You follow the line of his back with your gaze. Every scar. Every knot in his spine. The curve of his shoulder blades you used to trace with your fingers when you were twenty-something and stupid enough to think love was enough.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it.

“I told her I was working overnight.”

You feel your breath catch.

“She called me at midnight,” he adds. “I didn’t answer.”

You sit up too. Tug the blanket around your chest like modesty matters now.

“Is this the part where you tell me it was a mistake?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

Then—“No,” he says. “It’s the part where I tell you I don’t know how to go home.”

You both sit there for a long time.

Naked.

Wordless.

Surrounded by the echo of what you used to be.

You finally speak.

“Do you love her?”

Silence.

“I respect her,” he says. “She’s good. Steady. Nothing’s ever hard with her.”

You swallow. “That’s not an answer.”

Jack turns to you then. Eyes tired. Voice raw.

“I’ve never stopped loving you.”

It lands in your chest like a sucker punch.

Because you know. You always knew. But now you’ve heard it again. And it doesn’t fix a goddamn thing.

“I can’t do this again,” you whisper.

Jack nods. “I know.”

“But I’ll keep doing it anyway,” you add. “If you let me.”

His jaw tightens. His throat works around something thick.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“But you will.”

You both know he has to.

And he does.

He dresses slowly.

Doesn’t kiss you.

Doesn’t say goodbye.

He finds his ring.

Puts it back on.

And walks out.

The door closes.

And you break.

Because this—this is the cost of almost.

8:52 AM

You don’t move for twenty-three minutes after the door shuts.

You don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You just exist.

Your chest rises and falls beneath the blanket. That same spot where he laid his head a few hours ago still feels heavy. You think if you touch it, it’ll still be warm.

You don’t.

You don’t want to prove yourself wrong. Your body aches everywhere. The kind of ache that isn’t just from the crash, or the stitches, or the way he held your hips so tightly you’re going to bruise. It’s the kind of ache you can’t ice. It’s the kind that lingers in your lungs.

Eventually, you sit up.

Your legs feel unsteady beneath you. Your knees shake as you gather the clothes scattered across the floor. His shirt—the one you wore while he kissed your throat and said “I love you” into your skin—gets tossed in the hamper like it doesn’t still smell like him. Your hand lingers on it.

You shove it deeper.

Harder.

Like burying it will stop the memory from clawing up your throat.

You make coffee you won’t drink.

You wash your face three times and still look like someone who got left behind.

You open your phone.

One new text.

“Did you eat?”

You don’t respond. Because what do you say to a man who left you raw and split open just to slide a ring back on someone else’s finger? You try to leave the apartment that afternoon. 

You make it as far as the sidewalk.

Then you turn around and vomit into the bushes.

You don’t sleep that night.

You lie awake with your fingers curled into your sheets, shaking.

Your thighs ache.

Your mouth is dry.

You dream of him once—his hand pressed to your sternum like a prayer, whispering “don’t let go.”

When you wake, your chest is wet with tears and you don’t remember crying.

DAY TWENTY TWO— 4:17 PM Your apartment

It starts slow.

A dull ache in your upper abdomen. Like a pulled muscle or bad cramp. You ignore it. You’ve been ignoring everything. Pain means you’re healing, right?

But by 4:41 p.m., you’re on the floor of your bathroom, knees to your chest, drenched in sweat. You’re cold. Shaking. The pain is blooming now—hot and deep and wrong. You try to stand. Your vision goes white. Then you’re on your back, blinking at the ceiling.

And everything goes quiet.

THE PITT – 5:28 PM

You’re unconscious when the EMTs wheel you in. Vitals unstable. BP crashing. Internal bleeding suspected. It takes Jack ten seconds to recognize you.

One to feel like he’s going to throw up.

“Mid-thirties female. No trauma this week, but old injuries. Seatbelt bruise still present. Suspected splenic rupture, possible bleed out. BP’s eighty over forty and falling.”

Jack is already moving.

He steps into the trauma bay like a man walking into fire.

It’s you.

God. It’s you again.

Worse this time.

“Her name is [Y/N],” he says tightly, voice rough. “We need OR on standby. Now.”

6:01 PM

You’re barely conscious as they prep you for CT. Jack is beside you, masked, gloved, sterile. But his voice trembles when he says your name. You blink up at him.

Barely there.

“Hurts,” you rasp.

He leans close, ignoring protocol.

“I know. I’ve got you. Stay with me, okay?”

6:27 PM

The scan confirms it.

Grade IV splenic rupture. Bleeding into the abdomen.

You’re going into surgery.

Fast.

You grab his hand before they wheel you out. Your grip is weak. But desperate.

You look at him—“I don’t want to die thinking I meant nothing.”

His face breaks. And then they take you away.

Jack doesn’t move.

Just stands there in blood-streaked gloves, shaking.

Because this time, he might actually lose you.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll survive that twice.

9:12 PM Post-op recovery, ICU step-down

You come back slowly. The drugs are heavy. Your throat is dry. Your ribs feel tighter than before. There’s a new weight in your abdomen, dull and throbbing. You try to lift your hand and fail. Your IV pole beeps at you like it's annoyed.

Then there’s a shadow.

Jack.

You try to say his name.

It comes out as a rasp. He jerks his head up like he’s been underwater.

He looks like hell. Eyes bloodshot. Hands shaking. He’s still in scrubs—stained, wrinkled, exhausted.

“Hey,” he breathes, standing fast. His hand wraps gently around yours. You let it. You don’t have the strength to fight.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispers.

You blink at him.

There are tears in your eyes. You don’t know if they’re yours or his.

“What…?” you rasp.

“Your spleen ruptured,” he says quietly. “You were bleeding internally. We almost lost you in the trauma bay. Again.”

You blink slowly.

“You looked empty,” he says, voice cracking. “Still. Your eyes were open, but you weren’t there. And I thought—fuck, I thought—”

He stops. You squeeze his fingers.

It’s all you can do.

There’s a long pause.

Heavy.

Then—“She called.”

You don’t ask who.

You don’t have to.

Jack stares at the floor.

“I told her I couldn’t talk. That I was... handling a case. That I’d call her after.”

You close your eyes.

You want to sleep.

You want to scream.

“She’s starting to ask questions,” he adds softly.

You open your eyes again. “Then lie better.”

He flinches.

“I’m not proud of this,” he says.

You look at him like he just told you the sky was blue. “Then leave.”

“I can’t.”

“You did last time.”

Jack leans forward, his forehead almost touching the edge of your mattress. His voice is low. Cracked. “I can’t lose you again.”

You’re quiet for a long time.

Then you ask, so small he barely hears it:

“If I’d died... would you have told her?”

His head lifts. Your eyes meet. And he doesn’t answer.

Because you already know the truth.

He stands, slowly, scraping the chair back like the sound might stall his momentum. “I should let you sleep,” he adds.

“Don’t,” you say, voice raw. “Not yet.”

He freezes. Then nods.

He moves back to the chair, but instead of sitting, he leans over the bed and presses his lips to your forehead—gently, like he’s scared it’ll hurt. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish again. You don’t close your eyes. You don’t let yourself fall into it.

Because kisses are easy.

Staying is not.

DAY TWENTY FOUR — 9:56 AM Dana wheels you to discharge. Your hands are clenched tight around the armrests, fingers stiff. Jack’s nowhere in sight. Good. You can’t decide if you want to see him—or hit him.

“You got someone picking you up?” Dana asks, handing off the chart.

You nod. “Uber.”

She doesn’t push. Just places a hand on your shoulder as you stand—slow, steady.

“Be gentle with yourself,” she says. “You survived twice.”

DAY THIRTY ONE – 8:07 PM

The knock comes just after sunset.

You’re barefoot. Still in the clothes you wore to your follow-up appointment—a hoodie two sizes too big, a bandage under your ribs that still stings every time you twist too fast. There’s a cup of tea on the counter you haven’t touched. The air in the apartment is thick with something you can’t name. Something worse than dread.

You don’t move at first. Just stare at the door.

Then—again.

Three soft raps.

Like he’s asking permission. Like he already knows he shouldn’t be here. You walk over slowly, pulse loud in your ears. Your fingers hesitate at the lock.

“Don’t,” you whisper to yourself. You open the door anyway.

Jack stands there. Gray hoodie. Dark jeans. He’s holding a plastic grocery bag, like this is something casual, like he’s a neighbor stopping by, not the man who left you in pieces across two hospital beds.

Your voice comes out hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” he says, quiet. “But I think I should’ve been here a long time ago.”

You don’t speak. You step aside.

He walks in like he doesn’t expect to stay. Doesn’t look around. Doesn’t sit. Just stands there, holding that grocery bag like it might shield him from what he’s about to say.

“I told her,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

He lifts his gaze to yours. “Last night. Everything. The hospital. That night. The truth.”

Your jaw tenses. “And what, she just… let you walk away?”

He sets the bag on your kitchen counter. It’s shaking slightly in his grip. “No. She cried. Screamed. Told me to get out”

You feel yourself pulling away from him, emotionally, physically—like your body’s trying to protect you before your heart caves in again. “Jesus, Jack.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come back with your half-truths and trauma and expect me to just be here.”

“I didn’t come expecting anything.”

You whirl back to him, raw. “Then why did you come?”

His voice doesn’t rise. But it cuts. “Because you almost died. Again. Because I’ve spent the last week realizing that no one else has ever felt like home.”

You shake your head. “That doesn’t change the fact that you left me when I needed you. That I begged you to choose peace. And you chose chaos. Every goddamn time.”

He closes the distance slowly, but not too close. Not yet.

“You think I don’t live with that?” His voice drops. 

You falter, tears threatening. “Then why didn’t you try harder?”

“I thought you’d moved on.”

“I tried,” you say, voice cracking. “I tried so hard to move on, to let someone else in, to build something new with hands that were still learning how to stop reaching for you. But every man I met—it was like eating soup with a fork. I’d sit across from them, smiling, nodding, pretending I wasn’t starving, pretending I didn’t notice the emptiness. They didn’t know me. Not really. Not the version of me that stayed up folding your shirts, tracking your deployment cities like constellations, holding the weight of a future you kept promising but never chose. Not the me that kept the lights on when you disappeared into silence. Not the me that made excuses for your absence until it started sounding like prayer.”

Jack’s face shifts—subtle at first, then like a crack running straight through the foundation. His jaw tightens. His mouth opens. Closes. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough around the edges, as if the admission itself costs him something he doesn’t have to spare.

“I didn’t think I deserved to come back,” he says. “Not after the way I left. Not after how long I stayed gone. Not after all the ways I chose silence over showing up.”

You stare at him, breath shallow, chest tight.

“Maybe you didn’t,” you say quietly, not to hurt him—but because it’s true. And it hangs there between you, heavy and undeniable.

The silence that follows is thick. Stretching. Bruising.

Then, just when you think he might finally say something that unravels everything all over again, he gestures to the bag he’s still clutching like it might anchor him to the floor.

“I brought soup,” he says, voice low and awkward. “And real tea—the kind you like. Not the grocery store crap. And, um… a roll of gauze. The soft kind. I remembered you said the hospital ones made you break out, and I thought…”

He trails off, unsure, like he’s realizing mid-sentence how pitiful it all sounds when laid bare.

You blink, hard. Trying to keep the tears in their lane.

“You brought first aid and soup?”

He nods, half a breath catching in his throat. “Yeah. I didn’t know what else you’d let me give you.”

There’s a beat.

A heartbeat.

Then it hits you.

That’s what undoes you—not the apology, not the fact that he told her, not even the way he’s looking at you like he’s seeing a ghost he never believed he’d get to touch again. It’s the soup. It’s the gauze. It’s the goddamn tea. It’s the way Jack Abbot always came bearing supplies when he didn’t know how to offer himself.

You sink down onto the couch too fast, knees buckling like your body can’t hold the weight of all the things you’ve swallowed just to stay upright this week.

Elbows on your thighs. Face in your hands.

Your voice breaks as it comes out:

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

It’s not rhetorical. It’s not flippant.

It’s shattered. Exhausted. Full of every version of love that’s ever let you down. And he knows it.

And for a long, breathless moment—you don’t move.

Jack walks over. Kneels down. His hands hover, not touching, just there.

You look at him, eyes full of every scar he left you with. “You said you'd come back once. You didn’t.”

“I came back late,” he says. “But I’m here now. And I’m staying.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t promise me that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

You shake your head, hard, like you’re trying to physically dislodge the ache from your chest. 

“I’m still mad,” you say, voice cracking.

Jack doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to defend himself. He just nods, slow and solemn, like he’s rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head. “You’re allowed to be,” he says quietly. “I’ll still be here.”

Your throat tightens.

“I don’t trust you,” you whisper, and it tastes like blood in your mouth—like betrayal and memory and all the nights you cried yourself to sleep because he was halfway across the world and you still loved him anyway.

“I know,” he says. “Then let me earn it.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your whole body is trembling—not with rage, but with grief. With the ache of wanting something so badly and being terrified you’ll never survive getting it again.

Jack moves slowly. Doesn’t close the space between you entirely, just enough. Enough that his hand—rough and familiar—reaches out and rests on your knee. His palm is warm. Grounding. Careful.

Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense. But you don’t pull away.

You couldn’t if you tried.

His voice drops even lower, like if he speaks any louder, the whole thing will break apart.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” he says.

He pauses. Swallows hard. His eyes glisten in the low light.

“I put the ring in a drawer. Told her the truth. That I’m in love with someone else. That I’ve always been.”

You look up, sharply. “You told her that?”

He nods. Doesn’t blink. “She said she already knew. That she’d known for a long time.”

Your chest tightens again, this time from something different. Not anger. Not pain. Something that hurts in its truth.

He goes on. And this part—this part wrecks him.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmurs. “She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to love someone who only ever gave her the version of himself that was pretending to be healed.”

You don’t interrupt. You just watch him come undone. Gently. Quietly.

“She was kind,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Good. Steady. The kind of person who makes things simple. Who doesn’t expect too much, or ask questions when you go quiet. And even with all of that—even with the life we were building—I couldn’t stop waiting for the sound of your voice.”

You blink hard, breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your ribs.

“I’d check my phone,” he continues. “At night. In the morning. In the middle of conversations. I’d look out the window like maybe you’d just… show up. Like the universe owed me one more shot. One more chance to fix the thing I broke when I walked away from the one person who ever made me feel like home.”

You can’t stop crying now. Quiet tears. The kind that come when there’s nothing left to scream.

“I hated you,” you whisper. “I hated you for a long time.”

He nods, eyes on yours. “So did I.”

And somehow, that’s what softens you.

Because you can’t hate him through this. You can’t pretend this version of him isn’t bleeding too.

You exhale shakily. “I don’t know if I can do this again.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he says, “Not all at once. Just… let me sit with you. Let me hold space. Let me remind you who I was—who I could be—if you let me stay this time.”

And god help you—some fragile, tired, still-broken part of you wants to believe him.

“If I say yes... if I let you in again...”

He waits. Doesn’t breathe.

“You don’t get to leave next time,” you whisper. “Not without looking me in the eye.”

Jack nods.

“I won’t.”

You reach for his hand. Lace your fingers together.And for the first time since everything shattered—You let yourself believe he might stay.

[deltarogers]

FRENZY

PAIRING: Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

SUMMARY: Steve comes home to you from a mission after being hit with some sort of powder. Turns out it’s an aphrodisiac…and it’s strong.

WARNINGS: PURE SMUT, no plot really, 18+, MDNI, SHORT AND NOT PROOFREAD.

A/N: I was craving some depraved Steve, so here! I had this in the drafts and decided to finish it. I hope you guys enjoy! I have more plot thick fics coming out soon!

You were curled on the couch with a half-finished mug of tea, a blanket draped across your legs and your phone dimming with a forgotten text thread. The apartment was quiet, soft city sounds bleeding through the windows…too quiet without him.

Missions always made you anxious. Steve could take a punch better than anyone, but still... he was your safe place, your constant, and when he was gone, it felt like the world had lost color.

He was late. And not in the usual "had to stop by HQ for debrief" kind of way. No, this was hours.

Long enough that you'd started pacing. Long enough that when the front door finally clicked open, your breath caught in your throat, heart thudding.

He was staring at you like he hadn't seen you in years. Like he was starving. His fingers flexed at his sides, and he didn't speak, didn't drop his duffel, just closed the door behind him and locked it with a decisive click.

"Steve?" You were hesitant. "Are you okay?"

He was not. At least, not by your standards. His chest was rising and falling faster than it should've been for someone who'd just walked in. Sweat beaded at his temples. His voice was rough when he finally spoke.

"They hit us with something. Some kind of fuck- I don't even know. Red powder. Natasha said it was a hallucinogen. But it's not. Not really. It's..." His eyes dragged over your body like a caress.

"It's something else."

You were swallowing thickly, heart racing as you stepped closer. "What do you mean something else?"

He was already moving. One second, you were standing near the kitchen island, next, your back was pressed against it, and he was crowding into your space, heat pouring off him in waves.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he was growling now, words bitten off between clenched teeth. "Since it hit me. Can't breathe right unless I'm near you. My skin hurts. Everything hurts, except when I think about touching you. Being inside you."

You were breathless. Scorched. Wet already, embarrassingly fast, and he hadn't even laid a hand on you yet. "Steve-"

He was kissing you before you could finish, mouth crashing into yours. Desperate. Messy. He groaned like it hurt to kiss you, like it hurt not to. His hands grabbed at your hips, your waist, your thighs, like he couldn't decide where to touch first.

You were melting. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugged hard, and this made him growl into your mouth.

"Bedroom…" You tried to say

"No time," he was gasping, already pulling your sleep shirt up, hands greedy and trembling. "I need you now. Right now."

You were half-lifted onto the counter, legs parting for him automatically, instinctively, as if your body had already made the decision for you.

He tore at his suit, too frenzied for finesse, groaning low in his throat as he freed his cock…thick, hard, already dripping.

He was out of his mind. Kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

Pressing the blunt head of his cock against you, slick with your arousal. "You smell like heaven," he said. "Taste better. Fuck- gonna die if I don't-“ He mumbled, not able to finish a single thought as you consumed him.

You were gasping as he pushed himself inside of you, your nails digging into his back, anchoring him there. He filled you in one slow, torturous stroke…too big, too good, hitting deep.

He was panting against your throat, rocking into you with bruising, punishing thrusts, his control shot to hell. "So warm. So tight. You were made for me- fuck- made just for me."

You’d never seen him this desperate. He was normally a perfect gentleman, preferring to make love to you, taking you nice and slow. But this- this was feral, this was unhinged for him.

But you loved it.

You were clinging to him, sobbing his name, the edge coming faster than you could handle, everything inside you tightening like a bowstring.

And he held you so tenderly, making sure you weren’t hurt from the counter. You didn’t know how he was multi tasking…not like this.

He was relentless. Worshipping and ruining you in equal measure. "Not gonna last," he growled.

It hadn’t even been five minutes.

He normally had good stamina, and lasted a while before he came. The powder, whatever it was had to be behind this.

"It's the powder- I can't-shit, I need-need to cum inside of you, please-"

You were already there, already falling apart, moaning loud enough for the neighbors to complain, not that you cared. Not when Steve was grinding deep, chasing his own release, spilling hot and thick inside you with a broken sound.

He was trembling when he kissed you again, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. He rode you both through your high, pressing his head to your chest.

As you both stilled, you wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m- I’m so sorry, sweetheart” He said after a few seconds, his breathing still uneven.

You shook your head, still out of breath as well. “You have nothing to be sorry for” You said softly, nodding “I really enjoyed whatever that was…” You admitted and he looked up to meet your eyes.

“Really?”

“Really, honey” You confirmed “I love when you’re gentle, but this…I’m speechless” You said and after that, you felt him get hard inside of you again.

The poor Super Soldier let out a whine. “I don’t know how long this is going to last” He said and you gently cupped his face in your hands.

“You can take whatever you need, honey” You said “As long as it lasts…” You assured.

And with that, round two began….

FIN.

A/N: This was an old draft but I spiffed it up a bit. I hop you guys enjoyed!!

[sevikaslatinawife]

Discipline II

Read: Part 1

Warnings: Dom/Sub dynamics, degradation, f!reader, afab!reader, dom!Sevika, mean!Sevika (ish?), pussy slaps, daddy kink, fingering, light choking, squirting

This has been in my drafts, half finished, for over a month. I am so sorry y’all. Hope to post more as soon as I can.

Word Count: 1.8k

You moan as Sevika rubs your heated clit, making your thighs shiver. She still hadn’t moved you from across her lap. Her metal hand is still tightly holding onto your wrists behind your back.

“Please, Vika, I’m sorry,” You cry again when there’s a sudden smack to your cunt again.

“Oh, I know, baby,” She fake coos, making an equally fake pouting face. “You’re sorry that you were such a brat?”

“I-I wasn’t —“ You choke when there’s another smack to your pussy. Your hips involuntary shifting into the hit, your body seeking more of the sting, leaking in unintentional arousal.

“Wasn’t?” Sevika baits, middle finger sliding between your wet folds. She hums deep in her throat, said finger gently nudging your throbbing clit and making you pout.

“I-I…” You groan when she ghosts her middle finger against your clit, barely touching the needy nerves. It was a frustrating feeling, it made your lips settle into a pout to match your state. “I’m sorry,” You quickly change the angle of your words. “I didn’t mean to be a brat, Vika, m’sorry.”

“Pathetic little slut,” She teases, applying slight more pressure. It was barely nothing, not at all as close as what you needed, but you groaned either way. “Got all wet from your punishment.”

“I’m sorry,” You echo, trying to push back on her fingers but get another sharp smack to your cunt.

“Don’t fucking move, baby,” Sevika warns. “If you move an inch, I’ll stop. You won’t come today at all.”

The threat makes you whimper and you drop your head to tuck in your chin. Your hair falls over your face, grazing your temple and cheeks as she continues her torment to your clit. Her pressure on your clit barely increases and your stomach coils under the sensation, the muscles of your thigh tightening a fraction in response.

“Vika—“ You're cut off by your own eager moan when she trails her middle finger up to your hole to sink into.

Sevika groans in response to your wetness, the warmth of your walls always sending her spiraling. She loved being buried here and she always proved that, whether it be her tongue, her fingers or a toy. You always looked the prettiest when stuffed full of her.

Your stomach coils and your right hand grips the woman’s calf, trying to will your body to stay still. To not let your desperate hips fuck themselves back on the teasing finger slowly pumping in and out of you.

You knew her threat wasn’t empty, especially not when this started as a punishment. She would drive you to the edge and back, like a tidal wave. You’d never get to come if you didn’t listen.

“Poor baby,” Sevika coos, adding her ring finger to the warmth of your pussy. “Can only think with this little cunt, hm? Can’t do anything but get wet and want to be filled.”

“Can’t help it,” You choke out helplessly, bottom lip trembling as your stomach tightens. You’re trying not to grind back on her fingers but each stroke is slow and deep. She even presses a little firmer to the ridges of your g-spot only to hear you gasp.

“This what you need?” She asks in that condescending, low voice that makes your cunt squeeze her fingers greedily. “You’re so easy, princess. Look at you, a few spanks, teasin’ this little cunt and you’re already gripping me.”

You can’t reply as she thrusts her fingers a little faster, pushing against your g-spot a little harder. It makes you moan, feeling her metal forearm dig into your lower back to help you in holding still. You’re glad she does so, or else your hips would be pathetically rutting into her hand for more. You knew you couldn’t help yourself when she began the task of fingering your cunt with those thick, rough fingers.

“I asked you a question,” She says, pushing her fingers to the last knuckle, letting her fingertips press against that jolting, soft spot inside of you.

“Ngh, y-yes,” you force yourself to answer, to let the words bubble past your parted lips. “ ‘s what I needed.”

“You get so stupid on my fingers,” Sevika teases, moving her left arm from your back to wrap her prosthetic around your throat. Her fingers flex around your throat, arm whirring as she lifts your head, forcing a deep, aching arch to your back. “You just love daddy’s fingers stirring up your cunt?”

“Yes,” you reply again, moaning in thanks as she begins to pump her fingers steadily in and out of your welching cunt. “Please, daddy, I —“

“You need more?” She finishes your sentence, already adding her pinky into you to stretch you further. Sevika knew you, knew everything you liked and what you didn’t. She knew what simple touches got you shy, and especially knew all the touches that got you soaked.

You moan again, a little louder as you shift your hand from her calf to grip her knee. The grip on your has blood rushing to your face and head, almost lightheaded.

“Daddy, ‘hank y-you!” You moan, throat leaning into the woman’s palm because you were too focused on the feeling of her fingers squelching inside your cunt. You just wanted to come around those thick fingers that filled your cunt too mind-numbingly well. “Yes, yes yes…” You ramble, lips parted, spit gathering in your mouth.

“You gonna listen to me next time?” She shoves her fingers to the knuckle into you, making you squeak and jolt at the press to your walls. She had left them there, unmoving and pressed hard against your insides. “If daddy says you’re staying, you’re fucking staying.”

“I-I’ll listen, ‘ll listen!” You urge, nodding against her hand and leaning more into it. “Daddy, please!”

“Need daddy that bad?” Sevika teases, kissing your temple, nose tracing your earlobe while her lips follow to do the same. It makes you shiver and your cunt to clench around the fingers. “Gonna behave?” She continues to taunt, rubbing your g-spot in slow, hard circles.

“I-I do! Need daddy, ‘lease,” You cry out, moaning softly at the circles against your insides. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”

“That’s my good girl,” Sevika forces your head over your shoulder enough for her to dip down and capture your mouth with her own. You whine, eyes fluttering closed as your kissed and as her fingers begin the task of fucking you again. “Daddy just wants you safe,” She purrs as she kisses your forehead, dipping her thumb to rub your clit in rhythm with her fingers.

Sevika wouldn’t always admit it out loud — almost never, actually, but the thought of you hurt sent her into a frenzy. The only good thing in her life. She’d never let anyone touch a hair on your head.

“I k-know,” Your thighs give a pathetic quiver, toes curling and brushing over the floor at her rubbing on your clit. “Want daddy safe, too,” You choke out, eyes wet.

You also fear the worst. Fear that one day she might not come back. She’s always stretching herself thin for Silco, the cause, the messes she’s told to clean. However, you were powerless to help. You could only offer her comfort and love, and you felt like that wasn’t enough.

Sevika thought it was more than she ever deserved.

“Thank you, baby,” Sevika whispers against your temple, pressing another kiss there. “Now, I need to see this fucking pussy —“ she gives a sharp curl of her fingers to enunciate her words. It makes your eyes roll back and your jaw to hang. “— come around my fingers, doll.”

“Ngh, y–ea–ah,” You babble, arching your back for more despite yourself, without even realizing. You feel Sevika stop and you gasp, thighs quivering. “Wh—“ You whimper when she pulls her fingers out of you to deliver a smack to your throbbing clit.

“What did I say? I want to see you cum, didn’t tell you to move, my little slut,” Sevika purrs, massaging your right ass cheek. It’s still sensitive so it makes you hiss as she grips the flesh of your ass harder in turn. “Still can’t fuckin’ listen.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You whimper, tears filling your eyes in desperation. You had been so, so close to coming but she had stopped. “Please, daddy! I promise I’ll stay still. I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” You beg in a soft ramble, brows furrowed in need and nuzzling into her mouth when she kisses your cheek. Her hand is still around your throat as she does so. “ ‘lease, daddy, I’ll be so good. I’ll listen, always will. Just…please, please let me come.”

“My desperate girl,” She teases but complies after such a cute, needy display. She pushes her three, soaked fingers back into your cunt and her thumb finds your clit once more.

You moan, dropping your head into her palm, eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Your thighs are trembling, your stomach is coiling in both pleasure and willing yourself to stay still. To be good or else she’d stop again, and who knows, maybe she really wouldn’t let you come.

“Dadd–ngh—dy!” Your lips are parted, fingers tightening on her knee as a sob makes it way past your mouth. There’s drool wetting the corner of your mouth that you can’t lick off as a drop falls from your lips.

“Give it to me, baby. Let me feel you milk my fingers,” Sevika growls, teeth grazing your cheek, nipping the soft flesh of your face.

You don’t need more prompting, the ruthlessness of her fingers on your cunt, the growl of her command, the nipping of your cheek; that mixed with the stinging of your ass and cunt from your punishment makes you gush around her fingers.

Your moan is almost a scream as your thighs flex around the intrusion, rutting into her hand while you trickle down her pant leg and soaking your own pants and underwear around your knees in arousal. You claw at her knee, cunt pulsing, taking, milking her as if she could fill your insides with them.

Her thrusts don’t let up while you come, while she sees the twitching of your body and the mess you made of her pants. “Nasty slut,” She sinks a sharp fang against the side of your chin and you whimper in delight.

Her fingers slow down until they come to a stop and her hand on your throat lets you go. You wrap your arm around her prosthetic, pressing your heated cheek into the metal. You don’t let go as she pulls you to sit up. You hiss at the brush of her pants against the sting on your ass.

“Atta girl,” she kisses the top of her head. “Jus’ relax, doll.”

You press your face into her neck after being properly settled on her lap, pants now down to your ankles as she takes them off.

“Next time, make sure to listen,” She chuckles and kisses your head again. You grunt in response.

You both know you won’t.

tags: @yfuueyfugu-blog @sevsbunny @kissingmilfs @xxlreader

[gojokive]

❝ Good Morning, Pretty ♡ ❞

18+ MDNI › AGELESS BLOGS DNI

❝synopsis❞ ‣ jjk men in bed with their crushes.

𓆩☆𓆪 PAIRING(S) › jjk men x afab!reader 𓆩☆𓆪 GENRE(S) › fluff 𓆩☆𓆪 WORD(S) › 3.7K+ » 25min read 𓆩☆𓆪 WARNING(S) › drinking・one bed trope・cuddling・school boy crushes・nanami being a karen・everything to lover(s)・suguru having an internal crisis・jjk men being sweet・nothing really happens honestly just fluffy times ♡ 𓆩☆𓆪 POST DATE › 02.17.2025 𓆩☆𓆪 NOTE › nothing here besides this is barely edited and I've had this sitting in my drafts for a little while. haha, anyways enjoy beauties! ♡

❝featuring❞ ‣ nanami kento, gojo satoru, kamo choso, fushiguro megumi, itadori yuji & geto suguru ♡

‣ nanami kento ♡ ↳ co-worker(s) to lover(s) | reader(s) outfit

Kento is a respectful man.

So when the two of you were out on a mission that required you to stay at a hotel overnight, he did everything in his power to make sure to get a room that would not make you uncomfortable.

Unfortunately with the hotels being booked for the weekend, the only rooms available had single beds. That just won't do.

He politely asks the clerk to check again for any possible cancellations as she told him there had been one for a double bed room.

Glancing over at your sleeping form, he gives the taxi the address as he updates Yaga and Ijichi on your status and whereabouts, telling them not to worry.

Everything seem to be going as planned, arriving at the hotel in a timely fashion. The check-in didn't take too much time either until Kento asked for confirmation that you were given the right keys and it was indeed a double bedded room.

As soon as he was told otherwise, he was infuriated.

"This is unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, sir. There was a mix-"

"I want to speak to your supervisor." Nanami huffs but before he continue his tirade, you place a hand on his bicep to move him away from the counter. He looks at you dumbfounded before clearing his throat and fixing his tie. His heart thumping a mile a minute at how close you are. "W-Why are y-"

"You're making a scene, Ken..." You smile toward the clearly distraught employee as you take the second keycard. His hand trembling, you know the brashness in Nanami's tone scared the poor boy. "It's fine. We can make it work."

Thanking the clerk, you pull Nanami toward the elevator to avoid the gazes of on-lookers. Some disgusted with his behavior, others annoyed at his out burst... you just want to leave the scene unscathed, freshen up and go to bed.

"I'm exhausted. I just want to go to bed. Please..."

"R-Right... My apologize. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable is all." He gives a strained smile, mentally smacking himself when he realizes he let something so insignificant get to him.

"It's okay." You simply nod, letting go of his arm as the door to the elevator close.

The ride up is quiet and finding your room is easy as you're now sat on the side of the bed, digging through your bag to find your night clothes. Sleeping arranging being the topic of discussion.

He doesn’t care where he sleeps as long as you're feeling safe and comfortable. He doesn't mind putting your needs before his own because he couldn't possibly let you take the couch.

You, however, insist that you're both adults and it doesn't have to be weird! Just two adults going to sleep (that's all). Right?

Except, Nanami's brain kicks into overdrive the moment both of you change into your nightclothes. You look so cute in your little romper (at least, he thinks that's what you called it) as he watches you move around the room.

Mesmerized how the navy blue compliments your beautiful skin color. He notices he can see all your curves in all of your glory and he loves the cute cherry pattern that repeats itself all over your body.

He turns away to catch his breath but if you were to look at him now, you'd know that something was wrong. Especially when he looks over to see you bent over and the shorts are riding up your ass.

"Are you okay, Ken?" You ask, rubbing lotion into your hands and walking toward the right side of the bed.

"Hmm?" He blinks rapidly, eyes searching your face as confusion overtakes your features. God, why were you so breathtakingly beautiful? "I-I'm okay?"

It comes out as more of a question than anything as he lays down to turn his back to you.

He can still hear you moving around the luxurious hotel after brushing your teeth and washing your face. He wonders if you're this active when you're at home. He can imagine watching you with a soft smile as you talk about your day and how much you hate the higher-up's while doing your nightly routine.

With your soft spoken manner, he could listen to you talk about anything for hours.

He knows he doesn't have the right to think about you like that but… He can't help it.

"Ken? Did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry. No I didn't." He clears hit throat and turns to lay on his back as he's met with you standing with your hand on your hips.

"Ijichi said he'll be here around eight in the morning so we need to be up by six thirty."

"Right." He says, condemning himself for letting his eyes roam your body because you're not a piece of meat for him to gawk at.

What the hell is wrong with him?

You slide into bed, ignoring the weird look on his face and pull the covers over your you to settle into bed. As you try to make yourself comfortable, he seems to be spiraling in his mind.

This is what he was afraid of!

You're so close, yet so far away and all he wants to do is cuddle up next to you. Be in your warmth but he has to tell you. He needs to tell you.

Should he finally confess to you now? Should he wait? He's waited long enough has he? Is it even the right time?

Arm draped over his eyes, he closes them as he feels the burn from the exhaustion. He tries to get his mind to relax but it's proven to be in vain when all he can think about is you.

"Ken?"

"Yes?" He says your name with so much exhaustion you feel bad for possibly keeping him awake, unaware that you're the reason he can't seem to fall asleep. "Are you okay?"

He hums as a response before letting the air settle into quietness.

It isn't until he he's made up his mind to tell you that he calls your name but hears your soft snores instead. Realizing you're already sleep.

Nanami sighs, wishing he could do the same as he tries to recount where his feelings for you began until he's finally able to fall asleep to the soft of the white noise of the hotel room.

The night passes in a blur when he slowly comes to as both of your alarms blare.

You've completely made your home on his chest. He couldn't lie, it was nice to wake up in your arms. You fit perfectly but he's not sure how you'll react to the revelation once you awaken.

He quietly untangles himself to head to the restroom as you grumble about missing warmth.

Maybe when he finally gets the courage to confess, he’ll be able to do it more often.

‣ kamo choso ♡ ↳ best friend(s) to lover(s)

There's something soft and sweet about being able to sit and talk with your crush best friend, regardless of where the two of you are. Like magnets, you always seem to find your way to him and vice versa.

Is what Choso would say if he wasn't sweating bullets, nervous about wanting to tell you how he truly feels.

Being able to talk about any and everything while cuddling with the one you love is the best feeling in the world but he wishes he could do more. He wants to be more than just a friend because... Well… he loves you. He's in love with you and he's finally come to terms with his heart.

Only problem is he doesn’t know where your feelings for him stand but that doesn’t matter right now.

The only that matters is how pretty you look as you continue to talk about the movie you took Yuji to see while he was busy with work. He can’t help the smile that makes its way across his face. He listens. Although your voice is beginning to come out as a whisper the sleepier you get.

It's so damn adorable.

“‘m not sleepy…”

He takes that as his cue to toss your favorite blanket over the both of you.

”Your voice says otherwise, lovely.”

You groan but don’t say a word, letting him pull you into his chest as he chuckles at your annoyance. You didn't want to fall asleep but ended doing so quicker then expected. He takes that moment to admire you.

He knows best friends don’t do things like this but he can’t help but want to do it with you. As he gazes at your lips, he wants to be able to kiss you when he can.

Instead, he leans in closer to kiss your forehead, feeling you squirm in his grasp.

There’s a certain softness that follows as your breathing evens out more. You look so peaceful and it takes everything in him to not coo at how cute you are.

He rests his chin on top of your head and smiles as you cuddle deeper into his arms. He knows it's not ideal to sleep on the couch so makes the split second decision to move himself to be able to pick you up to carry you to his bed.

You whine from the loss of body heat but once you feel him again, you snuggle deeper into his arms.

Laying you down and leaving (although he doesn't want to go) is harder since you won't let go of his shirt.

"Stay..."

You don't have to tell him twice as he takes the opportunity to throw the cover over both of you to let you finally get some sleep.

"G' night Princess."

You hum, falling back asleep as Choso rubs his hand up and down your arm and smiles softly.

Even if things don’t work out the way he wants them, he’s content with how things are now. He doesn't want to rush you into anything and he doesn't want you to feel obligated to say 'yes' if he asks.

Although, he does wishes you would give a chance.

A chance to show you he can be right for you. A chance to show you he can love you the way he knows you need to be loved. A chance to show you that you're it for him and he doesn't want anyone else.

He’s willing to do whatever it takes to show you.

‣ gojo satoru ♡ ↳ stranger(s) to lover(s)

Another day, another date.

This would be the fifth date within the last two weeks and Satoru couldn't have been happier.

Deciding on dinner and a little bit of ice skating this time, you're completely exhausted after trying to keep up with him.

He can see it in the way you're dragging your feet and how you're talking much slower than before. He should let you go home but there's something in him that just doesn't want to let the date end.

Insisting on having a little movie marathon at his place, he mentions you can sleep over if you don't feel up to driving home.

What's the worse that can happen?

Not even thirty minutes into the movie, you're already slumped as you're laying your head on his shoulder. He can't help but chuckle, unsure of what he should do. He doesn't mind laying with you in bed but he doesn't know how you'll react and the last thing he wants to do is make you uncomfortable.

So, he maneuvers you so he can lay back against the armrest as he moves your body away from the edge so you don't fall and places a cover over the both of you.

There’s a sense of peace that comes with being someone you're starting to develop feelings for and right now Satoru feels that with you.

He can't help the smile that spreads over his face at the sight of you snuggling into his chest, squishing against it. Granted, maybe the couch isn’t the best place to fall asleep together but if he’s with you, he’ll be fine. He'll gladly take that crook in his neck or back pain.

He wants to kiss you but he's unsure of how you'll feel about since it's something you haven't done yet. He also wants you to be conscious when he kisses you as well.

So instead, he simply opts for watching the television until he can he fall into dreamland too.

Morning comes sooner than expected as he honestly hadn’t expected to fall asleep with you but he’s glad you’re getting your rest too. Especially after all the overtime you mention you've been working.

He loves the way the sun light shines through the curtains of his window, casting a angelic glow to your face. His gaze softening as he caresses the side of your face, thumb lazily rubbing circles into your cheeks.

You look peaceful.

He can’t help but hold you closer, not wanting to let go but of course, that causes you to stir. A lazy smile grazing your pretty features as he chuckles at how cute you look.

“What time is it?” You groan, rubbing at your eyes as Satoru leans over to light up his phone to check.

“08:40, beautiful.”

“Shit!” You jump up, accidentally kneeing Satoru as he groans in pain. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” He grits through his teeth as his hand flies toward his dick, you’re such a cluts...

But you’re a pretty cluts and well, he can get used to that.

‣ geto suguru ♡ ↳ friend(s) with benefit(s) to lover(s)

Suguru was ecstatic when you agreed to get drinks with him and his classmates. He loves that he would finally be able to spend time with you outside of only sleeping together. You couldn't wipe the smile off of his face even if you wanted to!

However, that only lasted until you and Satoru sat beside each other rather than you next to him. He hated being forced to witness you and Satoru joking together. Leaning on each other and smiling as if you've known each other for a while.

It made him feel like a third wheel.

Like he was the one intruding.

Even Shoko (in her drunken state) mentioned the two of you being perfect for each other but both of you quickly dismissed it.

Was he the only who thought it was a terrible idea? Suguru hated the idea of the two of you together.

You don't see the way Satoru glances at Suguru as you down your shot with a soft smile. You don't see the frown on Suguru face and the sympathetic look Satoru gives his friend because he knows all about his crush on you. Yes, you're a sweet girl but you're not Satoru's type. He sees you more as a friend than anything.

Plus, he wouldn't do that to his friend.

The night goes on when Suguru realizes how much you had to drink compared to everyone else (aside from Shoko).

Five drinks deep (with your confidence soaring) you slyly pull Suguru into a deep kiss before practically passing out in his arms. It was then everyone decided it was time to go.

He remembers telling Shoko and Satoru that he was going to make sure you made it home safely. He wouldn't have felt good sending you off on your own.

Waving down a cab as he carries you in his arms, he ignores said driver glare (granted he knows how this looks to an outsider) but it's clearly not that.

He gives the man your address, letting you lean on his shoulder to rest as he takes the chance to pull your hand into his lap to play with your fingers. Your soft snores being heard.

It doesn't take long to get to your place, pulling your keys from your pocket to let the both of you in.

Kicking off his shoes first, he takes off yours off next and leaves them by the door before picking you up again and carrying you to your room to lay you down bridal style.

"Suguru..." He stops in his tracks when he glances down to see you staring at him with the cutest pout he's seen thus far.

"Yeah Princess?"

"Stay with me, please..."

He notices you whine a lot in your drunken state and well, you were also incredibly strong as you yanked him by his arm for him to get in the bed.

He knew he should have fought harder but the way you were babbling so cutely about nothing had his heart pounding against his chest and he couldn't take how fucking adorable you are drunk.

He decides to let you get comfortable while laying against his chest so you could fall asleep. What he didn't expect was to fall asleep with you (maybe he was drunker than he thought he was). 

He wakes up before you as he tries to untangle himself from you. He realizes his issue because you're very touchy when you're drunk as well.

He takes a deep breath before adjusting himself (the last thing he needs is for you to see is how hard you make him).

Although, he doesn't get far when you whine to ask him where he's going as he tells you the bathroom.

And well, doesn't notice that you followed him in there.

‣ itadori yuji ♡ ↳ childhood friend(s) to lover(s)

It had been a long night of gaming together when you finally expressed you were growing sleepy.

Yuji insisted you sleep at his place since it was well past midnight, going as far as to tell you he would sleep on the floor so you can have the bed.

You told him you weren't going to put him out seeing as it was his apartment. It would be unfair.

Although, everything you were saying was going in one ear and out the other as Yuji continued to prepare his makeshift bed.

It wasn't until he was going to grab a couple of pillows that you moved them so he couldn't.

"My pillows!"

You giggle before sitting on your knees with a pretty pout dawning on your lips. His breath hitched the moment you lock eyes and for a second, he forgets how to even breathe.

"I told you, you didn't have to do that, Yu..." You whine, crossing your arms over your chest before patting the empty space next to you. Yuji stares, choking over his words as he rubs the back of his neck.

"I-I just wanted to be a gentleman…"

“And that’s fine and all but I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed so c'mon.”

The both of you get comfortable and talk about any and everything until you fall asleep first. It gives Yuji a chance to get a good look at you.

The idea of confessing has been floating in his mind and he knows he will have to do it soon because he knows you have a crush on someone.

He just doesn't know who it is.

When morning comes, Yuji wakes first.

The first thing he notices is his arm is numb but he quickly chalks that up to him laying on it wrong.

It isn’t until he tries to turn over, he feels you snuggle deeper into his chest. It's only then he realizes what position he’s in.

There’s a soft blush that begins to creep on his cheeks when the magnitude of how close you two really are. He goes to move again but you whine for him to stop. You're so comfortable, you don't want to move.

There's no need to with it being Saturday after all.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of laughter that you jolt upright, startling Yuji as he falls off the edge of the bed.

“Idiot!” Sukuna boisterous laughter sounds through the silent room as Yuji tries to slap his hand over the mouth that formed on his face. "Your heart is beating so fast it's hilarious!"

“Shut up!” Yuji eyes you as he watches you get up from the bed to rush off to the restroom, embarrassment written all over your face.

Does Yuji scold Sukuna?

Of course.

Does he care?

Not in the slightest.

‣ fushiguro megumi ♡ ↳ classmate(s) to lover(s)

Honestly, Megumi doesn't remember how he managed to end up in your bed.

The both of you told Gojo you were going to stay late to spar. It took up most of your night but truthfully, Megumi wasn't complaining.

Especially since it gave him more time to spend with you.

He's been wanting to confess his feelings to you for the longest but most of the advice given to him made him even more anxious to.

'They're strong! You sure you can handle them?'

'A grade one and grade two dating? You sure you aren't delusional?'

'Are you even their type?'

All these comments circled within his mind as he walks you back to your dorm. Hands in his pocket and a soft pout gracing his lips, how was he to confess to you? Did you even feel the same?

"Are you even listening to me?" A soft giggle graces his ears and in that moment, he realizes just how much you make his heart race! He wonders if you even know how much you do. "Fushiguro?"

"Sorry. What were you saying?" He tries to play it off but he knows exactly what you were saying because he could listen to you go on and on about any and everything.

Right in this moment though, you were talking about something Nanami had taught you and damn, he's trying his hardest to suppress a warm smile.

As you're walking home, it suddenly began pouring rain. He knew he felt little droplets earlier but he thought you had more time to make back to the dorms.

Being the sweetheart that you are, you ask if he wants to stay until the rain eventually blows over. Your excuse? You didn't want him to catch a cold (which is sweet of you, he thinks).

Plus, he would be safe and dry (which caused his cheeks flush at how nervous he was) as he agreed.

Fighting over sleeping on the floor wasn't something he saw himself doing with you but he found it endearing. The moment you told him you would, he instantly told you no. He didn't mind sleeping there but he refuses to let you sleep anywhere but the bed.

It's silly, really.

Eventually you agree on both sleeping in the bed since you did have a king size. There was more than enough room for both of you.

As you finally fall asleep, Megumi lays staring at the unmoving ceiling as he listens to the pitter patter of the rain. He glances over at you a few times and can't help but smile at how peaceful you look.

"Maybe one day..." He whispers, turning his back to you as he closes his eyes to finally sleep.

What he hadn't expected was to wake up with you fully cuddling into his neck! He tries to still his heart from beating so fast but it's useless when he can feel your breath on his neck.

His eyes widen at the thought of how close you are as you smell so sweet. He's embarrassed that he even decided to sniff you in the first place.

He was doing well, trying to play coy because he didn't want you to know he likes you simply because he couldn't handle the rejection.

But... now... as he turns over to watch over you as you snuggle into his chest, he thinks he might have a chance.

He wants to tell you how he feels.

No matter the outcome.

© GOJOKIVE 2024-2025 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  PLEASE DO NOT Copy, Translate, Re-Upload, or Steal ANY of my work. thank you for reading! & remember: you nice, keep going.❤️ comment/reblogs(s)/like(s) are totally welcomed! › read more work here: masterlist ‹

[wheels-of-despair]

Bloodletting Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: A passionate tryst between Eddie and Evil Woman quickly becomes her worst nightmare. Contains: Horny teens, excessive amounts of blood, inner turmoil, borrowed clothes, period-typical attitudes toward the human body, Eddie Munson being the perfect boy we all deserve. Words: 2.4k

A Little Backstory: So once upon a time, I wrote an angsty fic about Eddie having a mortifying incident in EW's bed. And I kept it in my drafts for over a year and almost didn't post it, but I did, and reception was surprisingly positive. And then I felt guilty about doing that to him. And writing it. And letting people read it. So I had to even things out and write one for EW too. This one takes place slightly before that one, and may be weird for the modern crowd, but uh... whatever, here's a messy fic where you get to freak out with EW. And it only took 10 days! Turnaround's improving!

Not for youths, ageless/blanks who interact will be blocked, etc.

It's a miracle the door shut before your shirt hit the floor.

You just couldn't wait. School took too long, dropping off the dorks took too long, the drive back to Eddie's took too long. You were *thisclose* to blowing him on the way home.

But Eddie's driving was bad enough already.

The dust the van stirred up hadn't even settled when you raced up the front steps. You started shedding clothes as soon as you stepped inside. Eddie slammed the front door, and then smashed his mouth to yours. Your arms circled each other, pulling your bodies closer as you stumbled through the house. You lost your jeans somewhere near the kitchen. Eddie fumbled with your bra clasp, growling before finally getting it and tossing the constricting garment somewhere behind him. He rewarded his hands for a job well done by giving your breasts a squeeze, and you responded by moaning into his mouth.

You crashed through his bedroom door and fell onto the bed without even turning the lights on. Your underwear was dragged down your legs and tossed aside, same as his. Eddie's thigh slotted between yours, and you dragged your mound against his skin. It just felt so fucking good. If he didn't hurry it up, you might have to keep going and get yourself off like this. Wouldn't be the first time, but today, that's not what you need. You squeeze your thighs around him, hoping to speed things up.

"Eager, are we?" Eddie rumbles into your neck, rolling a nipple between two fingers and making your insides swirl.

"Shut up and fuck me," you beg, a little surprised by your own forwardness. You rock your hips against his thigh again, making your breath catch and feeling the wetness from his tip smear onto your skin. You need him now.

"What if I don't?" Eddie asks, pinning your hips to the bed and rising just enough so that you can't feel his leaky cock pulsing against you anymore. Like he doesn't want this just as badly as you do.

He smirks down at you, eyes glinting in the dark room. It fills you with fury. Now is not the time, Munson. You lunge upward and bite him, right in the crook of his neck. He yelps. You wrap yourself around him, pulling him back down to the bed with you. Eddie grinds his cock into you on the way down, hips stuttering and body tensing before spilling his load onto your stomach. You hold back a sigh and wipe it away with a sheet while Eddie comes back to Earth.

"Shit," he pants when he regains control of his body, "sorry."

He doesn't have to be sorry for long. Eddie's hand quickly finds its way between your legs. His fingers glide through, gathering your fluids, before plunging a digit into your center. A gasp escapes your lips, and Eddie swallows it when his mouth meets yours. He works his finger in and out, your hips moving with him and heels digging into the bed. You moan into his mouth when he adds another finger, which spurs him into circling your clit with his thumb.

The circling and the pumping proves to be too much for your poor brain; it feels so good, you can't even remember how to kiss. Eddie's mouth moves to your neck, leaving a wet trail that's nothing compared to what's leaking from between your legs. Eddie's fingers move furiously, and you let bliss overtake you far too soon. Your body tenses under him, and Eddie keeps pumping through each gush of pleasure, determined to bleed you dry.

"Stop," you breathe, when you can't possibly take any more. Eddie pulls his hand away, wiping it on the sheets you'd soaked together. Those will definitely need a wash tonight.

Eddie lies next to you, and you smile at him through sleepy eyes in the dimly lit room. You feel so happy, so relaxed, that you could stay right here with him forever, just like this.

"Ready to go again?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You close your eyes and chuckle, and he leans over you for his cigarettes, holding himself up with an elbow while he practically lays on top of you. He fumbles around on the bedside table, you hear the lamp click and the lighter flick, and the smell of a fresh Camel fills your nostrils before Eddie finally returns to his side of the bed. Maybe you can snuggle up and squeeze in a quick nap before you have to go home.

"Oh, fuck."

Your eyes open to see Eddie staring down in horror.

You follow his gaze.

Oh, fuck.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Blood on the sheets.

Blood on the blankets.

Blood on your legs.

Blood on Eddie's legs.

Blood on Eddie's hands.

Blood on Eddie's cigarette.

Blood draining from your head.

The room starts to spin.

You scramble out of bed and rush to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you and emptying your lunch into the toilet.

You flush with a shaky hand, and the reality of the situation hits you.

You just bled all over your boyfriend's bed.

Not just regular blood. This isn't a dainty little papercut or a scrape that he can apply a band-aid to and kiss better. This is the kind of blood whose mere existence can make a man sick. Disgusting. The kind of blood that Carrie White's mom declared the evidence of sin. Filth. The kind of blood that your own father had once fainted at the sight of. Unsanitary. The kind of blood that you ought not even speak of outside the ladies' room or a doctor's office.

You just coated your boyfriend and his entire fucking bed in it.

And here you are, naked and caked with it in his bathroom.

A light knock makes you jump out of your filthy skin.

"Babe? You okay?"

No. You are not okay. You are nowhere close to being okay. You shake your head, tears stinging at your eyes, unable to speak.

"What do you need?"

To be put out of your fucking misery.

"Do you need help? Can I come in?"

The thought of him seeing you like this makes another wave of nausea wash over you.

"Can you please just say something so I know you're still alive?"

You are, but you wish you weren't.

"I'm sorry," you whimper.

"Don't be," he says casually. "Shit happens. Are you okay?"

You glance at yourself in the mirror and regret it immediately. You close your eyes and shake your head, knowing damn well he can't see you.

"Alright. Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna take a shower, 'cause it'll make you feel better. I'm gonna put your clothes right outside the door. Then I'm gonna go in the kitchen and make us a snack. Take your time, okay?"

You look down at the blood drying on your legs. He's right. You know you'll feel better once that's gone. One problem at a time.

You let out a shaky breath and turn on the water in the shower, letting the creaky pipes send some warm water through before stepping under the spray. You grab Eddie's soap and scrub yourself, staring in horror at the crimson water pooling around the drain.

When the water runs clear, you step out and thank your lucky stars that there's a dark towel under the sink to dry off with. You put an ear to the door, hear Eddie clanking around in the kitchen, and open it just enough to grab the stack of clothes he'd put outside, as promised.

These aren't your clothes. This is a pair of sweats and a t-shirt you've never seen before. Where are your… oh. Your clothes are scattered on the floor throughout the house. Were they bloody too? Oh, God, what if they dripped and there's blood on the carpet? It'll never come out! If he ever invites you back here, you'll see that every time you come over and remember this day from now until the end of time!

You need to put on these clothes and run.

One problem: Your backpack's still in the van. Where your house keys and all your "lady supplies" are.

He's being very cool about this. He didn't bolt. He didn't throw you out. He didn't pass out or puke, to your knowledge. Could you really ask more of him?

"Eddie?" you call through a crack in the door, surprised at how weak and pathetic your voice sounds.

"Yeah?" he answers from the hallway.

"Can you get my backpack out of the van?"

"On it," he says, already walking away.

You close the door and rest your forehead against it, backing away when you hear him return. Footsteps. A light thump, like he's put it where the clothes were a few minutes before.

"It's here."

"Thanks."

He walks away, and you open the door enough to extend an arm and grab it.

You fix yourself up and pull on the clean clothes. You feel awkward about wearing Eddie's stuff in your condition, but you don't really have much of a choice in the matter. You're probably never gonna see him again after today, anyway. He's not going to want these back. Might as well have something to remember him by. Even if it is a tacky t-shirt from a radio station giveaway.

You hang the towel, scan the bathroom for any more traces of blood, and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway.

Do you slip out the back door and walk home?

Dammit, your shoes are in the living room.

You approach the kitchen slowly.

"Hey," he greets, a smile on his face. He's wearing sweats and a t-shirt too. "You okay?"

You shrug.

Eddie opens his arms.

Like he wants to hug you.

He widens his eyes and wiggles his fingers, gesturing for you to come to him.

Your brain fights it, but your body doesn't. Much to your surprise, you find yourself shuffling across the kitchen floor toward him.

He wraps you in his arms, and your eyes start to leak again.

"It's okay," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you sniffle.

"It's fine," he insists with a kiss to your temple.

"Let me go clean up," you offer, remembering the sorry state you left his bed in. You try to pull away, feeling the humiliation flood through your veins again, but he hugs you tighter.

"Already done," he says softly. "Don't worry about it."

The washing machine makes a noise, and you glance at it. Eddie started a load of laundry? You look at him in awe.

"That's right," he grins. "Homework, pleasure, cuddles, laundry. Eddie Munson does it all."

"Homework?" you question with a quirk of your eyebrow.

He laughs and pulls you close to kiss your forehead.

"Seriously, you okay?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "Sor--"

"Stop apologizing for being human," he cuts you off.

"Sorry," you say, lips twitching into a faint smirk. Eddie gently knocks his forehead against yours.

"That's gonna be a while," he notes, tilting his head in the direction of the washer. "Your pants are in there. You hungry?"

"Not really," you admit.

"Wanna watch TV?"

You shrug. Eddie takes your hand and leads you to the sofa. He plops his ass on the middle cushion, but you hesitate. Maybe you should pull up one of the hard kitchen chairs instead.

Eddie reaches for you and drags you down on top of him, like he knows why you hesitated. You sit on his lap sideways, awkwardly. He wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his head against your chest. Slowly, you wind your arms around his shoulders and rest your chin on his head, letting out a long sigh. How does he make you feel so calm, especially after… that?

"My evil plan is working," Eddie mumbles into your chest. You look down just in time to see him dive face-first into the valley between your breasts, unrestrained beneath the t-shirt he loaned you. Where the hell is your bra, you wonder? He nuzzles his face into you. He's so adorable, it makes your heart swell. Something muffled that sounds a lot like "heaven" comes from below.

You can't help but let out a quiet laugh. He grins up at you.

"They're bigger, right?"

Your spirits sink.

"Yeah," you answer, your mouth dry, your gaze dropping to the sofa cushion. You wish he could just let it go. You don't want to talk about this, especially not with him.

You remember your father, who once sent you to your room for saying the word "period" in his presence. Your first boyfriend, who never looked at you the same after a pad fell out of your purse and he made you explain what it was. Your last one, who'd accuse you of being "on the rag" every time you disagreed. Your own brother, who'd fake a gag when he accidentally grabbed the bag of "lady supplies" from the back of your mom's car after a trip to the grocery store.

"That's fuckin' awesome."

You look at him him surprise.

"Listen here, woman," Eddie says, looking up with a no-nonsense expression. "It's the '80s. I'm a modern man. I read books. I took health class. A few times, actually. I know how this shit works. And I don't know why you think this is some big horrible secret, or why you freaked out so bad over a little blood, but it's not a big deal."

You look away, but he grasps your chin between two fingers and makes you look at him. You hadn't realized how tense you were until you felt him try to move your face.

"It's pretty metal, actually."

"Yeah?" you ask, feeling yourself soften instantly.

"Are you kidding me?" he scoffs. "Your body's so happy about not being pregnant, it celebrates with bloodletting!"

You laugh suddenly, sending out a few droplets of spit. You clap a hand to your mouth.

"And," Eddie continues with a grin, "Not only do your already-amazing boobs get bigger, but you get super horny? For me? Every month? That's fuckin' badass, babe."

Your heart swells almost as much as your boobs.

"Shall I continue?"

"I think I got it," you smile, tucking his hair behind his ear.

"You sure?" he asks. "'Cause I can wax poetic about how much I love watching you yell at people, and how much I love it when you get sweet and snuggly, too."

"I got it," you confirm.

"I fuckin' love you."

"I fuckin' love you, too."

[infiniteglitterfall]

this is my most autistic half-birthday ever!

I gave myself the day to pursue a special interest and fulfill an offer I'd made last year.

The Jewish Virtual Library has a page listing all the rocket and mortar attacks on Israel since 2001 (which was when they first started). But it's incomplete. Last fall, I noticed it stopped in August, so I wrote to them offering to help update it. They thanked me and gave me some places I could look.

Today, I finally did it. I ended up cross-referencing with the lists on Wikipedia, digging through multiple Twitter accounts and outside news sources and NGOs, and sending them an email with my updates... plus an html file where I'd updated the code on the page so they could just check it and upload it instead of typing in all the data themselves.

I am such a huge nerd.

There's definitely more research to do. But I think I found a strong stopping place that let me actually send what I found and post about it. Which is always the hardest part. As my drafts folder could tell you.

I have more than two thousand drafts on here.

Anyway, I'm going to put my findings under a cut tag. Before you read on, I want you to try to guess.

Because one of the things I've been told most often by people who wanna Argue About Palestine Without Having To Learn Anything About Palestine (Or Israel Or History Or Imperialism Or Fact-Checking Or ?????) is that the reason for October 7, the reason for literally anything in fact, is that "Israel bombs Palestine constantly."

I want to put together a list of Israeli airstrikes next. I would love to reblog this with that information. But first, I want you to guess:

Note that this DOES NOT include terrorist car rammings, mass shootings, mass stabbings, bus bombings, suicide bombings, etc. It therefore excludes almost the entire Second Intifada.

After correcting the most recent four years and sending in my corrections, I made a list of the totals using the most complete collection I could find for each year. (Sometimes it was Jewish Virtual Library, sometimes it was Wikipedia, and sometimes they matched.)

2024: 12,629 (an average of 35 per day)

2023: 12,295 (34 per day)

2022: 1,180 (only 3 per day)

2021: 4,425 (12 per day)

2020: about 203

2019: 798+

2018: 348+, 0.95 per day

2017: Only 47!!! Why, it's almost like living in Canada!! 0.1 per day.

2016: Wow, only 20. See, if you go through the years backwards, it looks like progress is being made.  Very exciting. Until I get to the Second Intifada, probably. 0.05 per day.

2015: 58.

2014: oh right, that war. 4,778. (Wikipedia's 2015 list claims " In August 2014, Operation Protective Edge was ended after 4,594 rockets and mortars launched toward Israel. From the end of the operation came into force an unofficial cease-fire between Israel and Hamas." but there were three more after that, and 181 before it, listed on wikipedia alone. so like. 4,778 actually, for 13 a day.)

2013: 70 total. Wikipedia notes this was the lowest number since 2001.

2012: 2,442, or 6.7 per day.

2011: 680, for 1.9 a day.

2010: 365, for exactly one a day.

2009: 858, or 2.4 per day.

2008: 3,107! that's 8.5 a day.

2007: 2,807: 7.7 a day.

2006: 1,275, or 3.5 a day.

2005: 858. An average of 2.4 per day.

2004: 1,158.

2003: 637.

2002: 472.]

2001: "These attacks commenced in April 2001, although the first rocket to hit an Israeli city was on 5 March 2002, and the first Israeli fatality was 28 June 2004." I count 173 mortar attacks in 2001, however. Which makes the first fatality a critically-injured baby in 2001. And as soon as I make 250+ more edits and have the power to edit Wikipedia articles on "controversial" topics, I'll make it say so.

Grand Total: 51,685.

An average of SIX PER DAY.

FOR 24 YEARS.

I've been saying four.

But there were actually thousands that weren't listed on the Virtual Library site yet. It really cranked up that average.

Now consider this: between 10%-30% misfire and either crash into the sea, or hit Gaza.

A surprising number of Gazan casualties in every "conflict" have been from Hamas & Co's own missiles.

And they know this. And not only do they not care, but they keep using everything from mosques to humanitarian zones as rocket launch sites.

And why shouldn't they? You have to really dig to find information on how many Gazans die that way. Almost everyone just attributes the deaths to Israel. Hamas is never going to get any actual flak for accidentally killing its own civilians. It barely gets any flak for intentionally killing Israeli civilians, for pete's sake.

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 12.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #the game of teaching body

author's note: Ok guys, this is it! My hands are shaking as I'm publishing it. Thank you all so, so much, for all the kind comments, for the freakin' art (like what? fanart? of my writing? I'm still gagged over it!), for reblogging, placing messages in my inbox, for everything! Something that was supposed to drag my attention away from the temporary shittiness of my life, has turned into a full-blown passion, as currently I am drafting three new fics and working on all your awesome requests and I wouldn't be doing it without your encouragement. Thank you.

(disclaimer: I have a request for the opposite of the situation happening here, coming soon!)

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You noticed Viktor’s breath coming in short, uneven pants, his face twisted—not with pleasure, but something else entirely. His movements faltered, his grip tightening on your shoulder for balance before he suddenly stilled. His hands dropped to the desk on either side of your hips, fingers digging into the surface as though bracing against some invisible force.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, as though fighting off something within himself. His head hung down, strands of hair clinging to his damp forehead.

Alarmed, you scanned his body, searching for a clue. “Viktor?” you whispered, your voice steady despite the concern that thrummed through you. But he didn’t respond.

With a frustrated groan, Viktor slipped away from you, grabbing a pillow from the bed to shield himself as he limped toward the armchair. Every step was stiff and uneven until he finally collapsed into it, stretching his leg out with a sharp hiss. “Fucking cramp,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his hand rubbing at his thigh.

“Where?” You hopped off the desk immediately, pulling your sweatshirt over your head as you hurried to his side. You knelt beside him, your hands already seeking out the problem. “Let me see.”

His body tensed further, his lips pressing into a hard line as his free hand rose to cover his face. Anger, frustration, and something darker flickered across his expression. Embarrassment, no—shame. He was a man who hated to feel weak, and this moment—vulnerable, raw—clawed at his pride.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, but the pained wince that followed betrayed him.

You softened your voice, making it as non-threatening as possible. “Viktor,” you urged, your fingers hovering just above his thigh. “Show me.”

For a moment, you thought he’d refuse. His jaw worked as though grinding back a retort, but the tension in his leg won out. With a reluctant nod, he guided your hands to the offending muscle. You worked slowly, methodically, your fingers finding the knotted muscle and easing into it with unpractised care. Viktor leaned back, his head tipping against the armchair with a low, shuddering exhale. You glanced up at him occasionally, careful to give him space, but unable to stop the flickers of affection that crossed your face.

When the cramp finally loosened, Viktor’s body sagged with relief. His hand fell from his face, but his brows were still knitted together, his mouth almost invisible, save for a line. He looked... defeated.

You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his knee, a wordless gesture of comfort, before reaching for the pillow. You straddled his lap, intent on drawing him back, or rather away from this. But just as your lips hovered above his, Viktor’s hands came up, catching you by the shoulders and halting your movement.

“Wait, I—” Viktor exhaled heavily, his eyes darting anywhere but yours. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths, the frustration in his face giving way to disgust. “This is… strongly unattractive.” He offered you a sad, apologetic smile, one that left his eyes empty. It was a weak defence, a brittle mask to cover the discomfort roiling beneath. He didn’t want you to see him like this—not yet, maybe not ever. “I’m… sorry.”

Your lips curled into a soft, teasing smile. “Are you joking? A hot man in need of aid? In my books, that’s strongly attractive.” Your tone was light, your fingers weaving gently through his hair as though trying to coax him back to you. “Any other… affliction I could be of assistance with?”

But Viktor’s smile faded completely. “Please, stop,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost cracked. His body stiffened beneath you, his hand rising to cover his face again. He didn’t push you away, but the gesture was louder than words.

As if on cue, your hand slipped over his, tugging it gently away. “Let me in,” you whispered, your voice a soft, disarming plea. You rubbed your nose against his cheek, your warmth melting into him, your presence grounding him. Viktor’s breath hitched, a shallow inhale slipping through his parted lips. He was never this close to anyone—not like this. His heart was never this close to opening, his fears never this close to crawling into the light.

“How did this happen?” you asked, your fingers trailing behind you to graze the tense muscle of his thigh.

Viktor hesitated; his gaze fixed somewhere on the space between you. His teeth tugged at his lower lip, and when he finally spoke, his voice was distant, almost clinical. “Rotated femur. Just… a bad case.”

He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have to. Your mind worked quickly, piecing together everything you knew about him, every detail you’d catalogued. The timeline was clear, the reasons obvious, but you made the deliberate choice not to probe further. Instead, you placed a gentle hand on his chest, your touch steady and reassuring. “You’re okay,” you said softly, trying to guide him somewhere lighter, somewhere safer.

Viktor’s chest fluttered beneath your hand, his breaths uneven and shallow, each one giving away his hesitation. His eyes flicked to yours briefly before darting away again, the vulnerability in that fleeting glance leaving him feeling exposed. He gripped the armrest of the chair tightly, his knuckles whitening, as though he were bracing himself for something he couldn’t name. The silence between you stretched like a pained muscle.

For a long moment, he stayed like that—closed off, his expression unreadable save for the tightening of his jaw and the way his lips pressed into a thin line. But then, slowly, his grip on the armrest slackened, his shoulders dropping as though releasing a burden. He didn’t speak, but something shifted in his gaze as he looked at you again. It was tentative, unsure, but there was a crack in the armour—a fragile permission.

You saw it immediately, the subtle easing of his posture, the way his eyes softened despite the war still raging inside him. You stayed still, letting the moment settle, your touch light and unintrusive. Your thumb traced soothing circles over his chest, your movements careful, watching for even the smallest sign of discomfort. When none came, your fingers drifted to his thigh again, the tension there still palpable under your gentle ministrations.

“You can tell me to stop,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes searching his for any flicker of doubt. But instead of resistance, there was something else entirely—a flicker of trust, raw and unpolished, but unmistakable.

“So... how do we not make it upset?” you asked carefully, leaning forward to rest against his chest, your palm cradling his cheek. Your voice was calm, your touch light, but Viktor’s body tensed beneath you again, the rigidity in his frame speaking volumes. The answer, when it came, wasn’t surprising.

“We don’t ask questions about it,” Viktor huffed, his tone carrying a faint edge, though it softened as his hand began to move idly up and down your back. His touch was a distraction, deliberate and almost subconscious, as though trying to steer the moment away from his discomfort. But the heaviness lingered—how had this spiralled from intimacy to a conversation about his leg? The absurdity of it all made him feel drained, a long sigh escaping him.

“But I never asked you,” you murmured quietly, your lips pressing to the curve of his neck. Your words lingered, warm against his skin, as your fingers trailed through his hair. “And I seek to correct my mistake.” You whispered the words like a secret, your tone so tender it nearly disarmed him. Viktor clenched his jaw, the growing ache in his chest conflicting with the faint spark of heat your presence stirred.

“You read me like a book. And here I am, still wondering… what gets you off,” you teased softly, your playful tone a deliberate shift away from the seriousness he so clearly wanted to avoid.

“Definitely not questions about my leg,” Viktor groaned, pulling back slightly, though his lips twitched in reluctant amusement. He let out an exasperated sigh, wiggling just enough to escape the trail of kisses you left along his neck. “Please, let’s sit this one out.”

Even though the warmth of your weight on him stirred something deep in his core, the shame pressed harder, suffocating, and unrelenting. He tried to muster an apologetic smile, but it fell flat, and the tension returned like a phantom haunting his every breath.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, adjusting yourself on his lap, your hands cupping his face with intent. This wasn’t about sex anymore, and Viktor could see it in your eyes. You weren’t looking for fun or distraction. You were asking for something bigger, something he wasn’t sure he could give.

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, his voice steady despite the storm inside. But then, with a small, bitter laugh, he added, “Though I know exactly what’s coming next. You’re going to ask me when I’m comfortable, and we’ll never have fun sex again because you’ll forever burn this moment into your brain as a pity party for the cripple.” His words were dry, calculated, but the flash of frustration in his eyes betrayed him. “Which I am, by the way. But that’s beside the point.”

“Viktor, I don’t care if—”

“You are not allowed to say ‘cripple,’ it’s my word only,” he cut you off, his tone clipped as his eyes fixed on you. Your lips twitched in a half-smile as you rolled your eyes in response, your patience endless.

“I don’t care if you’re an Olympic athlete or a chess world champion,” you continued with exaggerated care, your voice steady, measured. “I want to know what gets you off. No more, no less.”

Your thumb brushed softly against his cheek, a small, grounding gesture that made Viktor’s jaw tighten for just a moment before he let out a slow breath. “And I won’t force you to do or say anything,” you added gently, your words laced with sincerity. “But I’m asking you to reconsider, given that you are in a safe space.”

He studied you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face, searching for something—doubt, insincerity, any crack in your words he could latch onto. But there was none. Just your calm, unwavering presence.

“And this is your request?” he asked finally, raising an eyebrow, though his tone lacked the sharpness it held before.

“This is my request,” you said plainly, your bluntness somehow soothing, disarming. You leaned in to kiss his forehead, a tender gesture that made him close his eyes, his resistance softening like ice melting under the warmth of spring sunlight.

You let him gather his strength. You stayed close, your movements deliberate and slow, as though any sudden action might startle him into retreat. Your hand slid to his chest, resting there lightly, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart. You waited, not speaking, letting the weight of your presence fill the space between you.

Viktor’s fingers twitched at his sides, then hesitated before coming to rest lightly against your hips. His grip was tentative, almost unsure, but he didn’t pull you closer or push you away. His silence stretched out, but in it, something shifted—a small crack in the wall he’d built, a mute permission.

You tilted your head, your gaze fixed on his, waiting for a sign—any sign—that his discomfort was easing. It came in the form of his breath, no longer shallow but slow and steady, his shoulders relaxing by degrees. The corners of his mouth twitched faintly, almost imperceptibly, as though he was trying to let you in but didn’t quite know how.

“I’m here,” you whispered softly, your words more a reassurance than a prompt. “Whatever you’re ready to share—or not—it doesn’t change anything.”

Viktor’s eyes lifted to yours, and for a moment, the battle within him seemed to subside. He didn’t speak, but the look he gave you said enough. A faint vulnerability glimmered there, a quiet acceptance of your presence, even if he wasn’t ready to bare everything yet.

He sighed, the weight of it carrying the burden of his struggle outside of his body. Damn you.

“Let’s see,” he trailed, his hands moving to rest on your thighs, his touch light but grounding. “I thoroughly enjoyed our last time,” he admitted, his words tentative at first, but gaining confidence as he felt your weight settle more comfortably on him. “And it was… comfortable,” he added thoughtfully, as though revealing a truth he hadn’t quite allowed himself to accept before.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth, your hand brushing softly over his shoulder. You didn’t push, didn’t rush him, giving him the space to guide the conversation.

“Standing, eh, is not my forte, as you saw,” he continued, his hand trailing off to the side as his gaze followed, lingering somewhere beyond you. His voice was steady, but you could hear the faintest hint of self-deprecation beneath it.

“It’s not my favourite either,” you mused, your fingers threading gently through his hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. You could feel the subtle shift in his body as he relaxed beneath your touch.

“Don’t lie, you liked it. I saw you,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at your face, though the glint of amusement in his irises betrayed him.

Your laugh was soft, playful. “I liked it because it was with you,” you breathed, your voice carrying a teasing innocence. You leaned in to place a sweet kiss on his lips, feeling his judgmental hand fall back to your thigh.

His grip tightened slightly, and a sly smirk curved his lips. With a sudden, playful jolt of his hips, he snapped you out of your little act, making you gasp in surprise before laughter bubbled out of you again.

“I like when you suck on my thumb,” he said, his voice lower now, softer, yet carrying an unmissable heat. His hand rose, pressing the pad of his thumb gently against your lips. You parted them immediately, your lips warm and soft as you took him in without hesitation. Your eyes fluttered shut at the quiet praise that followed, his voice like a thread of warmth weaving through you.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his tone laced with a mix of encouragement and wonder. His thumb moved, brushing against your tongue, the sensation grounding him in the present moment.

You opened your eyes to find his gaze fixed on you, his expression softened, the guarded edge that usually shielded him nowhere to be seen. Vulnerability still lingered, but now it was met with acceptance, even a flicker of confidence.

“You’re good at this,” you teased, your words a whisper as you gently pulled his hand away to press a kiss against his knuckles. “Being open.”

His laugh was quiet, a breath more than a sound, but it was genuine. “Don’t get used to it,” he warned, though the slight smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

You simply leaned in, resting your forehead against his, your weight steady but light enough to remind him that you would follow his lead. “One step at a time,” you murmured, your hand resting over his heart.

In your touch, in your gaze, Viktor found a quiet reassurance that spoke louder than any words. And for the first time, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen, slipping away into the quiet intimacy you had built together.

“I like to see you,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft yet steady, as his hand cupped your face lovingly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re on top or I am,” he continued, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “Though I have to admit, this setup you got us in here is… appealing.” His lips curved into a faint smirk before he pulled you closer, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was as tender as it was deliberate.

“Oh, and I will never say no to a good head,” he whispered against your mouth, the teasing edge in his tone mirrored by the smirk tugging at his lips.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “A good head? Are you trying to tell me something?” you quipped, shifting your hips against his, eliciting a groan that vibrated through him.

“I’m not complaining,” he replied innocently, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed his composure. He rolled his hips beneath you, his movements fluid, deliberate, and taunting. “All I’m saying is that practice makes perfect, and I am… willing to be your study buddy,” he finished, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as the corners of his mouth quirked upward in a smile.

You found yourself slightly breathless at his audacity, but you refused to falter. Instead, you leaned in closer, your teeth grazing his lower lip in playful retaliation. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you teased, your voice low, though it carried a spark of mischief that only made his grin widen.

The tension between you shifted, turning softer, as Viktor let out a quiet, contented sigh. His body, once taut with uncertainty, now felt pliant beneath you. A gentle heat spread through his veins, chasing away the lingering shadows of shame and fear. For a moment, he simply gazed at you, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing his next words carefully.

“I... want to be wanted,” he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of his honesty. “I want you to want me—not to see me as—”

He faltered, his brows knitting together as his words trailed off. His hand moved to rest over yours where it lay on his chest, grounding himself in your touch. Viktor’s gaze searched yours, wary yet hopeful, as though testing the waters of how much more he could bare to you.

You tilted your head, your fingers lacing gently with his as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t,” you said softly, your tone steady and resolute. “I see you as you, as exactly who you are. Consider me… bewitched.”

A wave of affection swept through him, soothing the raw edges of his vulnerability. You didn’t push, didn’t demand anything more from him than what he was willing to give, and it was in that quiet understanding that Viktor felt something shift.

It wasn’t just trust—it was something deeper, something that made the walls he had so carefully built around himself tremble and, piece by piece, begin to fall.

“And Viktor, I want you… so, so much,” your voice barely a whisper against his mouth as you gave him a longing kiss, your hands cradling his face as though he was the most precious thing in the world.

Your words ignited a spark deep within him, fanning the embers of confidence that had smouldered under layers of doubt. Viktor’s hesitation began to wane, replaced by something more primal and eager. His lips moved against yours with renewed hunger, his body responding to you in ways he could no longer suppress.

He hummed, the sound low and rumbling, as his hands found your waist and pulled you closer, his movements deliberate yet restrained, like a man rediscovering his footing. “Hmm, tell me how much do you want me,” he muttered hoarsely against your lips, his breath fanning over your face.

His hands travelled lower, gripping your ass as he guided your movements, your tongues tangling in a slow rhythm. You rolled your hips lazily on his cock, feeling him grow hard beneath you, his groan vibrating through you as you murmured, “So, so much, it hurts. Fuck me, Viktor,” against his lips.

Viktor let out a low chuckle, the sound rich with both amusement and arousal. “Ask me nicely,” he teased, his voice steady now, laced with a familiar confidence that sent shivers down your spine.

Your gaze locked with his, a flicker of playful frustration dancing in your eyes as you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, cupping your breasts with deliberate tenderness, his thumbs brushing against your skin in a way that made you gasp softly.

A tremor ran through you as you exhaled, your fingers threading through his hair. You hesitated, your pride momentarily warring with your desire before you finally gave in. You voice was quiet but filled with emotion as you whispered, “Please, make love to me, Viktor.”

The words melted over him, and he felt last bits of doubts leaving him. His expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you deeply, his lips warm and unhurried against yous. This wasn’t just about reclaiming your passion—it was about finding something sacred in the spaces between your bodies, something that belonged only to you and Viktor.

Without breaking the kiss, his hand travelled between your bodies, and you could feel his fingers playing idly at your entrance. He couldn’t fight a smile blooming on his lips when he found out how much indeed you wanted him—your core hot and fluttering on his tender skin as he lazily guided the head of his cock inside.

It was easy to claim you. It was easy to be with you now. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, and you both let out soft groans of relief, filling each other's gaps. For a moment, neither of you moved, letting gentle twitches of your connection guide the growing feeling of pleasure bubbling between you.

Viktor started with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips; it was almost painful, and he felt himself wanting more and less at the same time. With a quiet gesture, he started rocking your hips on top of his, letting you find her own flow. When he felt your movements grow more balanced, he handed the control over to you and savoured the sight of you swaying on top of him. You lazy, sensual rhythm carried both of you in tandem, as your bodies grew closer and closer together. He got himself busy with kissing your neck and kneading the flesh of your ass.

As your rhythm grew more frantic, the strain of holding back visible in your furrowed brow, he pulled you closer by the back of your neck and muttered into your ear, “Touch yourself for me.”

It was both a command and a plea, and you placed your timid hand where your bodies met. You felt momentarily exposed as Viktor’s eyes studied your face, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You held his gaze and seeing there was nothing else but admiration in it, you put yourself on display for him. You let him take in your face, the movement of your wrist, all the quiet sounds you made as your hips stuttered and you came on his cock with a loud “Fuck!” muffled by his neck.

He watched you, fascinated, his own mouth agape, as he felt your walls clenching around him. His own pressure was rising, when he pulled you closer, caging your arms with his and let his thrusts take over. He pushed his hips up with a gentle force, your body already melting around him, as he traced a slick trail up your neck with his tongue.

Seeing his searching eyes and the strain in his forehead, you leaned in and encouraged him with a barely audible, “Come for me.” Viktor’s breath grew hot, and you swallowed the moan he gave you when you whispered a quiet praise against his skin. “You fuck me so well.”

“Fuck, I’m—” he squeezed you flush against him, as the final pants and groans fell from his mouth and he spilled himself inside you, his face pressed against you neck. Feeling him shift beneath you, you hugged him tighter and soothed him with a soft, “Stay."

You remained straddled on his lap, your bodies cooling together in the quiet aftermath. Your fingertips traced lazy, featherlight patterns over his shoulders, grounding you both in the stillness. Viktor's hands rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing absentmindedly over your skin, as though to memorise the moment. Only your breaths, soft and calm spilled into the silence of Viktor’s room.

***

“Of course. Breaking the law, as usual,” Viktor smirked, catching you smoking a cigarette outside the window in between a study session with Sue. “How many times do you think I should let this go?”

“Three,” you deadpanned. “I will have one more that way.” You were so fucking tired. And Sue was completely useless, already snoring soundly in your room.

“How is it going?” he asked, plucking the cigarette from your fingers and taking a drag. You shuffled on your feet with a long sigh and shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to learn all of this in such a short time and then remember it for the rest of my life.”

“You are not. You will forget it briefly, and then it will come back,” he said, passing the cigarette back to you.

“The visions of the future,” you murmured, tracing your open hand toward the window, as if it held the vision itself. “The only future I see is the break. Unless I fail. Then, possibly Starbucks.”

Viktor scoffed. So dramatic. “Such a baby,” he muttered, tracing his thumb over the swell of your lips. It was tender, and he wanted to tell you he was proud of you.

The last time had stirred something very scary within him. His guard was down, ruined. It was never coming back up—it was so ruined. So, he had to be sure. But now, of course, wasn’t the time. You were elbows deep in genetics, chemistry, and other subjects that Viktor had no interest in.

“I think I should switch departments,” you sighed, the sound too heavy for a joke, even though it was, and you smiled weakly. Viktor only blinked slowly, taking the cigarette back.

“Eh, you are doing great. I was much worse during your year.” He hugged you with one arm, the other lifting the cigarette to your lips. You raised your brows in question, though no answer came.

“My mother says changes are good.” This time you put more effort into the joke. “Though she also tells me to wear red knickers to exams and tests, so… I don’t know how trusted she can be.”

“Oh, they work. How do you think I am where I am?” He chuckled, warming your shoulders with his hands. The rumble of his laughter carried itself through you, down, down to your toes. “Not all changes are possible, though.”

“Viktor, if you’ve changed, anything can.” Your voice was wistful, as if you didn’t know what you were saying.

He hadn’t changed.

“I haven’t changed, though, have I?” A hysterical thought tore through him. “Look at us, back here, at the beginning. You, deep in thoughts, and me—” Deep in love with you.

“Viktor, what… what are you doing?” You blinked, unsure. He was stalling. His shoulder left yours as he leaned against the windowsill, just like he did then. You put the cigarette out and flicked it outside. “Do you want to talk about something?”

“Not really, I’m just stating a fact.” I want to tell you; I just have to be sure.

“Fact being?” You swallowed it down—the fear that had started crawling up your throat. You smothered it and pushed it back down, bitter on your tongue.

“That some things don’t change.” He made sure to sound unfazed, to make it sound non-threatening, just natural—an obvious truth about him.

“Why are you being so defensive?” you asked, your eyes narrowing.

“I just… don’t want you to jump into something you’re not sure of.” You have to be sure. He allowed himself a shrug and a faint eye roll for the effect. He watched you, your body completely still as you watched him back.

“I haven’t jumped anywhere yet,” you said, measuring your words, gathering your composure. A month ago, it would have made you claw his eyes out, but now you knew. Because you felt the same. He loved you, and he feared it, and you felt the same. “I’ve barely dipped my toes.”

“What are you saying?” Were you saying what he thought you were saying? It felt like a challenge, and for once, he didn’t like it. It felt more serious than back at the beginning. He had more to lose now. “What do you want from me, really?” He meant to keep it in his thoughts, but it shot out.

“Change is inevitable. I don’t want games. I want you.” A countdown of statements. Dry and measured, said with no affection, just stating facts, like he was. Was that why it had felt so hollow?

“You can’t just walk into a relationship with the intent to change somebody. I won’t. This won’t,” his voice rose dangerously, echoing through the empty corridor. He pointed to his leg and pushed his cane firmly into the floor, as if to steady himself.

“That’s not what I said. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. I’m merely saying that changes happen,” you said firmly, letting your arms drop from their defensive cross on your chest.

He hesitated. You were right, somehow, and he was right as well. “What do you want from me?” Just say it. So I can be sure.

“Do I have to know now?”

It was so different from your fight in the snow. He had guarded himself back up, came prepared. You had to improvise. No, you knew. You knew him already. He’d said he’d give you his princess heart, and he did, and now he was asking if you would take it.

“I have to know now,” a shuddering breath escaped him. I have to know now because I won’t be able to walk away later. I have to know now. I have to know now.

“I… brood. I put my work first because it’s the only thing I had for the longest time. I will become boring. And this will become hard,” he began counting it down and couldn’t see the end. “I am… aware that people grow apart. I accept it. But—”

“Viktor,” you interjected. “Why are we talking about growing apart when we haven’t even started anything properly?”

“Because it’s important. And because… yesterday. What you did yesterday, I don’t think I—” I don’t think I can live without it.

You stared at him, breathing evenly, as if you were forcing the breaths inside you.

“You haven’t seen me at my worst. You really haven’t,” he added, noticing you formulating a scoff. Each word was such a strain. Each and every one tried to crawl back down, deep into his stomach, and stir there with all the bile and cigarette smoke.

“I get so jealous. I get so angry. I get angry because I can’t fuck you the way I want to. My leg hurts, and I remember everything. I never forget anything. I will use everything I can against you if it comes to it. So what do you want from me?”

“All of it.” Blunt, almost painful.

He pleaded weakly with your name on his lips. He was so tired. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I want it all. Now, and later. I will keep it safe.” I will keep your heart safe; I promise. “Viktor, I also remember everything. I get jealous and angry. I will use the things you didn’t want to say against you, probably, and I’ll regret it after. I’ve beaten you up in the snow. What you’re describing is human.” I love all your human things.

All the while, you stood at arm’s length. Viktor came closer, swallowing it all down. The words he had said let themselves out, and he swallowed your words too—they coated his stomach with warmth. He swallowed it all down, awash in it.

He pulled you in, slowly, his touch tentative. “Okay,” his breath fanned over her face. “Okay.” I love you so, so much that it hurts.

“I think… I’m in love with you.”

He thought a current of vomit would take him, but it didn’t. Instead, it was your hands holding his as you stared at him, wearing your sweatshirt with a torn collar and his boxer shorts, barefoot, a blanket loosely wrapped around you.

“I love all of you. I promise,” you whispered, meaning it with all your fluttering heart. And Viktor knew you meant it. He knew by the way your hands cradled his ribs, your body slotted in with his so he could feel the drum of your chest. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you tightly and allowing himself a relaxed exhale, which felt like the first one he had ever taken, as the game was truly over, and you both had won.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

I read something that you said Scud liked to be recorded and I’m actually foaming at the mouth at the idea of that because it’s so real. I NEED a fic for that. So glad I found someone with a Scud obsession as bad as mine

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

THE GOOD GOOD: FemDom!Reader x Sub!Scud, recording during sex, lots of teasing, and edging, bit of bondage, your much needed dose of pegging, and scud crying during sex, don't forget the hair pulling

GUYS I LOVE SCUD SO MUCH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE HIM MY PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL

I'm really trying to get my drafts cleared out LOL hopefully sometime soon I'll have a big major posting spree and then I can start working on my inbox

I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS AUUUGH IDK WHY I LET THEM ALL PILE UP SOMEONE KILL ME

The idea of Scud being recorded is still my favorite because I feel like he'd be so nervous under the lens, trying to hide from it and not be seen but he'd still end up looking like a slutty pornstar (my precious pornstar)

also scud in lace. its been on my mind for I don't even know how long at this point.

You sighed as you walked down your complex's dingy, dimly lit hallway, silently hoping that Scud wouldn't be too mad at you for coming home so late into the night. After all, you had told him that you would only be about ten more minutes, but that had been almost an hour ago.

Things got a little out of hand, nothing you couldn't deal with sure but it was quite an inconvenience. A short, fifteen-minute task had easily turned into a full job, one that included running around the shop looking for spare parts. With what you had learned from Blade and Scud, it didn't take long to find all the little pieces you needed, and even a reward for yourself.

"Scud! I'm back! Look at what was in the shop" You called out to him when you jingled your keys in the lock and swung the front door to your apartment open, eagerly kicking off your shoes as you toyed with the little camcorder you had come across, flipping through the random pictures on it. There was no clear indicator of who's camera exactly, but you had always loved photography, so just one day with it wouldn't hurt anyone.

There was no response to your voice, the apartment barely lit and quiet, soft thumping coming from you and Scud's shared bedroom. He was probably playing on his PS2 with his headphones in, loud music blasting at levels you’ve already scolded him for.

As you padded through the cozy living room, you pointed your camera at random things and took little cameos of them, making your way down the short and narrow hall towards the room where you could see some of the orange lighting spilling out through a crack in the door.

You approached, about to call out Scud’s name once again as the soft thumping faded into a rhythmic beat, a Lady Gaga track when you finally stopped short in front of the door, pushing it open a bit and poking your head through, combing hair out your eyes as your mind drew a blank, greedily taking in the sight in front of you.

Scud was in fact not playing on his game system, but rather prancing around the cozy room what he didn’t know was your very expensive lingerie set. An all-white, delicate full ‘angelic’ lingerie set. A satin ruffle top with a waist-high lace garter belt that clipped onto the white mesh fishnets, all paired with lacy underwear that had a large bow on the back, topped with a fair-sized opening that revealed a large portion of his dumb butt.

You had originally bought it to surprise your boyfriend a few months back, but you had both gotten so overcrowded with work that it slipped your mind, collecting a thin layer of dust somewhere you weren’t even sure where you had put it. Scud always got curious about your things when he was rocket-high, digging through things and asking a million and one questions. Now here he was, looking pretty as ever swaying his hips around in the bedroom, mumbling along to the current track playing.

You found yourself flipping the camcorder's small screen open and resting against the door frame as the device started to record, capturing Scud’s fluid movements as he obliviously danced around, brown curls falling sweetly in his face, and skin glowing orange from the multiple sources of warm light in the room.

He really did look like an angel, his broad body looking much more supple and soft, legs long and lean, hips wide and divine. A walking, talking piece of pure eye candy, reserved for your eyes and only your eyes. Guess this camera just found itself a new owner.

Scud spun around on his heels and toes, once, twice, before he stopped, eyes focusing on the small little red dot, flickering up to meet your gaze and feeling his entire exposed body heat up in embarrassment.

“W– Wha– How– How long– Hello– ” Scud sputtered, completely frozen in place as he stared at you.

You, who was now fully entering the bedroom, “Don’t stop now, I barely got any footage” placing your free hand on his small waist and dipping fingers under the fabric of the garter. A smile tugged your lips as you started taking in the entirety of your boyfriend's body up close, his skin soft and hot under the tips of your fingers. “Y– You’re re-recording me?” He knew the answer, but hearing it from you verbally just made a chill run down his spine, and his cock twitch.

“Does that make you nervous love?” Your fingers trailed up his scarred chest, brushing across the lose ruffled top and grazing his nipples, a small whine coming from Scud as he dipped down in order to hide his face, but you wouldn’t let him. “Look at me” You said as you lifted his head up by the chin, forcing his gaze onto yours.

Scud lightly whimpered, desire burning in his gut as you brushed hair out his face, fingers dancing along his skin. He felt exposed under the camera’s lens, so much of his raw and bare skin visible to the naked eye. Your gaze on his body made his cock throb.

“What do I always tell you about playing in my stuff?” You said in a condescending tone, teasing the tips of your fingers down his textured belly.

Scud shivered at your touch as goosebumps prickled his skin, a strained grunt coming from him as his face flushed. “N– not without mommy’s permission”

You slowly walk around him, taking in his full body in the set. “Don’t touch mommy’s things without permission. That’s a rule, right?” You murmur as you stop recording to take a picture of Scud’s ass, definitely filling out the panties better than you could.

“Yes…” He mumbles, and it almost comes out like a squeak. His cock aching with need and his stomach with embarrassment, heart pounding from a combination of nerves and weed.

You brush your lips against the skin of his shoulder, slipping fingers under the waistline of the lace undies. “So can you explain to me why said rule is broken?”

A whimper broke past Scud's lips as your fingers teased and explored his exposed skin, squeezing his hips and tracing scars. "I just– I just found it under the bed and didn't know what it was" Scud stumbled out, heart thumping in his chest as your hands covered more ground on his body, circling around to his back.

"Mhm?" You hummed, tracing your finger up his spine. He let out a moan as chills ran through his core, trembling under your touch as he could feel goosebumps explode across his skin. "Well, do you know what it is now?"

Scud nodded frantically at your words, "Yes! Yes– I know now" quivering as he spoke.

With one hand on his waist, the other still holding the camera, you guided him to the edge of the bed and pushed his upper half down onto the mattress, smiling softly to yourself as you eyed Scud's new position through the lens.

Click! Click!

The electric snap of the camera made Scud feel fuzzy and warm, slightly embarrassed, and very exposed. His skin was flushed a light red, some areas more blushed than the others. From where his cock was confined in the small panties, he was completely pulsing, throbbing with pure need in his gut.

"Do you also know not to break the rules?" You questioned, flipping through the few shots you had taken before moving your attention to the small walk-in closet, crouching down and reaching inside a box.

Scud whined into the soft comforter when you returned behind him, his socked feet barely reaching the rug between them. He could hear the small beep of the camera as you pressed your front to his bottom, a yelp coming from him when your palm made contact with his exposed cheek. "I asked, so answer"

"Y– Yes! Not breaking the rules is a rule" He whimpered, a shudder running through him as his skin tingled.

You smiled at his words as you caressed his side, squeezing his waist and hip slightly. "Good. Very good. So don't you think you deserve a punishment?"

Scud didn't respond, but he nodded his head, hiding his face the best he could behind his hair. You pushed the strands back and cooed at his cherry-red face, tiny whines coming from him as he squirmed under the camera's lens, jerking his hips slightly as he rutted against the edge of the bed.

Your hand made contact with his cheek again, a choked-off groan coming from his throat at your palm. "Words."

"Y– yes ma– ma'am..." He stuttered, trembling slightly with anticipation. It wasn't often that Scud got punished, even with as bratty as he was, so his cock was totally aching just thinking about whatever vile shit it was you were thinking about doing to him.

And you were thinking of doing some quite horrid things.

Teasingly, you ran your hand over the opening in his panties, prodding your finger at his puffy rim. A suppressed shudder traveled through him as his cock twitched, his hole fluttering at your air-light touch. You softly cooed at how needy he was, smiling to yourself as you single-handedly took off your shirt and tossed it on the floor somewhere to be picked up later.

From the box in your closet, you had pulled your strap set, a pair of cuffs, and a long vibrator that you had been wanting to test out for a little while.

Cuffing Scud's hands behind his back with only five fingers was a bit of a challenge, but an easy one. He squirmed a little as you did it, wiggling his fingers as his wrists adjusted to the new sensation of the cuffs.

You shuffled around behind him, cursing softly as you knocked a few things over before tossing a bottle of lube along with the rest of your toys, pressing yourself against Scud as you leaned down near his ear, breath feather-light and hair tickling his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and you could hear his pulse in his neck thumping.

“Just how should I punish you?” You murmur, trailing your lips against his ear lobe and teasing the skin with the very tip of your tongue.

“Maybe I should spank you ‘til it hurts to sit,” You run your free hand down to his ass and give it a slap for emphasis, followed by a squeeze just cause.

“Or maybe I could tie up those cute balls and see just how long it takes for you to pop” You hum, nibbling on Scud’s ear and tugging it with your teeth until you dropped it with an idea lingering in mind.

“Or," You said as you pulled away from him. "I could just leave you here by yourself” You smirked, watching Scud’s face twist in horror.

“No! No– please no” He pleaded as he squirmed on the bed, hips jerking in a desperate search for relief, cock painfully hard and throbbing. “Need a punishment, need mommy to punish me” Scud blabbed, his body trembling as his eyes darted from your face to the camera's lens, his body coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“But how should I punish you?” You teasingly coo, combing some of a Scud’s bangs out one of his eyes as you smiled softly at him. “I could smoke our whole stash right in your face”

Scud groaned, “Please don’t” squeezing his legs as arousal burned hot in his gut. “I’m really sorry mommy, I– I’ll do anything”

“Oh, I know you will. Just stay still for me ‘kay?” You pushed yourself back up to your full height, pausing your recording to swap out the camera for the bottle of lube, shaking it slightly before uncapping it and squeezing out more than enough of the clear liquid onto Scud's puffy rim, watching the shiver that ran through him as the cold sensation rolled down to his sensitive balls.

You scooped it up with your two fingers and easily slid them inside Scud, a soft moan coming from him as he clenched around you, almost instantly pushing back in search of more. "Such a greedy little hole, you just wanna be fucked so badly don't you?"

Scud whined and squeezed his slick walls around your digits, "Yes! Want mommy to fill me up so bad, need her so bad" rubbing his face against the soft comforter as he could feel it burning hot.

"Don't worry baby boy, we're gonna get you all nice 'nd full right now" You spoke sweetly to him as you picked up the camera with one hand and the vibrator with the other, resuming your recording as the toy harshly rumbled to life after the click of a button. Without wasting a second, you watched as the buzzing wand glided into Scud with zero resistance, pressing it directly against his sweet spot and causing him to loudly sputter, blabble, and cry out nonsense as the sudden vibration traveled through his entire nervous system, cock throbbing with the uncontrollable urge to cum.

Scud sobbed around his loud moans, choking out gasps when you started to quickly thrust the toy in and out, each hard bump to his now very sensitive prostrate only sent him closer to the edge, hands twitching and pulling where they were restrained as his body spasmed, heaving as his heart started to pound in his chest the harder and harder you fucked him, hips jerking down into the mattress as he tried to pathetically chase his rapidly building orgasm, a burning pleasure coursing through the entirety of his body before–

You swiftly pulled the toy out of him right as he was about to topple over the edge, a confused, strangled whimper tearing from his throat as his poor hole needily clenched around nothing, so full and pleased just a split second ago and now suddenly empty and crashing down from the way you abruptly ruined his orgasm.

“Sorry, my hand slipped” You mumbled, obviously not sorry at all as you teased his fluttering hole with the toy, capturing all your torturous movements through the little camera lens.

The cuffs rattled as Scud whined and squirmed at the contact against his sensitive skin, trying his hardest to push back onto the vibrator while also jerking his hips away from it. He was so high, so hot and sweaty as he heaved from where he was on the bed, shaking as you tauntingly dragged the toy up from his slick balls to his drenched rim, only ever applying the slightest amount of pressure.

It made him push his hips back in desperation, letting out a surprised yelp when you smacked him with the toy, tutting your lips as you shook your head, placing the camera down and positioning it to capture Scud's hidden face, forcing his head up by roughly yanking a fistful of hair.

He whined as a shiver ran down his spine, trembling as his eyes nervously darted away from the lens, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being recorded in such an exposed state. His cock was still painfully aching, whole body throbbing uncontrollably from your early treatment.

Scud made tiny little whimpers when you started to tease his hole again with the toy, his hips twitching as he tried not to jerk them back, desperate and craving to be filled up again. His gut ached with arousal, cock leaking painfully where it was confined in the small panties.

"P– Please fuck me, please mommy" He begged as you dipped your head down and started nibbling at his bare shoulder, teasing the skin of his hip with your fingers.

You blew on his ear as you ran the length of the vibrator up his slick crack, a keen noise pulling out his throat as his hole fluttered in anticipation. "Is this what you want pretty boy? To be stuffed like a dumb slut?"

Scud whined at your words, nodding his head and hiding his face shyly behind his hair, jumping slightly when you tightly gripped his jaw, lifting his head once more and dropping it to pick up your camera.

"You're so cute when you're nervous" You said to him as you smooshed your cheek against his, pointing the lens at the both of you and snapping a few pictures, Scud's face red and embarrassed as the flash flickered, electric shutter ringing in his ears.

Scud huffed slightly as his socked toes brushed the rug beneath him, kicking his feet impatiently as need and heat burned through his veins. He whined softly when you pulled away from him entirely, leaving the camcorder pointed at him to capture his facial expressions when you suddenly shoved the entirety of the vibrator back into him, a loud and shaky moan tearing from Scud's throat as the toy easily slid into him, almost yelling when it buzzed to life against his sensitive walls.

His hands curled into one another where his arms were stretched behind his back, yet immediately scrambled to wrap around your wrist when you trailed fingers up his spine, his fingers twitching and trembling as they latched onto you, incoherent mumbles leaving Scud's lips.

As you started to properly fuck him with the toy, quickly thrusting it in and out as he tensed up at the sensation, shuddering as his jaw went slack and he started to desperately yet sloppy push back against your movements, toes curling into the carpet as you shoved the vibrator right into his sweet spot, stars dancing in his eyes and coursing through his body.

"I bet that feels so good huh pretty boy? Gonna cum aren't you?" You taunted as you fucked him quicker with the silicone toy, watching the way he had started to twitch and squirm, his whimpers and cries starting to increase in volume. Scud tried to respond to your questions, but his words only came out as a garbled mess.

It earned a small laugh from you, pressing yourself up against him and dipping your head down to attack his neck, running your tongue over his pulse, and feeling his heart race under the muscle. "Didn't quite catch that" You murmured into his ear, slowing down your movements as you searched for Scud's sweet spot, a broken sob tearing from his lips when you found it. "Yes," He gasped, trembling underneath you as he heaved for air, clumsily stuttering out his words. "Wanna cum so bad, want mommy to make me cum"

Scud tugged and pulled at his restraints as he choked back cries, clumsily pushing back against your movements desperately as he chased after his rapidly building orgasm, babbling brainlessly. He could feel the buzzing sensation in his toes, all the way up to his teeth, it made his head foggy and his jaw go slack, not sure if the high he was greedily riding was from the weed or sheer pleasure, but it had him on cloud nine either way.

Each thrust brought him closer and closer, so close he could practically taste it. A needy, broken whimper came from his chest as his body twitched against you, small pleas starting to fall from his lips as his untouched cock throbbed from his burning climax, lungs running out of air as his body started to tense up, standing right on the edge and about to fall down face first when you yanked the toy right out of him again, Scud whining and basically sobbing in protest as his hole uncontrollably clenched down around nothing, heavy groans leaving him as his body struggled to recover from the way you completely denied him again.

"Oh Please, please mommy, please" Scud sobbed as his body felt so empty and used, desperately craving the relief that he needed so badly.

You shut the toy off and tossed it down on the bed, taking hold of the camcorder and stopping your recording, snapping a few pictures of how utterly destroyed Scud was, face soaked with his tears and drool as he weakly rutted his hips in search of any type of pleasure. He whimpered softly at the flash of light, feeling exposed and nude under the lens.

"It's okay Scud, you've been doing so well for me. Momma's gonna make you feel so good" You murmured comfortingly into his ears as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, pushing your body up off his and leaving the camera on the bed. Scud still whined out in protest as your body heat left his, leaving him cold and lonely. His heart started to soar and quickly pick up speed when he heard the familiar sound of your strap buckling together, small mutters and curses coming from you as there was a slight struggle.

It wasn't long before you reappeared behind Scud, this time pressing your cock against him. Anticipation sparked to life in his tummy as you dragged the silicone through his slick, unable to help himself from pushing back against you with tiny little sounds. He needed it so bad that his body was practically begging for release, involuntarily twitching.

Scud was so close to an absolute breakdown, whimpering and mumbling incoherently as you finally started to push in at a tauntingly slow pace, the lube helping to make it an easy glide and blissful stretch. His head dropped down onto the mattress as sparks flew up his spine, so understimulated that even the slightest of touch would probably send him tipping over the edge.

You readjusted your camcorder with one hand and the tightly tangled the other in his hair, yanking his head back up to be captured in the lens, giggling at the groan that left Scud’s lips. “Come on pretty boy, keep your head up for momma”

“Need– Need it–“ Scud started to babble, head totally clouded and overworked as he desperately jerked his hips, rocking them back and forth to get any type of stimulation at all, trembling like a leaf on a branch when he felt the tip of your strap finally, finally jab right into his tender and used sweet spot, knees buckling between him as he involuntarily squeezed your wrist tightly, nails digging into the flesh as the orgasm his body had been begging for completely took over, loud and broken sobs leaving Scud’s lips as his untouched cock throbbed and pulsated, cumming right in the lace panties of the lingerie set.

The fact that you captured that on camera almost made your mouth water, and you cooed at Scud when he went ragdoll in your hold, stroking his side to give him some comfort as he slowly came back down to earth. “Oh, you poor little thing. Did I tease too much?”

Scud could barely even muster out words, breathing into the mattress as his body twitched, small grunts and whimpers coming from him your hand in his hair kept his head upright and his face vulnerable, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks.

“Or, did I not tease you enough?” You murmured the question softly in his ear, moving to grab a fist full of hair from the front and gripping his cuffed wrists, yanking both backward as you took a step forward to shove the entirety of your cock into Scud, who could almost taste the pleasure coursing through him. A choked sob tore itself from his throat, eyes darting frantically between the wall and camera lens as it felt like pure heaven burned it’s way up his spine, hands twitching and curling in on themselves under your grip.

It was arguably the best he’s ever felt in days, weeks even. When you started to relentlessly and mercilessly slam into him, each thrust going right to his core and sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head, lips glossy and slick with spit as he drooled from the mouthwatering pleasure.

“You’re just so, so cute Scud. I can’t wait to watch our little movie over and over and over again” You said as you tilted his head to the side by his hair, biting down harshly on the flesh of his already bruised and marked neck, a shriek pulling its way out his chest as all five of his senses were at a complete overload, skin flushing a deep red when he felt your teeth blissfully break skin. It was all so overwhelming, the wet glide of your cock slipping in and out against his tender velvety walls was simply too much for his mind to be able to comprehend, hips jerking as his second orgasm built up rapidly, like a can of soda that had been shaken up and was just waiting for someone to pop the tap.

He heard the sound of the cuffs clicking off before he felt the fuzzy material sliding off his wrists, your hands finding his and intertwining your fingers together, pinning his hands down on the mattress to fuck him with all the womanly strength left in you, sending the silicone as deep and hard into your angelic boyfriend as your body would possibly allow for. Scud’s head involuntarily dropped right down onto the blankets, whimpers and broken moans tumbling past his lips as he tightly squeezed your fingers, so close to the edge that this time he really could taste it.

“Please momma, please, please– fuuck, please” Scud helplessly babbled, needily pushing back to meet your thrusts as he was so fucking close, so close that he’d almost do anything just to cum, not that there was much to do considering he was already crashing down the hill, just needing a few more rough thrusts of your hips before his tap was finally popped, an explosion of fizzy stickiness exploding right in his gut, his second orgasm spilling right into the already soiled underwear, seeping through and dripping down onto the floor.

Scud went totally limp where he laid face down on the bed, breathing heavily as he twitched and tried to come down from such an earth shattering high, whining softly when you pulled out.

Tiny kisses were planted all over his face, neck, and shoulders, you gently brushing his hair out his face and unsticking it from his sweaty forehead. “You okay?”

Scud nodded, with his eyes half-lidded and a content smile tugging at his lips. “Mhmm”

“Did you learn your lesson?” You asked, pulling the bra strap and letting it snap against Scud’s flesh, a small grunt leaving him as his skin burned. “Yes ma’am…” He grumbled out, feet dangling off the bed.

You smiled softly, kissing him right below his eye. “Good baby. Now let’s get you all squeaky clean and cozy for bed, then we can find a way to put our special show on the TV for only our eyes to see” You said with a hint of mischief in your tone, reaching for the camcorder and stopping your recording once and for all.

Whoa. Did Norman fucking reedus just fucking finish something. Did Normam fucking reedus just post something. Whoa. How crazy even is that.

ANYWAYS 😝 yes guys I still love Scud he's still my angel boy and be always will be I love the part of the fic where my peenar goes inside his body thats the best part hands down I love to fuck men with my lady peenar

One fic at a time guys 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I have a few others that eeerm should get posted soon… dont get your hopes up (because mine are already up and that's a problem)

IF YOU SEE TYPOS NO UOU DONNNT 😭 MY GRAMMARLY IS ON MY COMPUTER AND THE APP IS GARBAGE ON MY PHONE PLEASE STOP THIS MADNESS

I was gonna end this with the cam corder MaGiCaLlYy disappearing 👁️ but that's for another fic 🙂‍↕️ (that ill end up never writing)

[angelyuji]

Can we please have more Debbie and Nolan perhaps :)

hello my silly! of course i can give you more since you asked so nicely :3 also just a quick update i have like 15 things in my drafts that im writing for requests and for funsies and i promise i will get them out!!

i wasn't sure what to write, but then i had a vision sent from the lord himself kind of an alternate ending about this situation i wrote

cw // kidnapping, mentions of a punishments, angst, usual yandere behavior, emotional manipulation

"shit shit shit' you couldn't tell what was left or right. you hadn't even realized you had started running when you stepped out of the house.

you sit down, exhausted from the normal chaos. you enjoy the silence in the house after being left alone. your eyes fall on the open front door and you sigh, “gosh, debbie…” you walk over, hand ready to close it when you pause. it’s open. for the first time since you were brought here, they left the door open. you carefully stepped out, unsure if some alarm would go off and nolan would come flying back. the quiet neighborhood greets you.

soon, you found yourself lost downtown. your legs were screaming in pain and you let yourself pause, finding a bench to rest on. 'fuck fuck fuck' you were lost in the middle of the city and you didn't even have a phone. nolan had thought it was best you didn't have one and now you know why. you look around, recognizing one of the street signs. you quickly make your way back to your old apartment.

"hey!" you rush in, out of breathe. the apartment manager startles.

"(y/n)? what the hell? where have you been?" he gets over the initial shock and quickly starts to fume.

you let out an awkward laugh, "yeah sorry, some... stuff happened."

he sighs and gives you a pointed glare, "you should be glad i found another tenent so quickly or the landlord would've had your head."

"yeah about that, do you still have my stuff? i think i left my wallet-"

he waves you off, "yeah yeah, i figured you'd come running back for your shit. didn't think it'd take 4 months, but it's in that closet over there." you thank him profusely and he looks at you weird, but you let it go.

you dig through and pack your important belongings into a suitcase you had, thankfully, bought on a whim during a drunk online shopping spree. you quickly shoved your things in and leave, thanking the man once more. he rolls his eyes, but wishes you luck.

you managed to find a working payphone, in a mostly deserted area, and fish a couple cents from your wallet. "hello?" your mother's voice filters through and a wave of relief washes over you.

"mom." your voice cracks as you feel a sob choking you.

"sweetheart? where are you calling from?" you could hear the worry in her voice.

"a payphone. listen, mom, i need your help. nolan and debbie-"

"oh my goodness, they are such a lovely couple, aren't they? i'm so glad you started working-"

"MOM! please, just... just listen please." you could hear the desperation in your own voice and you could tell your mother could too.

"(y/n), what's going on." before you could respond, a rush of wind almost knocks you off your feet. a sob breaks through as you feel the familar presence of your captor. "sweetheart?" your mom's voice sounds faint as the phone drops from your hand.

"(y/n)." nolan's voice comes out thin and angry. "tell your mother that you're alright." his voice comes out low as he grips your bicep, pulling you up. nolan uses a hand to wipe your tears before handing you the phone.

you nod, tearfully, "mom... i'm sorry. i'm okay, i just had a rough day so i wanted to call you."

"oh my baby, you know you're welcome home anytime. tell them to give you a couple days off and call me more often, your texts are so short." she huffs, soundng relieved to hear you. you hum, knowing that if you spoke, you would've broken down. she continues to talk, but you feel nolan's grip tighten on your bicep.

"mom, i'm sorry, but i have to go." you choke out the words and your mother frets, telling you to call her again. "i love you, mommy." you feel your throat tighten again.

your mom coos, "i love you too, my little angel." you hang up the phone.

his hand wraps around your waist, gripping tight. you notice your suitcase in his other hand. "nolan- wait-" he doesn't listen, launching into the air. you throw your arms around his neck, heart beating loud in your ears. it felt like your skin would've blown clean off if he hadn't stopped in the house. you felt whiplashed, head spinning, taking in the short trip back to the house. you feel nolan leave your side with your suitcase. you had half a mind to stop him from leaving with your most important documents, but you could barely concentrate on trying to breathe.

"why?" debbie's voice brings you back to reality. your eyes focus on her red eyes and puffy face, tears still streaming down her face. "why did you leave, (y/n)? why- how could you? after-" she chokes on her words, but you're silent. her eyes take in your face before looking you up and down. upstairs, mark starts to wail and debbie shakes her head. "punish her how you see fit, nolan."

you spent a month in the basement. occasionally, nolan would come down to feed you food and water. he would talk to you as he forced you to eat, telling you how disappointed he was and how heartbroken debbie is. "we trusted you, (y/n)." "we love you so much and this how you repay us?" "do you know how much debbie cried, how much mark cried?" you never responded, staring at the wall behind him, but the tears dripping down your cheeks told nolan all he needed to know.

not to leave u guys on a cliffhanger but i had some other stuff to talk about to teehee

atp you're pretty broken so there isn't really a need to "punish" you but nolan leaves you down there anyway

debbie is sooo hurt about what you did, like she loves you and you abandon her????

i dont think they'd physically hurt you but emotional manipulation and solitary confinement is pretty hurtful :P

nolan already guessed (after the conversation with ur mom) that he's successfully broken you down

now it's up to them to make you fully rely on them

food, water, comfort, safety, everything you have is because they gave it to you

dw tho once nolan and debbie feel like you've been successfully stockholm'd and they feel like they can trust you again, they'll let you talk to your family and friends

ALSO i have more to say about punishments

i was wondering to myself if nolan or debbie would ever feel that angry to the point of physically hurting you

and i could only think of a couple instances

if you fought back during your escape, nolan would def dislocate your shoulder or some shit out of annoyance

but if you put mark in danger, nolan AND debbie would be furious

like to the point of harming you

i don't think you would do that tho, not to my ickle baby markie poo

he's basically your son too so that'd be kinda fucked up teehee

i wanna go more in depth abt punishments but i feel like this post is already getting too long lol

[gh7stly]

EPILOGUE — poly 141 x immortal gn!reader

<not proofread or anything, been sitting in my draft for the longest time! i hope someone'll enjoy>

The blood that painted your body itches, you noticed. It irked you, really, so the idea of spending one more hour on the same clothes you had on when you left for this mission was a torture by itself. As the helicopter shook one last time while landing, you immediately started making your way to the community bathroom, ignoring every greetings of other soldiers, previous mission partners and privates in the way. Muppets. 

“I thought the military taught basic etiquette, soldier. Been looking forward to making it home?” A voice not so strange called after you, slowly turning around as if scared to scare it away, Kate Laswell enters your vision. “Happy?”

You make a false discontent face. “Last time I saw your face I had 7 less lives in my hand, happiness is not the right feeling…. More like a bad omen?”

“I’m glad You're here and alive, then. You even taken a bath yet? There's subjects to be taken care of and I need you available as soon as possible, and, yes, I'm making the proposal again”, you take notice of how she avoided the responsibility and somehow proved your “bad omen” point, Kate's proposal didn't mean good things to come. “This is not the place to talk about it, Spook, but it is the right time. We need y-”

You bark out a laugh. “Fuck no, Laswell”, patting her on the shoulder, you turn around and start walking. “Coronel is not agreeing, plus, I have no interest in your suicide inhibitions against the US. Give up!”

“Spook. The time is running out. You know why you'd be the most important thin-”

“Thing?” 

Laswell makes a disapproving sound from getting interrupted again. Aware of the sudden seriousness of the moment, she grabs your arm to go further into the corridor away from the crowds and recruits.

“You are not a 14 year old girl, Spook. You are a soldier, a soldier responding to one of the biggest special forces in the world, and you have the ability of doing what I could only wish to do”, she stopped walking abruptly and stared down into your soul, this discussion is your least favorite one to have. “You can fuck up. Has this not internalized into you yet? Dead boys are sent to their mamas everyday for a tiny mistake but you have the ability of throwing it all into the air and walking away unharmed, so why not use who you are for the better cause? We need you”

Her words punctuated your gut, your frustrations boiled up deep in your stomach and revealed itself by the shaking in your hands; they've gotten worse recently, you've come to notice. There wasn't much to do about it except put them into fists and dig your nails deep into the palm of your hand until it made you grounded enough to find your voice, stuck in the back of your throat. This subject, this proposal and its implications had enough force to make you crumble easily, Laswell of course knew nothing about it – just that you were stubborn and kept refusing. 

“I am here because you asked me to make you useful, because you wanted to help. I know you're a human, Spook, but you're in the military and not a playground. What you want is not what you're getting sometimes, not because you don't matter, but because you are a useful trick we could have up our sleeve. So I'm going to ask you again, are you going to fucking help or not?

Staying in silence, you bit your tongue to stop from getting an insubordination letter. Part of you, the human part you guessed, felt talked down still. Did you ask for this life? Who made you this way? Wanting to help didn't mean killing yourself on purpose on missions, didn't mean getting used by superiors like an unbreakable toy. You're here because you wanted to be a hero, but right now, you're afraid of having more blood on yourself than the villains.

The other part, the freak one as you called, knew that that's exactly what you were. A puppet. From the moment you joined the military, it was better to devoid yourself from feelings, needs, or any basic thought. You liked it, even. Getting pushed to the limits of morality, treated like a piece of a big chess match. A cold air passed through you both until you finally had swallowed enough ego to speak.

“Let me at least change clothes and then you can go through your little plan." That was the closest thing to a yes you could've gotten before puking bile, but it was enough for her.

“Thank you, Spook. 1700 sharp” nodding, you let out a sigh you weren't aware of holding.

“You're a bad omen, Laswell. After today, I hope it'll be a long time until we meet again.” Even with the harsh words, a project of a smile showed in your face. Kate Laswell was probably the closest thing to a mom you'll ever have in your life. “I agree.”

[fuctacles]

Steddie Twilight AU?

So I came up with this for @stmonstercalendar's Incubus Month, then decided that shapeshifting is kinda like being genderfluid, right, so I could hit the @genderthings Eddie Week prompt, but then it grew so this is part one I'm sorry in advance

Also I feel like it fits "no one like you" from my @steddiebingo card

M | 1104 | cw: your high school trauma may resurface | Incubus!Eddie, transfem Stevie, inspired by Twilight, part 1 of 3?, thanks @blasvemous for being an enabler and beta reader | Ao3

Dianne Harrington has always been planning to move as soon as the divorce was finalized. But did she really have to do it on the first day of school? She enrolled Stevie at the local high-school via phone calls and mail, but forgot to mention that not everything could be delivered by post. 

"What's that?" Stevie raises an eyebrow at the manila folder her mom hands her after entering the car. 

"Your documents; copy of insurance and last year's diploma. The school still needs it to finish up all the paperwork," her mom explains as she rolls out of their driveway. "Will you be okay to hand it to the principal, or should I do it?"

Stevie cringes at the mere thought of entering a new high-school with her mom at her side. 

"I'll be late to class," she complains. On top of not knowing her schedule and having to find the right classroom, there's no way she's going to make a good first impression. 

"It's your first day, I'm sure they'll understand."

"Did you forget how terrible high school is?" Stevie widens her eyes pointedly. 

"Oh, don't be dramatic." Dianne rolls her eyes. She reaches over her daughter to open the glove box. "Now, you can't bring your nail bat with you, but I have some pepper spray and brass knuckles you can take. With my permission to use wisely."

Stevie grins, happily digging through the glove box. 

"Thanks, mom!" She pulls out the brass knuckles and fits them on her fingers. "And they match my nails!"

====

Just as she'd suspected, she's late to her first class. At least the principal was nice enough to give her directions, and he had her schedule ready. She's starting with English in classroom 14. Corridor to the left and the first doors next to the staircase. Once she finds it, she takes a deep breath, fixes her hair in the reflection in a glass display on the wall, and knocks. 

"Come in!" A high, feminine voice invites her, and she pushes the door open. The open windows create a draft that raises some papers off the teacher's desk, who rushes to slap them back down. Stevie quickly closes the door. 

"Sorry," she whispers, looking around the class like she's already expecting judgment from the fellow teenagers. 

"Don't worry, I totally forgot about the windows," the teacher waves her hand with a smile, and Stevie breathes a bit easier. At least her first teacher seems nice. "You must be Stephanie, right?"

"Yes," she nods. "Stephanie Harrington, I just moved here."

"Well, welcome to Hawkins," her teacher smiles. "I'm Claudia Henderson, and I'll be your English teacher." Mrs. Claudia reaches out her hand, which Stevie shakes, albeit a little surprised by the gesture. She's more used to her teachers being dry and formal. "There's an empty seat next to Edward that you can take. Today we're only going over the readings for this semester, but if you have any books you've read over the summer, feel free to share it with the class." 

Stevie smiles sheepishly at the teacher. 

"Unfortunately, I didn't have any time to read this summer. Spent most of my time packing up."

"Completely understandable!" Mrs. Claudia nods sympathetically. "Hopefully you'll be able to find some time once you settle in."

"Yeah, hopefully," Stevie smiles back, but freezes once she properly looks at the Edward she was told to sit with. 

He has long hair and is dressed like a punk, black and denim and extensive jewelry, but that's not what she's focused on. His eyes are wide and spooked like he's just seen a ghost, and his hand is clasped over his mouth.

She takes a quick cursory glance over the rest of the class. They seem moderately interested in a new student, as she'd expect. With a small wave to her other classmates, she decides that the Eddie guy will just have to deal. Maybe she'll be able to find a different seat for next time. 

"Hi," she says, polite like she's been taught, before dropping her bag next to his desk. The guy seems to recoil even further away, pressed all the way to the wall and all about ready to jump out of the window. And yet, with his free hand, he gives her a small finger wave. 

Confused, she waves back. It seems like an olive branch, contradicting with his behavior. Maybe he's just not feeling well today. Stevie keeps to her end of the desk, leaving a considerable amount of space between them. She even discreetly sniffs her sweater, but it smells okay, at least to her. 

Edward spends the rest of the class pressed to his corner by the wall and not breathing. She tries not to take it personally, but it's really difficult. 

Especially when the bell rings, and he's the first one to jump out of his seat and escape the classroom, barely in the blink of an eye. 

She overthinks about it all the way to history class, where she bumps into a girl named Robin, and they seem to click instantly, despite their differences. Robin is a good distraction not to think about the maybe-attractive, definitely-weird guy from her first class. 

That is, until the lunch break. 

"Okay, what the fuck is wrong with that guy," she hisses to Robin as she stabs the french fry on her plate. "He's been glaring at me since the first class."

Right now, Edward is sitting at a table with three other, similarly dressed guys. He seems to be engaged n a conversation with them, but now and then, Stevie can feel his hateful gaze on her. 

"Who?" Robin follows her gaze. "One of the freaks?"

"Freaks? What's wrong with them?" Stevie frowns. 

"Nothing, they're just weird." Robin shrugs. "They're metal heads and fantasy nerds. I think they have a band, too?" she hums thoughtfully. "Nothing to worry about though, they just look scary."

Stevie scrunches her nose.

"Are you sure? I really don't like his vibe. The one with long hair? Edward?"

Robin spares a quick glance to the freaks table. 

"You mean Eddie?" 

"Eddie doesn't sound right," she says, to which, Robin snorts. 

"Why? Too normal?"

"Yeah," Stevie nods. "Too approachable."

"You don't think he's approachable?" Robin asks teasingly, and turns to give the boy another glance. She whips back around almost immediately. "Shit, he is looking this way."

The urge is stronger than her, so Stevie turns over her shoulder, meeting his eyes. He looks angry, and she can't tell for sure from the distance, but it seems like his nostrils are flaring, too. 

tags: @phantomcat94 @wheneverfeasible

FTH2025

[thegreymarveljedi]

Hi! I am so in love with your story He’ll Be Home Soon 🥹 would you consider writing a part two where the reader is traveling with the bad batch after the war ends and something about how their relationship is then? If not I totally understand and in that case could I request some angst and fluff with wrecker please? Maybe the reader gets hurt or captured then its fluffy at the end? Tysm!! 💗💗💗

Battle Symphony

(Wrecker x Reader)

Of course! I am still mulling over in my head what kind of ideas I want to play around with when it comes to part 2 of He’ll be home soon cause I have another draft that would be suspiciously similar if I went the direction of the reader traveling with the batch but, there will be a part two, rest assured.

WRECKER ANGST AND FLUFF HOWEVER! That’s something I can do for sure.

Warnings: ANGSTTTTTTY, blood/gore, canon typical violence, near death experience, anxiety, medical procedures, sad Wrecker, self doubt, hurt/comfort, pre! Echo Era, fluffy, happy ending.

Words: 4.6k+

The sound of gunfire and explosions jolted (Y/N) out of her dazed stupor, eyes fluttering open to look up at the red and yellow tainted sky. The forests of Dol’har Hyde had been devastated by the battle that raged on, droids tearing through the terrain like it meant nothing. And to them it didn’t mean a thing. That’s why it was so easy for them to rig a trap, have the ground cave in and trap (Y/N) below the destruction.

“Where’s the general?!” A deep, smoky voice called out, the sound muffled and distorted by the ringing in (Y/N)’s ears. She tried to sit up, let them know where she was but every muscle in her body protested, leaving her helpless under the debris.

“I don’t kn- -r! I ha-‘t seen her,” another trooper called out, seemingly out of breath from the battle. (Y/N) couldn’t pin point who spoke or the full nature of his words but it was a regular clone, that much she could tell. Why were the regs… oh, right, they were on a mission assisting the 212th.

“We need- search the -field, find he-!” The first voice said, his tone slightly panicked though she couldn’t fully make out his words, the ringing in (Y/N)’s ears chopping the sentence up. She tried to move again but was stopped by a shooting pain in her thigh, the debris trapping her digging into her skin.

“Yes sir!” The 212th troopers called back, beginning their search around the battlefield. The gunfire had ceased finally, the droid arms decimated and what remained retreating from the front lines. Even with the battle won, there was no time to celebrate just yet.

“Crosshair can you see anything?” This time the voices came from close by, the words no longer as muffled, but clear, as if they were being spoken right into your ear.

“Not from this-“ Crosshair began but was cut off by Wrecker, who was panicking, his head moving frantically across the field trying to locate his- their general.

“(Y/N)!” He called out, his helmet pushed up on his head as he searched. He was so desperate to find her he hadn’t registered his slip up until he heard Hunter hiss over the comms.

“Wrecker, it’s general on the field, we talked about this,” Hunter growled before jogging up to his younger brother with a firm hand placed on his shoulder. He knew how much (Y/N) meant to Wrecker but it was not something he should be advertising openly.

“‘M sorry, just worried is all,” Wrecker said defeatedly, his eyes finding Hunter visors before he pushed his helmet back down, not wanting his older brother to see the tears brimming in his eyes. He knew Hunter would never judge him for showing his emotions, but he didn’t want anyone else to see him like this.

“We all are but getting yourself caught like this will do nothing,” Hunter said more gently this time, looking up at Wrecker. He wanted to do his best to be there for his brother and right now, he could do that by looking for (Y/N).

“Okay sarge, I’ll do-“ Wrecker started but was cut off by one of the regs voices coming over the comms.

“Over here!” One of them call out, Wrecker and Bunter sprinting over to the trooper as others from the 212th joined, trying their best to moved as much foliage and debris out of the way. They removed the top layer with almost no issues but it was further down that was more concerning.

“General!” Hunter called down the sizeable hole that had been made, watching as the slightest twitch of your head indicated that you were indeed alive and that you heard him.

“We need a medic over here!” Another one of the regs called out to Metric, the medic of the 212th. They were in a flurry of movement as other companies of the battalion focused of clean up of the battlefield.

“General Kenobi, we need a med-vac and fast,” Hunter called to Obi-wan over the comm channel, trying his best to find a way down to help you without making the situation worse.

“How bad is it sergeant?” Obi-wan responded, sounding a little more worse for wear but still as brave as a Jedi general.

“It’s not looking good, she trapped under debris,” Hunter replied, moving a little more out of the way so he could give General Kenobi more detail without interfering with the crew trying to moves what they could off of (Y/N).

“We’ll get you out general,” Wrecker said, his voice remaining as stead as it could with his lovers live on the line. He looked to Hunter for help, the sergeant still talking with General Kenobi about getting a med-vac out to their position.

“If you’re going to attempt to move it off of her, be careful, we don’t know what kind of damage it’s done,” Wrecker heard Obi-wan say faintly over the comms, Hunter nodding his head in response before turning back to Wrecker.

“We will try to get the medvac to you as quick as we can. I unfortunately don’t know how long that will take,” Obi-wan said calmly, though a ting of worry found its way into his tone. Hunter could only curse under his breath as he continued to look at Wrecker. He cut the comms with general Kenobi and instead opened a line with Tech before addressing Wrecker.

“Wrecker, get it moved, carefully,” Hunter said, giving the demolitions expert the go ahead to move the remainder of the debris. Wrecker nodded before getting to work on the debris trapping (Y/N) in the caved ground.

“Tech get over here,” Hunter called out into their private comm channel, not confident that the medvac would arrive before they lost their general to her injuries.

“I am on my way,” Tech replied, sounding as if he was already flying in their direction.

“Cross, keep your eyes on the field in case those clankers-“ Hunter started but was cut off by a massive explosion in the distance curtesy of Wrecker. The hulking clone didn’t even have the energy or desire to watch his work, his focus to consume by wanting to free (Y/N) from where she was trapped.

“There’s your answer,” Crosshair said with the hint of a smirk in his.

“Alright then regroup, Tech, bring the Marauder to our position. We need to get the general to the Negotiator and fast,” Hunter said, turning back to help Wrecker move the last of the lose debris that wasn’t directly on top of (Y/N).

“Sir yes sir.” both Tech and Crosshair responded before the com channel went off, both other members of the Bad Batch making their way to Hunter’s position quickly. Hunter quickly slid down into the hole with Wrecker, mindful that it could be unstable for them. He turned to face (Y/N), watching as her expression contorted in pain.

“You’re going to be okay general,” he said quietly, with as much confidence as he could in the moment. His eyes flickered up to Wrecker but all he could read on his brother’s face was distress. Wreckers eyes were focused on the piece of durasteel that remained on top of (Y/N), his eyes analyzing every corner to try and gage of damage.

“Mmm,” (Y/N) mumbled out, her eyes fluttering with the urge to close but knowing she needed to keep them open for as long as she could. But it was hard, so hard. The darkness was calling even as her head tilted in Wrecker’s direction. She wanted nothing more than to comfort her gentle giant but she could hardly keep her eyes open, much less np e her body.

“Take a deep breath for me (Y/- general,” Wrecker said softly, watching his slip up again even when he knew no one would hear it but Hunter. He carefully took hold of the durasteel that rested on (Y/N) body but a brief moment of lucidity made almost made her panic.

“C-can-n’t-t,” she stuttered out, her chest shuttering with every struggled breath she tried to take in. It felt as if she was being crushed on both sides, like she was being squished in a trash compactor with no hope of escaping.

“You’ve gotta try,” Wrecker said brokenly, removing his helmet from his head as he spoke, his usual volume gone as tears gathered in his eyes. (Y/N)’s eyes opened long enough to see the tears in Wrecker’s eyes and the desperate expression he wore. Against her better judgment and the protests of her body, she slowly lifted her hand to Wrecker’s cheek, running her thumb along his scar.

She looked at him with love in her eyes, the pain slowly beginning to fade. Wrecker held her hand as he watched the telltale signs of life slowly beginning to fade. Hunter watch with bated breath as well, but instead of giving up, he powered up his comm and called for Tech.

“Tech we need to get her out now!” He shouted, watching as Wrecker’s shoulders sagged and the hope seemed to drain from (Y/N)’s body. He could hear her heart begin to slowly, her breathing turning more shallow by the minute.

“What are her symptoms?” Tech asked, the sound of the marauders engines in the background doing little to give Hunter hope that Tech would make it in time. He could hear the voices of the regs saying the medvac was a few minutes out but he needed his brother to get here faster.

“Does it matter?! We need to get her out,” Hunter said, though his anger wasn’t meant to be directed at his little brother, it was at the separatists who put them in this position in the first place. He heard Tech grunt in response before he spoke again.

“Wrecker, move the metal carefully, we don’t want to cause more damage to the generals body,” Tech said through the coms. Hunter relaid what Tech had said and watched as Wrecker nodded, letting go of (Y/N)’s hand and donning his helmet once more, trying to find his spirit again.

“I’ll get you out (Y/N). I promise you’ll make it through this,” Wrecker muttered as he took hold of the durasteel that was trapping her once more, hoping that he could convey confidence to her through the visor of his helmet. (Y/N) only managed a small nod, hand fall back to the ground as she waited for them to free her.

“Okay, on three. One, two…three!” Hunter said as he took hold of the other side of the durasteel slate. He and Wrecker worked together to pry it off (Y/N)’s body, moving it off to the side once it was clear.

“AHHH!” (Y/N) screamed as the durasteel was removed from the top of her body, her lungs taking in the air she had been deprived of for what felt like forever, her chest heaving with continuous unsteady breaths.

“You’re okay general, you’ll be okay,” Hunter said as he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking they were out of the woods finally and that they could get their general help. Hunter could also read the relief on Wreckers face that they had been able to free her from the debris though there was something else in his eyes.

“Coming up to your position now,” tech spoke through the comms, the sounds of the Marauder coming closer to the hole where Hunter and Wrecker were with (Y/N) Hunter breathed another sigh of relief before focusing his attention back to (Y/N).

“Okay, I’m gonna pick you up, is there-“ Wrecker started but (Y/N)’s distressed voice cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“N-no! No, can’t move,” she said painfully, feeling as though her body was in fire even after the debris had been moved. She could feel a pain in her back, a growing unease that seemed to spread heat throughout her body. She could barely lift her arm to grab Wreckers forearm, giving it a weak squeeze while looking at him with terror in her eyes.

“Why not?” Wrecker asked also desperately, placing his other hand over (Y/N)’s that rested on his forearm. Hunter’s eyes went wide as he used the scanner in his helmet to see if there was anything they had missed. And there was.

“Dammit,” Hunter muttered before looking to (Y/N) again, she had a knowing look on her face now but something else told Hunter not to say a word to Wrecker. But he couldn’t not say anything because if they were going to save her he needed Wreckers help.

“Crosshair, take over piloting for Tech. Tech I need you down here now if we’re going to save the General,” Hunter said frantically as Wreckers head perked up.

“Hunter what’s happening?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly as he took in the pained yet accepting expression on (Y/N)’s face. He didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t lose her. Not now, not ever.

Hunter did say anything to Wrecker as Tech lowered one of the extension cables down the side of the Marauder and slid down, landing next to Hunter. Tech copied Hunter’s movements, using his scanner to scan over (Y/N)’s body to see what the damage was like.

“We are going to have to be careful if we do not wish to harm the general any further,” Tech said calmly and matter of factly. He knew he needed to remain calm especially for Wreckers sake, any hint of panic from him and he was sure the team would know something is very wrong. Wrecker and Hunter both nodded as Tech looked down to (Y/N).

“General, we are going to get you out of this and to the negotiator, you will make it through this,” Tech said, his voice certain. (Y/N) only nodded up at the goggled man, noting how calm he was. That filled her with a little hope because if tech was calm and sure she’d make it, then she could believe it too, even if it was a carefully crafted facade to ease his brother’s mind.

Tech then looked to Wrecker with a very small nod, watching as he placed on arm under (Y/N)’s neck and one under her knees, ready to lift her up on Techs signal. (Y/N) made a slight noice of discomfort only to bee dishes and soothed by Wrecker, his voice soft in her ear.

“I’m going to get you out of here cyar’ika. You’ll be okay.”

On Tech’s count, Wrecker lifted (Y/N) off of the debris that had stabbed her in the back, a painful, gut wrenching scream leaving her lips as whatever was stabbing her was forcibly removed. Tech moved quickly to apply a patch to the wound, Hunter helping him to secure it before the Batch made a beeline for the ascension cables, crosshair retracting them the second he knew everyone was secure.

(Y/N) whined in pain, squirming in Wreckers arms until they were safely on the marauder. Tech directed Wrecker to place (Y/N) down on the crash seats while he too over from Crosshair to get them to the Negotiator. Wrecker knelt down next to (Y/N), taking her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he discarded his helmet haphazardly.

“We’re going to get you help mesh’la, I promise,” he said quietly, his voice betraying his worry for her condition.

“W-wrecker-“ she tried to speak but her voice was hoarse, mouth and throat dry, blood staining her teeth. Wrecker just shook his head, pulling his canteen from his belt only for (Y/N) to deny the water he offered her.

“Please Cyar’ika, hold on just a little longer,” Wrecker begged, tears in his eyes as he held her hand. (Y/N) just shook her head, trying to give her gentle giant a reassuring smile.

“I-I lo-ve you Wr-Wrecker,” She said quietly, watching as Wrecker closed his eyes and kissed her palm. He didn’t want to accept that she was giving up, that she could leave him in this moment.

“I love you too (Y/N). But you’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you help,” Wrecker said, his voice cracking as he watched her eyes flutter, her breathing shallow and chest rising and falling concerningly slow. She just gave a Wrecker another smile before her eyes became heavy, fluttering continuously as Wrecker called her name. She just needed to stay awake a little longer.

—

Wrecker rushed through the open doors of the medbay, a half conscious (Y/N) in his arms as blood continued to flow, dripping through the temporary bandages that Tech wrapped around her body. Her breathing was shallow and hands limp in her lap as her half lidded, unfocused eyes continued to try and focus on Wrecker. She knew she didn’t have much time left, her body slowly shutting itself down from how much blood she had lost. She had tried to tell him to let her go, that she was okay with becoming one with the force, but Wrecker refused to just let her drift away from him.

“Lay her here,” Metric said as he met Wreckers eyes, his good eye showing his fear for the woman in his arms. Wrecker did as Metirc said and laid (Y/N) down on the medical cot, reluctantly stepping back to let the medics work. Hunter came up behind his brother and pulled him away, giving Metric a nod before they left the medbay to wait outside, being greeted by Tech and Crosshair as they exited.

No one said a word as the Batch waiting outside the doors of the medbay. Hunter only kept a hand on Wreckers shoulder as his younger brother continued to stare at the doors of the medbay. Soon though he shrugged Hunter hand off gentle in favour of keeping himself moving.

Wrecker paced for a few minutes before dropping to the floor and putting his head in his hands, knees pulled up to his chest as he did his best to refrain from sobbing. Hunter watched Wrecker’s distress unfold, trying to think of a way that he could help but Hunter hung his head as he and only he heard the clear sound of a flatline through the durasteel door.

—

It took a few standard hours before Metric came out of the doors of the medbay, gloved hands bloody and face pinched in an uncertain frown. His shoulders were tense, a cloud of tension following him out of the Medbay and toward the batch. They stood from where they had sat down, eager to hear the fate that had befallen their Jedi general.

“Whatever happened out there must’ve been one hell of a battle,” Metric started, not having the energy to try and be humorous.

“How is she?” Hunter asked the question on all their minds, especially Wrecker, the Hulking clone having said nothing. He instead looked defeated, shoulders slumped, eyes red and tear stained. He wanted to have hope that she would be okay, a flicker in his eyes holding that hope.

“She’s in a bacta tank for now,” Metric said, eyes trailing to each member of the Batch, lingering on Wrecker who let out a sigh and slid down the wall he had been previously sitting against. “It took us some time but we managed to stitch her up as best we could,” the medic continued, now speaking to Hunter.

“Is there any way I could have access to her current medical file? With the treatment included?” Tech asked, typing away at his data load while waiting for an answer. Metric just gave Tech a look before sighing.

“You’ll have an update copy sent to you to keep on record,” Metric said, Tech nodding before looking back at Wrecker who’s head was leaned against the wall, elbows rest on his knees and eyes closed. He was trying his best to hold together, knowing that for now (Y/N) was safe and alive.

“Can we see her?” Crosshair asked this time, toothpick between his lips though this was the tenth he had gone through in the few hours they had been waiting.

“Not yet. Not until she’s out of the tank,” Metric said slowly, knowing that this answer might prove problematic for the batch.

“Why not?” Metrics thoughts were right as Hunters tone conveyed his distaste for having to wait to see their general, especially knowing how much this might affect Wrecker. He looked back at his larger brother but he hadn’t moved so much as a finger, eyes still closed.

“On General Kenobi’s orders, her room and bacta tank have been locked to all but himself and medical personnel,” Metric said wincing as he was bombarded with Hunter, Tech and Crosshair all talking at once.

“That is a fair judgment.”

“We should be allowed to see her!”

“He can’t do that.”

They continued to talk over one another with Metric trying to calm them down and assure them that he would keep them updated. All this went on as Wrecker sat against the wall, hands twitching as he listened to the bickering. Eventually it became too much for him, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he abruptly stood up, pushing past his brothers and making his way down the hall.

The bickering of the men ceased as they watched Wrecker walk away. From the medbay, from them, from (Y/N). Their concern for their brother only grew as they watched from a far, Wrecker disappearing down the corridor fore turning down another one.

“Let us know when things improve?” Hunter said and Metric only nodded as the rest of the batch took off after Wrecker. They made it to the end of the corridor where he had turned only to find that he was no where in sight. Hunter sighed and closed his eyes, trying to feel for Wreckers familiar energy through the Venator but came up short.

“Cross, check the training room, maybe he’s gone to punch his anger out on the bags,” Hunter said, receiving a grunt in response before the sniper split off and made his way to the training decks.

“Tech,” Hunter said turning to address the technician with a serious expression, “check the mess hall, see if he went to get some grub,” Hunter said and Tech nodded but stopped Hunter before he could walk away.

“What if he’s not there?”

“We’ll find him. He can’t have gotten too far.”

Hunter took off down the hall towards the hangar, thinking that he might find Wrecker on the Marauder. He hoped to find him and help him through this but he couldn’t know for sure what was going through Wrecker’s head.

—

It was another hour that Hunter finally met back up with Tech and Crosshair, both his brothers shaking their heads. Hunter sighed and smoothed a hand down his face, closing his eyes and wracking his brain for where else their larger brother could be.

“Maybe he does not want to be found,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles on his nose.

“Clearly,” Crosshair said with a roll of his eyes though it earned him a stern look from the sergeant.

“I am merely suggesting that we leave Wrecker to his own devices and comm him when Metric gives us the message that the general has been removed from the bacta tank,” Tech said matter of factly, turning to Hunter. The sergeant sat pensively for a moment before nodding, turning and heading down the hall toward the mess hall with Crosshair and Tech in tow.

Meanwhile, further into the Venator class star destroyer, Wrecker sat on a bed that didn’t belong to him. One that was more comfortable, softer and one that he had spent some time in here and there. He thumbed at bracelet he had pulled from his utility belt, the heavy metal of the beskar feeling like a comfort and a curse in his hand. He had planned to give it to (Y/N) next rotation when the Batch finally had shore leave but now he didn’t know what to do.

Wrecker wasn’t hungry, which was abnormal considering he could eat everything and anything in sight. But his stomach turned at even the thought of food at this moment. He was just waiting for any news now. It seems as if the someone had been reading his thoughts as his comm chimney with a message from Metric.

“She’s out.” Is all it read. Which is all Wrecker needed to stand from the bed, tuck the bracelet back into his belt and take off down the winding halls of the ship. He made it to the medbay in record time, composing himself as best as he could before walking in. The sight that freeted him made his heart sink only slightly but he was at least happy she was out of the tank.

(Y/N) was hooked up all sorts of medical equipment to assist with her recovery, he eyes closed and a breathing mask over her face. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as Metric and one of the other medics spoke quietly to each other. When Metirc spotted Wrecker, he dismissed the other medic and nodded to Wrecker, silently converting that he would give them some a peace.

Wrecker returned the nod and pulled up a chair next to (Y/N)’s cot, taking her bandaged hand in his and hold it gently. Metric took his leave and made sure to close the curtains to (Y/N) cot, giving her and Wrecker as much privacy as he could. He like a couple of others knew of Wreckers relations and despite how they may view the batch as different, they kept their mouths closed.

“I’m so sorry cyar’ika, for not protecting like I should’ve,” Wrecker started, bringing (Y/N)’s hand to his lips, being mindful of the wires connected to her body. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to save you from this,” he continued, feeling tears well in his eyes as he looked at her. Wrecker felt the slightest pressure against his hand and opened his eyes to find (Y/N) looking back at him. He smiled in relief, kissing her hand again as he scooted closer to the bed.

Not your fault honey, (Y/N)’s voice sounded softly in Wrecker’s mind, true conviction in its tone as she tried her best to send reassurance his way. Wreckers shoulders deflated as he held her hand tighter.

“I blame myself though. Those explosions, those droids, I could’ve been more careful,” Wrecker whimper, bowing his head in regret. (Y/N) her head as best she could reaching one of her hand up to her face to carefully pull off the breathing mask on her face. Wrecker moved to help her, being mindful of the other wires and machines around her body. Once the mask had been removed enough for her to speak, (Y/N) spoke softly, her voice hoarse but as gentle as ever.

“I k-knew the ri-sk my lov-ve. It wa-sn’t you, o-okay?” (Y/N) said and as best she could, stuck her pinky out for Wrecker to take in his own. The gentle giant smiled and held her pinky in his own, a swear that he wouldn’t blame himself. It wouldn’t fix how he was feeling about the mission but for now, he found solace in the fact that (Y/N) was alive and breathing.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you too Wrecker. I’ll be okay.”

“Promise,” Wrecker said as he squeezed her pinky in his once more. She let out an airy giggle and squeezed his pinky back, smiling a beautiful smile.

“Promise.”

Let me know what you guys think! If you have any requests send them my way!

Next up will be part 2 of my Echo x Reader story He’ll be Home Soon!

[1117feverlessdreams]

Picture Perfect

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📷💖TAGS: Short but San is veryyy sweet 🌸Lots of fluffy fluff 🎀, mention of oral and masturbation, a lil bunny kink action 🐰 slight smut, and San as a dig bick nerd 🤓!

📷💖PAIRING: Nerd!San x Neutral!Reader, HOT!San x Photographer!Reader

📷💖WORD COUNT: 5.2k

📷💖A/N: I hope to push out more content soon. College has been a major setback for me but there are a lot of drafts in the making!

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As you pounce around your apartment, you manage to grab the things you need for your class's reunion party tonight.

Your best friend was the host and had requested for you to take pictures as you used to do in your school days. You were so good that the school had asked you to take everyone’s picture for the graduating year.

After that, in your early adult life, your career of picture taking didn’t escalate to where you thought it be after all these years.

It was difficult being your own boss as vague as that sounds. Your clients can be unreasonable at times, and your schedule is always tight.

Luckily for tonight, you’ve managed to get your shoots done early today in perfect alignment with the later occasion.

Upon arriving, it was convenient for you to obtain a reserved spot in your best friend's 12-car garage. In other words, you would’ve had a hell of a walk carrying bulky camera equipment across a road of a walkway to a five-story mansion.

You felt proud that your friend had managed to acquire such an easy-going and luxurious lifestyle. Even if you were still working toward that point yourself, you still felt a sense of accomplishment as their dear friend.

With your parking spot you could enter the house from an alternate entrance, the quiet concrete space sounded still compared to what was going on inside.

It’s been a while since you've seen everyone. You were nervous spite of the fact, but you were always on good terms with your peers.

You take a deep breath and slung your tripod over your back, and adjust the camera pack on your shoulders. You turn the door knob and enter what was the back door to one of the kitchens.

It wasn’t long until you had recognized a few people who had already recognized you.

To your disposition, you were adruptly stopped into a general conversation. It was about 7 minutes long in a discussion of the progressions you’ve made in life with your former classmates.

You were saved from diving into a new topic of discussion when your best friend had walked in.

…

“Hey you! Why didn’t you tell me you were here?!”

A breath of relief releases from your lungs as she stood there in a bedazzling dress, looking like the brightest super star in the whole oversized house.

Well I would have but as you can see, I got caught up, you communicate with kind eyes.

“I guess it slipped my mind. I’m just excited to see everyone again tonight.”

As your best friend, she could obviously read your nervousness and could tell that the initial conversation made you feel overwhelmed.

Especially with heavy pounds of camera equipment crushing into your entire backside.

“Well hurry and come further inside so I can help you set everything up! That way you can take those pictures and mingle for a bit.”

You nod and follow her out to the kitchen to the central area of the party to set everything up in shape. Her immediate action was to take the tripod off your back while you set up everything from the duffle bagged camera pack on your shoulder.

“You’re too nice. You need to let people know what’s convienent in your time, like those arrogant clients you have.”

“Well you know I’m a people pleaser. My whole job centralizes around people.”

“I understand that. She says, snapping the locks of the tripods legs in place. “But never forget that you are a person too.”

No matter what anyone said that was envious of your friend's success, she always remained to be true to the person she was to you and better.

You finish by plugging in the ring light to illuminate your background. As tonight is a reunion, you came up with the bright idea of recreating Polaroid cards that everyone loved you for in your school years.

It was a regular white background, but your decorative expertise made the printed Polaroid photos look anything but regular.

What made you adore your friend even more was that most of your former classmates brought in those photos, in perfect condition, and to keep them after all these years made you gleam at your best friend from across the room.

After many reminiscent discussions, catching up, and strings of sticky glued mess from decorating, you were ready to call it wraps for the night to “mingle”- as your friend suggested.

Truthfully, you didn’t know how to mingle without photography being involved. As if someone had read your mind to prevent you from becoming a disaster of yourself, you heard your name before you pulled the ring lights plug.

“Hey! It’s great that you still do this kind of thing, I always knew this was meant for you.”

You watch as he walks into the light, glowing apart from the dim party lights.

Choi San, the school’s nerdy sweet boy that made your heart throb. He wasn’t any other girl's trope, but that only meant better for you to have him for yourself. But you were always hesitant to let him know how you felt. Even now.

“Choi San?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize me…”

You flicker your eyes up and down as you take in his black and white suit and tie. He always overdressed for any occasion, but that was one of many things you loved most about him. Not to mention, the boldness of his comb-over hot pink hair.

“No- it just- you grew up so well.”

"As did you.”

He smirks at you so hard to the point that a dimple comes into view in a small shadow due to the works of lighting.

“Yeah, I guess photography was always my way of capturing life with my eyes. It’s great that I can look at everyone when I want and relive those memories.”

Besides the fact that it takes you back to way back when, it makes you weak to the knees from the way he looks so good now, his intense gaze makes you overthink every word you said.

“Oh wait- that sounds really odd right?”

His smile grows larger, and another dimple is engraved in his slim cheekbones underneath the light. “I like odd. It’s boring when things are casual, and even.”

He walks past you and goes behind the camera to analyze your setup. He nods his head in approval with his hands in his pockets, then slides another one out to tap on the stool. “Mind if I do?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

You make your way back behind the camera to take his picture, secretly trapped by his beauty in your viewfinder.

His smile never came back down in any subtle way, which made you eager to just kiss him right there.

“Your teeth are nice but, can we recreate your old picture and just use your lips? Maybe… poke out a dimple?”

“Uh yeah… sure thing." He closes his mouth, smirking directly at you at first before you had to redirect his eyesight to the camera lens. You managed to capture his essence in a still frame with a final click. “My teeth are nice hm?”

“Um yeah… they’re nice”, you mumble, completely nerve-wracked. “It’s a bit of a shame though, but maybe we can use it for another photo." You awkwardly walk sideways to print out the photo as you transfer it from your friend's laptop. “Here’s your pic.”

He looks at the pic in his strong hands, standing back up again with a smile wide as he looks back up at you, slipping the smaller image into his front blazer pocket.

“Sounds like a plan.” If it wasn’t so quick you would’ve caught his glance at your lips, but yet you couldn’t even register that fact he’s talking to you now. “So, you still decorate Polaroids?”

“No, not really! It’s just for the occasion. It’s kind of out of style now so…”

“Oh no it’s totally in now! But no matter who else does it, I always said Y/n started it, and they do it best!”

“Awe thanks. You’re so kind, as always.”

Another smirk of his sly on by, a one-sided one that could potentially do more damage than the normal one. He wands his finger in the air, referring to the space around you. “See you around?”

“Yeah”, you nod. “I’ll be ‘mingling’ in just a few minutes.”

San breathes out a light chuckle, looking you up and down without hiding it before turning to walk away.

…

It didn’t take you long to pack things up as it does to set things up, but from your previous interaction, it made you more nervous to get out into the crowd.

With your luck, as you venture off to find your best friend, you walk into a drinking game in one of her family rooms, decorated with gold strobe lights illuminating the vintage furniture. She started it, of course, and you see San again, standing tall and relaxed on a back wall while everyone else is seated in a circle.

You approach the circle slowly, and yet your best friend manages to sense your presence. She turns around and opens her arms to bring you in to join the game.

Spin the bottle, it was.

Even as grown adults, here you are, still playing childish games.

San then decided to join as well. He taps on someone else’s shoulder to sit right across from you.

“This is for all the single people, your friend whispers, “…this is your chance to finally just go for it!”

You begin to scold her in response, but it startles you when everyone begins to drum roll on the ground for suspense. The bottle gets spun and starts turning in rapid rotations.

San finds comfort in making eye contact with you. You were the only ones not drumming on the ground, or cheering in excitement.

As some sort of messed up fate would decide, the bottle lands between you…and San.

“Well look at that”, a random classmate says, “…the two smart kids, Y/n and San!”

“If you don’t kiss, you have to feed each other a shot!”, a classmate shouts.

Without any thought, you immediately grab onto a shot glass from the middle table and pour it up for the both of you, all the way to the very top.

San follows your lead as you hand him a filled shot glass, rising on your knees.

All you had to do was pour the drink into each other's mouths. A simple task, but the fact that it was San made you slow to understand.

“I got it.” San grabs hold of your wrist with his gentle touch using his free hand. He places the rim of the shot on his rose-pink bottom lip, then nods at you to do the same.

You begin to follow him then, and when he gives you the signal, you tip the drinks upward into each other's mouth as you both tilt your head backward.

The strong scent of liquor infiltrated your nostrils through the wrong pipe, causing you to start having a coughing fit, and accidentally pulling San down on top of you.

“Sorry!”, you both say unanimously.

He rises from atop of you to pull you back up, but you are already quick enough on your own to scoot back into your spot.

“Well!”, your best friend suits from beside you, “the tension in here is suffocating!” She looks at you, reading over the bloodshot redness on your face. “Say y/n, are you okay with taking a group photo for everyone?”

“Y-yeah”, you stutter, “of course.”

“Great!”, she claps. “We should all take one.” She points to the area behind her while looking at everyone on the floor, “On the couch everybody!”

Everyone uncrosses their legs with moans and groans from the stiffness, one of the naturalist things that comes with your age.

“Oh! I need some time to set up still, it’s sort of dark in here.”, you explain while standing up.

“I can help you.”

You look to follow the voice of San, seated on the edge of the couch with drunk girls tossing themselves all over him.

“You don’t have to, you can just- stay right there.”

“It’s okay love… I insist.”

“AWEEEEE!”, the girls whine, forever being allured by San’s sweet heart and his looks.

Conversation between your classmates had naturally begun to pick up again. The task of setting everything up was two times quicker, but with the underlying tension, it felt longer.

As he isn’t too familiar with cameras, Choi San followed your lead once again.

Your hands occasionally touched as small murmured apologies would simultaneously be spoken between the two of you.

You were so immersed that you didn’t even notice your friend grinning as she watched. It was like watching you two as kids all over again.

When you had finally set everything up, you both rose from the floor at the same time, thumping each other's heads.

“Ouch!”, you exclaimed.

“Sorry.”, you both say.

“Hey, Sannie! Come sit with us for the picture!”, the girls scream, messily waving him over as they struggle to make room for another.

You step back to hide behind the camera, snapping threads of photos when everyone is ready to select the best ones for later.

“Y/n!”, your friend yells. “…you’ve gotta get in at least one of these!”

“Oh, no.”, you shake your head. “I don’t think there’s any spots left for me on the couch left anyway”

“You can have my spot.”, San calls you to again.

“It’s okay. I’ll stand behind the couch… it’s not that big of a deal.”

“AWEEEEEE!”, the girls whine again.

“I will too then.”

“AWWWWWWEEEEE!”, they whine obviously for another time.

“Okay, that’s enough everyone! Your friend sits in an annoyed tone. “Are you ready Y/n?”

“Yeah, one sec. You run behind the camera and run being the couch holding up a 3 with your fingers. “Alright, Reunion on 3!”, your friend announces.

“1, 2, 3. REUNION!”

You feel an arm snake around your shoulder, and you naturally grabbed on to it for the picture. One thing you hate as a photographer was noticing yourself in awkward tension in photos. So you’ve trained yourself not to be.

After the picture though, you felt like melting into the floor so you didn’t have to move forth with embarrassing yourself with Choi San tonight, you were consciously trying your best to bring up a plausible excuse.

“Was that okay? I apologize.”

“No you’re so fine. I mean- no- trust me, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”, he questions, looking over the mixed expression on your features. “It kind of happened naturally, but if it made you feel weird then-”

“I grabbed onto your arm anyhow, so if you wanna be real here, we both did it without checking on the other.”, you state with shrugged arms. “You see, we’re even.”

He closes the space and walks up to you and grabs your hand. “I like odd. It’s boring when things are casual, and even.”

“If you’re okay with it, I like to take you to someplace else. It’s walking distance, so don’t be wary.”

“Sure.” You look around to see everyone falling on their faces. “I could use some fresh air.”

..

You walk arm-in-arm across the city’s bridge with pretty city lights, and yet you're still confused about which view you like best with a beautiful man at your side.

He abruptly stops in his footsteps to unlink your arms, pulling his smartphone out of his pocket.

“If it’s okay”, he looks down, flipping his phone in his hand with nervousness, …"I want to take a picture of you at this moment. I feel like- as much as you take pictures-you hardly capture the beautiful moments with just yourself.”

You blink at him rapidly in astonishment, luckily for you, the occasional strong wind was enough reason to blame if you cried.

“That’s okay, thank you for that.”

He nods with a smile, encouraging you to pose against the railing in front of the waters and sky-high bright light buildings.

“You make the camera look good!”, he shouts, eyes being covered by the phone but his dimples peak with his toothy smile.

After a few minutes, you push off the railing, and San stands up to show you the results. It was fair for a beginner you thought, but the fact that it was San who took it made your heart pick up in pace. You looked at peace with yourself.

You take San’s place after reviewing your pictures and give him pro tips. During his photo shoot, you offered him poses which he perfected on his first try. Simply because he was so perfect.

At the end, he struts toward you, even when the camera isn’t on him he looks like a model.

“The camera makes me look good.”, he says reviewing your photos.

“You don’t need a camera for that silly, you’re right in front of me!”

“I mean…”, your cheeks bloom again with red as you smack yourself in the head.

He grins wide again, coming to stand by your side to watch over the city. “Even with this amazing view, you shined brighter than all of it.”

“Wow-um, Thank you, you’re so kind to me San.”

“Don’t mention it.”

A few cars passed, but in between that was peaceful silence as you and San continued to watch the bright lights, buildings, and stars.

“You ready to go back sweetheart? It’s getting late, and I don’t want to keep you up if you have clients to attend to in the morning.”

It broke you a little bit to hear that even San knew you were a workaholic.

“Actually, I’m free all of tomorrow as well. I didn't know how intense the party scene would be, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“You didn’t drink all too much, did you?” His tone is guardian-like, an ounce of concern pours within every word.

“Not really. How about you?”

“Maybe one or two, but I really finished neither.”

“So… we’re both good to drive home then.”

For some reason the peaceful silence grows into awkwardness and shame.

“You live nearby?”, San whispers.

“Nope, it’s a couple of hours for me. I’m thinking about crashing at a ‘tel tonight. I don’t want to get lost trying to find her bathroom in the middle of the night.”, you point to the way of the party, referring to your best friend.

A hearty chuckle leaves his mouth as it bounces with his broad shoulders. “That’s really far.”, he acknowledges, …”and I completely understand that but…I have a spare bedroom if you’re up for it. It’s reserved for family and friends only- nothing weird.”

There were a lot more pros than cons you thought, but high school you would’ve thought otherwise. But your adults now, where’s the harm in going over a friend's house?

“I’ll take you up on that, I could save the money.”

“Sounds great.”, he says, holding out his arms for you to grab onto with your own, “I can save you gas too, and drive you back to get your car in the morning.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I would.”

…

Even if he changed on the outside the inside of his apartment showcased how much of a dweeb he still was and you loved it.

He walked you into the room you’d be sleeping in which was a slight contrast of his dweebiness but it still shows his personality nonetheless.

For pajamas, he handed you a t-shirt with the cutest Pokémon character on it and some black sweats. When you came out of the room from changing, you followed the alluring smoke of delicious aroma from the kitchen to find him sautéing a stir fry.

He changed from his formal suit to the casual wear of his black tee shirt and black sweats. But to you, it was anything but casual, because how can such a man look so sexy in something so basic as plain black clothing?

“It smells amazing in here, I’m actually starving.”

“There’s plenty enough for you here sweetheart. What kind of person would I be not to feed my guest?”

“I appreciate it. You’re the sweetest.”

“Of course.”, he moves away from the stove to hand you your plate as you both move into his living room to watch the movie you selected. “We will reserve dessert for later.”

It had been twenty-something minutes since the movie began and you couldn’t recap on what happened if San asked you to.

Dessert was severed right after dinner as promised, but was it wrong for you to want something else more?

“I’ll guess I’ll head to bed now”, you muttered, “thank you for everything, from taking me home and cooking a delicious meal.”

“Of course. He gets up from the couch as you do, “I’ll head to bed now too.”

“Good night, San.”, you wave from across the hall.

“Good night, Y/n.”, he doesn’t shut his door until after you do, which was a little intense because you kept gawking at him.

You can admit that everything was perfect. The bed was at the perfect standard between hard and soft, the sheets were clean, and the room was tidy and smelled nice. But later that night you couldn’t sleep, so you go to check on San to see if he was still awake.

You don’t think to knock on his door in case you might wake him up from good sleep.

However, what you didn’t expect was him sitting up in his bed with a night light and glasses reading manga.

When you come in he’s flustered and throwing the book somewhere across the room while he tosses his glasses on his nightstand.

“Sorry! I thought you were asleep!”

You rush to close the door and San struggles to reach you as his ankles get tangled from the sheets covering his bed.

“Wait, it’s okay!” You open the door slightly with only one eye in appearance, idolizing San’s unbelievable frame. “Is everything all right? Did you need anything?”, he says in a rushed tone.

“I just-honestly, my nerves are bad and it’s hard for me to settle in at other people’s houses.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.”, he grabs a blanket from his bed to reveal another one, moving to stand in front of the edge, and closer to you. “You can take the bed in here if that’s better for you. I’ll make a pallet on the floor.”

“No that’s okay!” You wave him off between the cracks. “Maybe I’m just paranoid.”

“I promise, it’s alright.” He walks much closer to you now, taking his grip on the door and opening it wide to your exposure. “Please…I insist.”

You walk into the room, looking between the hard wooden floor and his fluffy bed which was also dressed in black. “How about we just share the bed San, that way no one has to be uncomfortable?”

You’re both adults… you can handle it, right?

“Um sure, yeah. He tries the cover back down onto the mattress as you close the door behind you. “If you’re comfortable.”

“I am, are you?”

“Yes.”, he confirms, then settling in as he sits up, waiting on you to join in.

“Good.”

“Good.”

You make your way in and San turns off his nightlight to finally get some rest, the both of you turning in the opposite of ways.

Unexpectedly though, you both turn opposite again at the same time, and your lips become magnetic in an inevitable connection.

You both pull away on your last breaths, gazing into the other's eyes, and pulling your bodies closer.

“Can I tell you something?”, you both whisper at the same time.

“You first.”, you both say again.

San takes the initiative to start before you this time, hovering his hand above your cheek in which you take hold of as soon as the opportunity presents itself. “I’ve been waiting to do that since high school.”

“Me too”, you confess. “I think…no- I know I like you.”

His eyes brighten and he begins caressing your soft flesh. “Same here.” In seconds you begin kissing again, never ending until before you take each other's breaths away.

It actually began to escalate into something more afterward. You both felt like you had to continue touching the other in one way or more.

San began to pull the plug as he stopped himself from pulling your shirt over your head. “I uh… we don’t have to-”

You immediately silence him with a kiss, pulling the remainder of your shirt that was left on your body yourself. “I want to with you, please.”

“Why would i ever say no to you?” San moves over on top of you, trying to get to know your body more from its every angle. “Where do you want me?”, he asks, mainly because he’s unsure where to start himself.

“Anywhere and everywhere, please?” Your reach up to touch a long strand of pink behind his hair and smooth your fingers along his jawline.

“Anything for you my sweet.”

He then makes the move to firstly bend down and kiss you on the head, making his way down directly to where your pleasure erects.

“Wait!”, you whisper above what was considered normal, startling San you come to a complete halt. “Glasses.”

He scoffs and climbs his way back up to your face. “Don’t tell me you have a kink for glasses.”

“Only when you put them on”, you sensually remark. “It makes you look even more delectable.”

“Is that so?”, he devilishly grins, “Hand them over here then.”

He slides on glasses as he looks deep into your eyes. Embodying the nature of a DILF like no other, perhaps that’s another kink you only have with him.

San moves downward again to your sex, pursuing straight into action. With the skills of his lips and tongue, her was able to suck, twirl, and eat every bit right out of you until his glasses are smeared with your cum, and your legs are quivering in instability.

“So it’s true”, you mumble, sucking back in every breath you give out. “…nerdy boys do give the best head. I wonder if the big dick part is true or not.”, you grin, letting your sex drive take wheel off every previous challenge.

San lets up and pulls onto the string that flatters his waist, pulling the down as the fabric loosens and stretches. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

His shirt selfishly covers him with he reveals himself to you, sticking up hard underneath black cotton. But he reads your desperate expression and relieves your mind, taking his shirt off to sire him all to you.

“Holy fuck.”

San leans down to your ear and lightly kisses its outer shell, while the tip of his meaty cock taps on your abdomen.

“What do you think my love? Are the rumors true?”

He pulls apart from you and you follow the front of his face, shaking your head in disbelief. “I think they underestimated you.”

“Good answer, you’re not as dumb of a bunny as I’d thought you’d be.”

Your breath hitches from the ticklish feeling your body shivers from in hindsight. “B-b-bunny?”

“That’s right baby, that’s what I’ll call you, my little cock hopper.” San flips you over to leave you the role of being top, and yet he takes the lead by plunging his dick right into your sweet spot.

“Oh my- fuck!” Your eyes flutter as your mouth gapes open wide, gripping on his sheets and printing your claws.

He wastes no time to push in and out of you. Your beauty has driven him to insanity. But your noises and cuteness brought him over the very edge.

“Bunny do you know? unghhhh- how many times I- gosh- got a hard on in class and had to go to the bathroom- shit- because of you?”

“No, I’m sorry”, you whine. “Did you ever-fuck- do it? Rub it off?”

He growls at your inquiry, thrusting in hard and much deeper than before, forcing you to jerk forward. “Did I?”, he laughs darkly, “Why do you think I was nowhere to be found every lunch period? You think I was eating on the floor-arghhh-somewhere?”

“I would’ve assumed so but..if you needed my help Sannie, then you could’ve just asked y’know?”

“You would’ve did that for me Bunny?”, he whimpers, reaching up to caress your unattended skin.

“I would’ve Sannie. That cafeteria food was nothing to miss out on anyhow.”

The both of you laugh from the recall of freezer burnt fries and overcooked pizza.

“Fuck, bunny. I wished I would’ve talk to you sooner.”

“We can make up for lost time, Sannie.”

“Have you ever thought about us being together? He starts to thrust slower, eager to hear your thoughts. Like… in a relationship?”

“I always have too”, you conquer. Even now.”

He almost comes to full-stop, gazing up at you with furrowed brows and lost eyes. “Will you be mine then Y/n, please?”

For the first time tonight, you show your teeth with a wide smile. “With pleasure.”

The two of you meet halfway in a warm kiss. San starts to pick up his pace again, faster and harder, plunging into your hole as he holds onto your neck so you can never let go.

Your releases and his collide together like a shockwave, leaving you both to just collapse on one another and breathless.

“You’re mine now, no take back-sees, he teases, kissing your red-hot flustered cheek.

“I’ve waited this long Sannie”, you say lifting your upper body to smooth wet hair from his forehead to uncover the handsomeness that is his precious face. “As if I would ever.”

…

In his bed you lie peaceful and calm, deblocking the things you wish you would’ve done with the beautiful things you have.

It made you come up with the idea as you tap on San’s muscle-tight arm to be released from your waist, to which he whined and babbled about.

You bend down to retrieve your clothes that was left discarded at his bedside to fish into your pockets.

You pulled out the pink tube and applied it to your lips, then went into San’s front blazer pocket to find his Polaroid.

San has watched you carefully from the lipstick to the point where you kissed his picture. One on the cheek, the other, on his neck.

“Is that a decoration for my Polaroid?”

“One of them, I’m not done yet”, you giggle.

You began to write, ‘SO HOT’ and ‘call me!’ with your new phone number attached. Around the border, you added pink hearts to compliment his hair and complete the image.

“There, now it’s done.” He sits up as you tilt the picture in his direction. “What do you think?”

He grabs onto the square laminated photo, evaluating every design. “Nobody does it like you baby. It’s picture perfect.”

…

The night continued on with you giggling with San as you shared your embarrassing crush stories with each other, contemplating why the hell you both didn’t say anything sooner.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

A/N: This was so fun to create! I hope to post more stories soon! 💞

Much love,

xoxo

[popcornforone]

Bunked Up

A Mr Ben Fan Fic

I gave you a vote & you overwhelmingly chose Mr Ben as this weeks fic. This one I’ve had completed in draft since the end of November but then I had Christmas writing then the January & February challenges, so it been patient waiting for its turn.

Synopsis:- You are need an extra teacher for your field trip, your new boy friend mr Ben agrees to help.

Word Count:- 3000

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV unprotected sex, swearing, muffling, orgasms, established but secret & new realationship, lover colleagues, PDA, bed creeping, small bed scenario.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, I hope you enjoy this, it’s been a very fun write.

“Free for a second Ben” you poke your head around his class room door. “I need to vent & you always love to tell me to calm down” in you stroll, youve only been back at school 3 days teaching & are already stressed. Being the new head of geography is already proving hard work. Bens busy reading a the new poetry anthology he needs to get his 15 year olds to work on. His feet are up in the desk. He slowly lowers his book & his glasses & eyes pop up from behind it. Instantly making you calmer. Who could ever be angry at such a handsome face.

“Couldnt this wait until later” he groans, but he knows from your tone this needs to be off your chest now, you both like to try & leave work at work.

“Ben!”

“What”

“You’d rather I talked about this when we go out for dinner tonight?” It’s Thursday & you’ve decided to make tonight your date night. You’ve been seeing each other for the last 6 months & are soon going to have to have that chat about where you see this going.

“No you’re right sorry” he puts his book mark in & closes the anthology. You know he’s read this at least once, he took the book with you when you went on your mini break in the summer to the Hamptons.

“So you know George,”

“Yes”

“Well his wife now needs to be induced for the triplets they are having” Ben wonders why this affects you.

“Okay so…”

“The date they have been given in October 4th”

“&…”

“It’s when our field trip to Florida is happening, to take the kids to the keys just before storm season”

“So….” Ben can’t see the point”how does he having his babies effect your trip, he doesn’t teach Geography”

“No but he’s a man & he has always volunteered for trips to be the spare man if one is needed.” Ben sees your issue. “Me Jenny & Scott are all the geography teachers & we have to leave 2 teachers behind to teach the rest & set supply, so we need another man on the field trip”

“Okay yes” you look bemused.

“What do you mean yes”

“Yes I’ll do it…” your jaw drops.

“Ben… I…I… I wasn’t expecting that”

“Why not”

“Well you don’t even teach a humanity & no one cares if a Religious study’s teacher goes away for 5 days, but your head of English”

“Did you just want 5 days without me?” He says & takes his glasses off & bites the end of them. You dampen your panties instantly. That always makes you want to jump his bones.

“Ben stop it”

“Make me” you lean across his desk & pull at his dark blue tie. He groans. His lips that you kiss every day feeling more plump today for some reason. He holds your neck gently, cradling it.

“You sure you want to come on a boring geography field trip. I only came in here to have a moan…”

“You’ve done that in both respects” he giggles.

“Ben”

“What” you playfully dig him in the ribs.

“I’ll need to go clear this with the principal, but if you really did want to, then it would be a huge help then me having to email everyone in the school tomorrow morning”

“If it’s okay with the head, I’m in”

“Ahhh” you squeeze him “my hero & don’t worry all you need to do is be a chaparone, we will do the teaching, we just need a male teacher.” He hugs you back.

“It’s geography, what could go wrong?”…

Ben wasn’t happy when you got to where you were staying for the field trip. Yes he got his own room but it was a half double bed & a little basic. He was upset you weren’t on the same floor as him. But he put on a happy face as the wind & rain blew at him as the kids collected data each day. You are built for these field trips. You can stand in the winds & speak to kids, you’ve been doing it for years, the cold doesn’t get to you until at least the last day of each trip which is why now as head of department, you’ve organised for the last day of the field trip to be either organising the data the kids have collected or going to a museum so your not all frozen. Ben however usually takes kids to plays or to readings or lectures. When you packed him lots of waterproof clothes & thermals he laughed, now he wished you’d packed more.

He stands there as the kids are busy measuring the long shore drift. You’ve told him he can have a break for a few minutes. So he’s sat on a sea defence, desperately clasping to a flask of coffee he brought with him to keep warm. You look up & see this & mouth to Scott to keep an eye on everyone & walk across the beach to Ben. He try’s to man up straight away the second he senses you walking over but you can tell he’s not enjoying this.

“Told you these weren’t for the faint hearted”

“I ain’t volunteering next year no way, thought you said this would be fun”

“It is”

“Since when”he scoffs struggling to undo the top of his flask, his hands shivering in his gloves. you sigh & take it from him & undo it straight away. A seasoned professional at how to survive the elements.

“Ben I promise you that we have one more day here on the beach after today taking data then it’s class room based & a museum & no more wind & rain & sea breeze okay” you rub his hat ruffling his hair under it.

“You’re made of strong stuff you know” he says a small smile forming on his face after sipping his hot drink. The colour coming back into his face.

“Years of doing this Ben, be glad we’re not doing this in December”

“Well I wouldn’t be here” he say & you look concerned. “Those triplets would be almost 2 months old by then” you both laugh & you slowly take his hand in yours giving it a squeeze.

“I know I say this a lot, but I really am thankful you did volunteer to do this” this makes him smile too.

“Anything to make my girl happy”

Tomorrow you are all off to a museum before flying back to New York. The kids you’ve all been looking after & who haven’t been in bed before 1pm no matter how hard you all tried every night, are finally all knackered. All in their rooms by 11pm. Clearly they have reached exhaustion, because no matter how many brave faces you & the teachers have put on, you’re all spent too.

Jenny has agreed to man the corridors tonight if there’s anything that goes on. She hadn’t done it for the first 3 nights of the trip at all & had got the most sleep. You slip into your jammies & sit on your half double bed which squeaks & is hard & sit there with a mug of hot water, reading your romance novel. Finally some you time as you hear the rain clatter on the window. Or so you thought, a polite knocking happens on your door & you grown. The kids know to not talk to you unless it’s a complete emergency tonight, you slink out of bed & grab your Hoodie to put it on over your top, it’s not completely see though but it’s not the best for a kid to see. You yawn as you open the door.

“This had better…” the door is pushed open. Large familiar hands engulf you in second, kicking the door shut behind the large man. Your lips peppered & your neck caressed.

“Oooh baby”

“Ben” you moan your hands all up in his hair. You can feel his erection through his bottoms. “Baby we’re on a field trip”

“Couldnt sleep, have only had about 6 hours sleep since we got here”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me” you say & hold him back a few seconds. His puppy dog eyes filled with sorrow & tiredness.

“Didn’t want my girl to have something else to worry about”

“Ben you should have told me” you caress his face. He smiles at your touch. “I’d have got you another mattress or”

“It’s not the same, you weren’t there to wake up to”

“I’m not always there for you to wake up to”

“But your here in this building, sleeping the floor bellow, it’s ached not being able to touch you or kiss you or pleasure you” he closes the gap between you both again. Little kisses around the base of your neck. He loves to do that. His hand slips inside you jammies.

“Ben please”

“Why not” he relaises you have no underwear on.

“No Ben you misunderstand” his eyes dilate as you smirk”oooh Ben please” your own hand going into his trouser, teasing his erection.

“Oooh fuck baby” he yanks down your jammie bottoms & the two fingers that were on your clit slip inside your sex. You grab onto his shoulder & whimper.

“Fuck Ben”

“Just getting you ready baby, want my girl to enjoy it all as we have no lube”

“Any condoms” you hadn’t brought your birth control tablets with you.

“Erm….” He looks embarrassed.

“Ben there’s solutions in pharmacy’s.” You tug off his T-shirt as the rain gets heavier outside. He pushes you on your bed which creeks & takes off your hoodie & top. Looking at you already on the edge of bliss just by his fingers taking you.

“Your fucking needy baby”

“Only cos you like it.” You wrap your legs around him & get your feet in the back of his waist band. You both wriggle so his penis springs free, rubbing your skin just above your clit, getting some of your pubic hair on it. He takes his fingers from inside you & sucks.

“Fucking delicious” he moans before his fingers grip his length. Pre cum drips across your sex. The way you groan when he slowly Edges all the way inside you. It may have only been a couple of days where you hadn’t had sex, but this felt needed by you both. His eyes wide, as he sinks deeper into you & the way his moustache curls has you feeling even more in heaven than you already are.

“Fuck Ben” his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhhh the kids below” he reminds you. His first thrust powerful. You grip his skin. The bed creeks louder than your moan.

“Ben” you whimper “the bed will give us more away” he giggles with you. “Can you do slow & sensual?” So far all your sex sessions have been rough & passionate. No holding back, you both feel like you’ve had a work out by the end of it. He raises an eye brow.

“I can try beautiful” he whispers before then kissing all around your ear. His next couple of movements slower, rubbing your walls, hitting your spot as you hiss in pleasure trying to be quiet. “But when you look as sexy as this, it hard to control myself”.

No matter how hard you try to be quiet & he try’s to be slow, noises fill the room. The bed even slow creeks, the headboard hitting the wall. You moan every 3 thrusts fuck out loud. Eyes time you do he sucks on your breasts & then you squeeze his bum making him whimper. Feeling him raw always makes your eyes roll, his length knows what to do as you grip onto him. Your legs still wrapped around him. You’re squeezing him too, pushing him deeper, making him feel bigger, the pleasure unmatched. As your collective climax approaches, he gives up. His large hand no longer over your mouth. The bed rocking & rolling with you as you both pant & swear. The air turning blue.

“Fuck fuck b..” before you can scream Ben snogs you. He knows how loud you screech his name when you cum & he knows hearing it will make him reply back with your own name. His tongue taking over sets you off, your body jolting through your climax. As you clamp around you, his own high hits, filling you up with his seed. He always digs his hand in hard to your hip when he finishes. He pants, lying flush on top of you. You ruffle his hair eventually when your lips separate. His sweaty body warming your though. The bed no longer creaking as you both lie in silence as the rain stops & you both fall asleep in each others arms.

You both slept so well. Just being near each other made you both feel safe & secure. Your heat radiating. It was the perfect way to end your school trip. Or so you both thought.

Ben crept out of your room like he was a naughty school boy at about 5am after peppering you with kisses as an apology for not staying the whole night & went back to his bed. You both made sure to shower before joining the other teachers & your students in the canteen for breakfast. You walked in first & grabbed a coffee & a pastry. A few kids looked your way but not too many. But when Ben walked in the whole of your field trip turned to face him & then back at you & then him. Ben was never good at poker faces, he turned bright red instantly as the room filled with loud gossip. His name on everyone’s lips. He slowly went to get his breakfast & then sat down next to you at the teachers table like he had done every morning, with his hand on your thigh.

“Slept well Ben” Jenny asked.

“I did” he sheepishly replied.

“Probably too well that you almost stumbled up the stairs this morning” said Scott. He shot looks between you both.

“Fuck did you see”

“No” Scott said “but we all heard her bed creek for 20mins last night, the walls are thin” you both look at each other. You look a little more mortified than Ben. Ben then takes the hand from you thigh & locks it around your fingers, rubbing across your knuckles.

“What can I say” says Ben now proud of his night time activities “she’s the love of my life & not sharing a bed with her this week has been torture” you drop your cutlery in shock at what he just said the whole canteen falls silent.

“You… you love me?” You say not realising the whole room can hear you.

“Yes baby, I do” your face lights up.

“Good cos I love you too” you both forget you are in a room full of high school students & tenderly kiss. His lips soft & full of the love you both just declared.

A collective awwwwww from all the students fills both your ears & you remember where you are.

“Alright you lot just shhh okay” says Ben.

“You know they’ve been shipping us for a while Ben”

“Really” he raises an eyebrow, you know that smile to well.”well then let’s given them something to talk about”. Ben leans in & presses a lingering kiss to your temple before turning back to his breakfast, acting like he didn’t just declare his love in front of a room full of teenagers. You, on the other hand, are still reeling, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. Jenny smirks over her coffee.

“Well, at least it’s official now. The worst kept secret in the school.”

Scott shakes his head, laughing.

“You two really thought no one knew?” Ben feigns innocence, taking a bite of his toast.

“We were subtle.” He proclaims, this makes some of the students near bursts into laughter.

“Sir no offense, but you literally stare at her like shes the star cheerleader in the team” one of the kids says, another chimes in,

“also she looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.” You glance at Ben, & he gives you a little shrug, as if to say, they’re not wrong. You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand under the table. Jenny sighs dramatically.

“So what happens now? A romantic wedding in the school gym? Matching ‘his and hers’ coffee mugs in the staff room?”

Ben grins, finally regaining his confidence.

“I was thinking something more low-key. Maybe just moving in together first?” You choke on your coffee.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugs, pretending to focus on his breakfast, but the slight pink in his cheeks gives him away.

“I mean… it’s not like I ever want to wake up without you again. I want to be bunked up with you…” he gulps & then looks you seriously but softly in the eyes, love pouring out of them “…forever”

The students erupt into more cheers and dramatic awwws as you sit there, staring at him in stunned silence. Eventually, you shake your head, laughing.

“Well,” you say, nudging him with your knee under the table, “let’s get today over with & then when we get back tonight we can have a chat without additional ears” you caress his face. Ben smirks, leaning in just close enough for only you to hear.

“I’ll make sure when we get back that the only person that hears you orgasm is me” you blush crimson, for the first time in days, despite the exhaustion, the cold, & the chaos of chaperoning teenagers, you feel completely, utterly warm.

[pulisicsgirl]

silence is deafening - mason mount

summary: after a fight with Mason digs up memories she'd rather forget, Y/N is left to deal with trauma from her past and decide if she will let Mason in

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 5.1k

warnings/tags: angst, hurt/comfort, couple fight, !! in-depth description of childhood trauma !!, lack of communication, supportive Mase, everything will eventually be okay-- you all know I can't write a sad ending, not proofread (I'm so sorry)

requested: yes!! here

notes: back with another request!!! This one has been sitting in my inbox for a LONG time!! I've had the draft halfway written for SO long, but couldn't decide how to finish it until I was struck with a bit of inspiration earlier this week! I hope you all enjoy it!!

You rested your elbow on the counter, forehead placed in the palm of your hand as you used the other to scroll and click through the numerous emails in your inbox. You had a big deadline coming up for your work, and it seemed that the brunt of the responsibility for it had fallen unexpectedly on your shoulders. As a result, your coworkers were coming to you with all of their questions, new emails popping up in your inbox every hour. So here you were, sitting at the bar in the kitchen, legs tucked under you as you continued to work even after arriving at home from a full day’s work.

Your boss had been on your case for a few weeks now for a reason unknown to you, which put you on edge each day that you went into work, nervous to step a toe out of line and be reprimanded, or worse, fired. You feared that this project could be the breaking point if it didn’t work out, which only added to your nervousness. You had never let a project like this fall apart before, but the anxious thoughts swirling around your mind convinced you that this would be the day that you failed.

You were just closing the browser to open a spreadsheet when you heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. You vaguely heard Mason call out into the house and the sound of his keys dropping into the bowl by the front door, too focused on your work to comprehend what he had actually said.

The nerves seemed to have settled in your chest like a heavy weight, pressing onto your diaphragm as your eyes flicked between the seemingly endless list of numbers and data on your screen. Your head was beginning to ache, and you imagined that this is what drowning would feel like.

You were pulled from your thoughts as two hands slipped around your waist as Mason pulled you tightly into his chest.

“How’s my baby?” Mason mumbled into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin there, and as much as you usually enjoyed being greeted this way, you were feeling overwhelmed by the sudden contact.

“ ’m okay,” you mumbled in reply, wiggling a bit to try to pull from his grasp, but Mason didn’t get the message, keeping your back pressed to his firm chest, continuing to place kisses on your neck and shoulders, his beard tickling your skin. “Mase, please…”

“What are you working on, sweetheart?” he mumbled softly, pressing his nose into your cheek.

“It’s just a thing for work. The deadline’s actually coming up pretty soon.” You tried prying his hands from your waist, beginning to feel suffocated, but Mason didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he ignored it. “So I really need to work on—”

“Come on, just give me five minutes,” he spun your chair toward him so he could see your face. Placing his hands on your cheeks, he began peppering kiss all over—your forehead, nose, cheeks, chin. “Haven’t seen you all day. I just wanna –”

“Mason please!” Something in you snapped and you pushed his hands away from you. “Why can’t you just leave me alone for two seconds! I’m trying to work! Can’t you see that?”

Mason stumbled back a couple of steps, caught off guard by your outburst. You never called him by his full name, and you certainly never shouted at him. A look of hurt washed over his face, the grin that had previously played on his lips falling into a frown, eyebrows drawn together, and you instantly regretted your words. You didn’t mean them, but you were overwhelmed and simply lost your cool.

“Mase, I’m sorry, I-“ You rose from your chair quickly to apologize to him, reaching a hand out toward him, but he was already halfway out of the kitchen by the time you could move in his direction. Your heart sank in your chest as you watched him round the corner, heading down the hallway.

You dropped yourself back into the chair, resting your head in your hands as your eyes began to sting with tears. If you thought you had felt miserable before, you had surely made it worse now. You cursed yourself for letting your stress get the better of you and letting your job come between you and Mason. The despair that you felt sat on your ribcage like a weight as a few tears slipped down your cheeks.

You decided maybe it was best to give Mason a bit of space before you tried to apologize. You knew you had hurt his feelings. He often expressed to you that he feared being too clingy or smothering the other person in his relationships, but you had always reassured him that you loved it, finding solace in his presence and his touch. Until today, when you had snapped at him for doing the very thing you told him brought you peace.

It truly wasn’t that you didn’t want him to touch you. In fact, in this moment, there was nothing you wanted more. You were feeling overwhelmed and had failed to communicate that.

With slightly puffy eyes you wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks, pulling your computer in front of you, determined to finish the work you had laid out for you so that you could spend the rest of your evening making it up to Mason. That proved difficult, though, with anxious thoughts about your relationship swirling around your head, now contributing to the anxiety you felt over your job.

You felt things getting progressively worse—your heart speeding up, the shaking in your hands getting more intense, and you were having trouble concentrating at all.

After about a half an hour, you heard Mason’s soft footsteps as his sock-clad feet padded down the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat, trying to quickly collect your thoughts so you could articulate to him just how sorry you were for what you had said and how you had acted.

But as Mason turned the corner into the kitchen, it was clear he hadn’t come to talk to you, not even sparing you a glance as he walked over to the fridge. Your voice caught on the lump in your throat, surprised by his cold demeanor.

“M-Mase?”

Your call to him was left unanswered as opened the refrigerator door, bending down to grab a bottle of water from the shelf. He uncapped the bottle, taking a drink from it as he walked back out of the room without a word.

Your lower lip wobbled, and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes. You closed your computer, knowing that you were going to get nothing more done, dropping your head to rest on your forearms on the countertop. You tried to muffle the sobs that shook your body, not wanting to guilt Mason into comforting you. You got yourself into this situation and would have to figure out how to deal with it.

It took another half hour for you to calm yourself, your crying finally ceasing. You took a few minutes, trying to make it appear as though you hadn’t spent the last 30 minutes crying in the kitchen before you decided to “pull up your big girl pants” and go find Mason.

You walked slowly and reluctantly down the hallway, first checking in your shared bedroom and finding both it and the ensuite bathroom empty. As you walked back into the hallway, you heard a noise coming from Mason’s gaming room and decided that must be where you’d find him.

You knocked softly on the door to alert him to your presence before you pushed the door open slowly. Mason was facing to your left, looking at the TV where he was playing FIFA, and only the side of his face was visible to you. Once again, he didn’t look toward you, focusing on his game without so much as a glance in your direction.

You took a couple of steps toward him, playing with your fingers in front of you as you moved to a position where you knew he could at least see you out of the corner of his eye.

“M-Mase? Can w-we talk?” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, but you took a deep breath, determined not to cry again. “Please?”

You waited, but there was no response. The clear shakiness of your voice earned a brief glance in your direction, but nothing more.

“Mason?”

Nothing.

All at once, a wave of emotions and painful memories hit you, the silent treatment from Mason taking you back to a time in your life that you had resolved to leave in your past.

Before you could stop it, a sob left your lips, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to silence it, rushing out of the room. You closed the door a little more harshly than you had intended to, soft cries leaving your lips as you raced down the hallway to find somewhere—anywhere—where you could get some fresh air and breathe for a moment.

Before you could even think, you had rushed to the front door, slipping on the trainers you had left there and grabbing your keys. You were out the door quickly, fighting back tears as you turned the keys in the ignition. You weren’t sure where you were even going to go, you just needed to find somewhere to be alone.

*

Almost as soon as you had left him alone in his gaming room, Mason knew something was really off. The two of you had fought before, but you had never reacted to it the way you had when you ran out of the room.

He had resolved to give you the cold shoulder, feeling hurt by the way you had pushed him away so harshly. But his concern for you outweighed his need to get you to apologize. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from glancing in your direction when your voice shook as you spoke. You had never sounded so afraid to address him, and that simple fact was eating away at him. He had soon after turned off the console, wandering out of his gaming room in search of you.

The house was eerily quiet as he moved through the hallway, checking in each room that he passed to see if you were there. When he entered the kitchen, noticing your computer lying closed on the countertop, he furrowed his brows. After not finding you anywhere else in the house, he had been sure you would be back in the kitchen, working on whatever it was that had you so stressed out.

Your shoes and keys missing from the walkway told him you had left, and he felt his heart sink a little. He had been hoping to find you and work this out quickly, hating the way he felt when there was distance between the two of you.

After debating whether to text or call to check on you, Mason settled on a quick text, afraid of suffocating you further. He wandered into the kitchen, aimlessly rummaging through the fridge and the cabinets as he waited for you to reply. He was restless, checking the screen of his phone every few seconds to see if a text from you had popped up, but nothing came through.

It wasn’t long before he threw caution to the wind, dialing your number without caring if you would be frustrated with him. The nerves caused by your brief argument and not knowing where you were was causing his worry to spike and he couldn’t keep himself from calling.

The line rang for several long moments before the automated voice began telling him you were unavailable.

He hung up, blowing air out in frustration and tossing his phone onto the counter before he plopped down in one of the chairs at the countertop. For a few moments, he just stared at the chair you had been sitting in when he had first arrived home—the place you had been sitting when you’d shouted at him.

His heart clenched in his chest at the recent memory. You had never reacted that way to him before, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. The negative thoughts began to swirl in his mind, feeling like a cloud of despair.

 He felt small. He felt like he was overbearing. He worried that you had grown sick of him and simply didn’t want him around anymore.

As tears sprung to his eyes, Mason’s level-headed side began to prevail.

Yes, you had never reacted that way to him before, so that had to mean that something had triggered it.

Everything had been fine when he’d cuddled up to you in bed that morning, and he was equally as touchy and clingy as the two of you had gotten ready for the day, so something had to have changed between then and when he got home.

As he wracked his brain to remember what you had been saying before you’d snapped at him, he realized he couldn’t really recall what you’d told him. He hadn’t really been paying attention, he realized.

He dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the countertop, as the shame washed over him. Perhaps this all could’ve been avoided if he’s just paid attention to what you had been trying to tell him.

With another sigh, Mason picked his phone up from where he had tossed it on the counter, dialing your number again.

And again, he was met with no response.

*

You hadn’t actually gone far on your drive, only making it about 10 minutes before you pulled off into a mostly empty parking lot, parked at the back where it was the most deserted, and broke down into sobs.

You felt silly for crying so much about receiving the cold shoulder from your boyfriend, but it had brought up so many memories and feelings you had done your best to repress.

The environment you had grown up in was… less than inviting. In your house, children were treated as more of a nuisance than a blessing. You were made to feel that unless you were bringing some sort of value to others, you didn’t deserve anything. Love was something that had to be earned, not something unconditional that was shared between a parent and child.

Silent treatment was something that your mother had often used to signal that she was upset with you. From a very young age, longer than you can remember, when she would begin to ignore you when you spoke to her or tugged at the hem of her shirt to get her attention, it meant you had to scramble to find a way to earn her love.

So, seeing Mason doing the very same had taken you right back to that time. You had once again felt like a young child, scrambling to prove that you deserved the love of another.

Of course, you realized that there was no way for Mason to know this would have bothered you the way it did. He knew that your relationship with your parents was now non-existent because of the circumstances of your upbringing, but he didn’t know the full extent of what they had put you through. You hadn’t gathered the strength to tell him all of those details yet.

So you had done the only thing you could think of to do in that moment, and you ran away—something you most certainly regretted now. But you didn’t want Mason to feel guilty for making you cry when you knew you had been in the wrong, so you sat in that empty parking lot for as long as it took you to calm yourself down.

You allowed yourself to sit there and feel miserable on your own for a while, but you knew you’d have to go back to face Mason soon. You knew he was probably worried, but you had turned your phone off after his first call came through. You felt even more guilty as a result, but you had been unable to deal with reassuring him of your safety at that moment.

It was dark outside by the time you walked back in the front door, closing it behind you quietly. You slipped your shoes off, placed your keys in the bowl, and hesitated a moment in the entry.

The soft jingle of your keys had alerted Mason to your presence, and he practically jumped up from his seat at the counter where he had remained the entire time, feeling miserable as he tried to call you nearly every 30 minutes.

Mere seconds passed before Mason darted quickly around the corner to find you standing there, still about 10 feet away from him.

His stomach sank to his feet at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. It was clear you had spent the entire time you were gone crying.

At the sight of him standing carefully at a distance, the feeling of guilt overwhelmed you, and tears sprung to your eyes.

“M-Mase, I’m so sorry, I-“ you stumbled over your words, the first tears spilling down your cheeks. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Mason was standing in front of you in an instant, cradling your face with his hands. His thumbs swiped over your cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You-“

“No,” you asserted, shaking your head as you held onto his forearms to steady yourself. “No, it’s not okay, please let me apologize.”

Mason’s heart squeezed as you gazed up at him with wide eyes, and he could tell you were trying to stop your lower lip from quivering, but to no avail.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and blowing the air out slowly through your mouth to try to gather yourself, wanting to be sure that you remembered every part of the apology that you had mentally composed on your way home.

“Mase, I’m so sorry for snapping at you,” you looked up at his face as you spoke, watching as he drew his brows together with a sad expression on his face. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did, and I shouldn’t have shouted. Work has been awful these last couple of weeks, and my boss has been giving me absolute hell. I think it all just built up.”

Mason nodded at you, and you could tell from his soft expression that he understood what you were saying.

You continued, “It’s not an excuse, I just want you to know that it wasn’t you that was bothering me. I just unfairly took my bad day out on you. I don’t feel like you’re too much—ever—I just… I needed a bit of space, and I should’ve just told you that.”

You could see his face physically relax as the relief washed over him, and you felt even more guilty knowing he had been sitting with those thoughts of self-doubt ever since you had left.

“I’m really sorry,” you finished with a whisper as Mason brushed his thumb softly over your bottom lip.

Without warning, Mason pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, making you feel completely enveloped by him—and the feeling was the greatest relief you could ever remember feeling. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel a couple of warm tears against your skin.

The two of you stood there in the entryway, clinging onto each other like you’d vanish into thin air if you let go. Mason’s hot breath fanned against your neck, and you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of being so close to him.

“Thank you,” Mason whispered after a few moments. “Thank you for talking to me.”

You squeezed him in response.

“And I’m sorry for being so childish,” he pulled his face back, still holding you in his arms. “I shouldn’t have just ignored you like that. I should have told you how I was feeling, too.”

You brought your hand up to cradle his cheek, pressing a smile to your lips despite the your eyes still being wet with tears.

“It’s okay, Mase, you couldn’t…” you hesitated for a moment, struggling with the idea of opening that part of yourself up to him. But you knew it was a conversation that was well overdue, so you pushed out of your comfort zone. “You couldn’t have known that it would bother me so much.”

Mason remain quiet, turning his head to place a gentle kiss on the skin of your palm, sensing that you had more to say.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Um… so y-you know that my relationship with my parents really fell apart after I was able to move out, and… um…”

You hesitated, feeling frustrated with yourself for struggling to open yourself up. Here Mason stood—the perfect boyfriend, really. He had never judged you for any of your struggles or for anything from your past. He had been nothing but supportive and compassionate since you had first met him. Despite all of this, those nagging thoughts that you weren’t deserving of it all would persist no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

As Mason realized that this was becoming a conversation that would likely require a lot of time, he pulled away from you slightly, taking both of your hands in his as he led you to the living room. He sat down on the couch, opening his arms up to you so you could sit however you felt most comfortable, wanting to put your troubled mind at ease however he could.

Feeling a desperate need to remain close to him, you wound up placing yourself on Mason’s lap, facing him with your knees settled on either side of his hips. Your arm naturally found their place wrapped loosely around his neck, and he placed his hands on your hips, alternating between brushing his thumbs against your waist and rubbing his hands over your thighs.

You took a minute to compose yourself again, staring at the front of Mason’s t-shirt as you didn’t feel confident enough to look him in the eye. Mason remained quiet, continuing his gentle pattern over your legs as he allowed you to have that moment. He could tell that there was a lot weighing on you, even beyond the stress that your job had been causing you.

When you were able to gather your thoughts, you began speaking softly, and you told Mason everything.

You told him about your childhood and the nature of the relationships you’d had with your parents. You told him about the sudden changes in your mother’s disposition and how she would be happy one moment and hateful toward you the next. You explained your long history with the “silent treatment” and how you now realized that was a trigger for you. You were honest with him about the uncertainty that you felt about yourself and about your relationships as a result of this kind of upbringing.

“My mother, she… actually reached out to me last week,” you mumbled. By the time you had finished recounting your life story to Mason, you had cast your eyes down to your lap where you were playing with your fingers, unable to bring yourself to look at his face. “It’s the first time she’s done that since I left home years ago. I don’t really feel like I’m ready to reply to her yet, but I think it’s just dug up a lot of feeling and memories that I tried to bury for so long.”

Mason’s silence as you stopped speaking only made you more nervous. Hesitantly, you looked up to his face, but the pity you expected to find in his eyes was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Mason had a look of pure admiration in his eyes.

“Please say something, Mase.”

He brought his hand up to your cheek, brushing your skin gently as he gave you a tearful smile.

“You’re so incredibly strong, Y/N.”

His reply took you by surprise, as, for seemingly the hundredth time that night, tears spring to your eyes.

“Really?” your voice shook as you spoke.

He nodded. “You went through all of that, and you’re still the kindest soul I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

You couldn’t stop the sob that left your lips as you fell forward into Mason, tucking yourself into his chest. His arms immediately were wrapped around your body, your shoulders shaking as you cried into his neck.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there. Your cries eventually diminished into soft sniffles as you remained with your face tucked into Mason’s neck. He slowly trailed his fingers over your back, rubbing soothing shapes and patterns, and after all of the crying and how emotionally drained you felt after reliving the trauma of your past, you felt like you could fall asleep right there.

When you had finally settled a bit more, Mason enveloped you in his arms again, squeezing you gently as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Thank you, Y/N,” his voice was no higher than a whisper. “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

Lacking the energy to reply in that moment, you shifted slightly so that you could place a kiss on his collarbone in a silent thanks for listening and understanding you on a level that no one else ever had.

You sat there for a while, allowing yourself to just relax into your boyfriend’s body as he held you. As you rested there, you knew that there was nowhere else in the world that you’d rather be.

Feeling your muscles soften and noticing that your eyes had slipped closed, Mason knew you would soon fall asleep and decided that the two of you should go on up to bed.

He shifted you off of his lap gently, trying to disturb your peace as little as possible. He stood, bending over to pick you up from the couch, and carried you bridal style toward the stairs and up into your shared bedroom.

He took you into the ensuite bathroom and placed you gently on the counter. After grabbing the skincare products he had observed you using over the many nights that you had spent together, he set out, following your nighttime regimen as closely as he could remember. He took a couple of cotton pads, dampening them with your cleanser and swiping them over your cheeks, forehead, and nose. He pumped a bit of the moisturizer on his fingers and gently rubbed it into your skin. Your eyes slipped closed, and his soft touch nearly lulled you back to sleep, sitting there on the countertop.

Mason only left you alone for a moment as you brushed your teeth and he wandered into the bedroom. You could hear him moving around but didn’t have the energy to find out what he was doing. Just as you had finished rinsing out your mouth in the sink, he reappeared behind you, having changed into a loose pair of joggers and discarding his shirt, sliding his arms around your waist as you stood up straight.

You relaxed back into Mason’s touch, pressing your back into his bare chest and letting your head fall back onto his shoulder.

For a moment you stood there, drinking each other in. Mason swayed you gently back and forth as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his body radiating warmth from behind you. With your eyes closed, you focused on the feeling of him pressed up against you, arms holding you securely as the gentle pace of his swaying calmed the remainder of the racing thoughts in your mind.

Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the tears springing to them as you thought of how thankful you were to have Mason in your life—how thankful you were that he was your person. You had always known that he was someone special, even from the first moment that you met him. But now, having explained to him the entirety of your childhood and all of the difficulties that came with it, you just felt that much close to him and that much more appreciative if who Mason was.

Kind, forgiving, understanding, gentle—you could have gone on for the rest of the night listing all of the characteristics that made Mason the most perfect man you’d even known.

You twisted in Mason’s hold, tucking your face into his neck so he wouldn’t see the tears spilling over once again. You folded your arms between your bodies as he held you close, allowing him to completely envelop you in his hold.

After another moment, Mason placed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Come on, love. Let’s get to bed.”

You nodded, shivering from the cold as he unwrapped his arms from you.

You followed him back into the bedroom, noticing that the sheets had been pulled back, the pillows arranged just how you liked them, and the shirt that Mason had previously been wearing just before was folded on your side of the bed. Your heart warmed at the small acts of service Mason had done for you.

After you’d undressed yourself, slipping Mason’s t-shirt over your head, you crawled into the bed and placed yourself right next to Mason, who was now clad in only his boxers. He pulled the sheets and the duvet up, tucking them over your bodies before he lay down and pulled you into his arms.

With Mason’s arm wrapped around your body, you lay with your head on his bare chest, listening to the soft and steady beating of his heart. It only took a few seconds of you laying there before Mason had slipped his hand under the hem of your shirt, trailing his fingers over your back and reveling in the feel of  your skin against his. Your legs were tangled under the sheets as the two of you lay in silence, content to be completely wrapped up in one another.

The silence was only broken as you whispered into the night air a few moments later. “Thank you, Mase. For everything.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his chest.

“Anything for you, my love,” he replied softly, squeezing your shoulders. “Anything at all.”

tag list: @landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @mm-vii @10vnderhaze

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