#and ill bring it right out now and he was just like okay

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Jumping on this early!! Bedsy v-day date!🥰🎁

...and I'm late getting it done! ( ´-｀) I had to work late! Sorry! 💔

He didn't have a clue what he was doing. Hockey was his forte, not planning dates and whatever.

Connor had just gotten off the phone with his sister, for pointers as to what he should and shouldn't do when it came to taking you out. She had given him the standard dinner and flowers sort of expectation, but that seemed too boring. Connor was guilty of putting off making plans with you until the very last minute, but Valentine's Day fell smack-dab in the middle of the season, and he had bigger things to worry about than making dinner reservations.

Y|N: Is there a dress code for tonight? 🤔🤔

Bedsy: Um I mean just wear something warm. Were not going anywhere fancy srry

Y|N: Aw, okay 🥺🥺

Bedsy: I know I kind of let you down Ill make it up to u later

Y|N: So, like leggings and a hoodie?

Bedsy: If u think youll be warm enough yeah Ill see u around 7

Y|N: okie dokie ❤️❤️

Texting with Connor left a lot to be desired, but you got enough from the short conversation to make you excited about the evening. If you were being honest, the fact that he had asked you to do anything was more than you had expected -- a pleasant surprise. Since he said that you just needed to be warm and casual, you wasted no time trying to figure out what to wear. You still had four hours before he would be picking you up, but you wanted everything to be perfect! Well -- you wanted to look perfect! His gift was already packaged up and waiting on the table. You didn't really know what to get him, since he was known for getting anything he wanted when he wanted, but you tried to find something useful.

"So, what kind of hot date do you and Connor have planned?" One of your roommates asked as you checked your hair one more time in the bathroom mirror. "You can't be wearing that!"

You'd try to avoid making eye contact with her, but she persisted by sitting on the counter right next to you; getting as close to you as possible. "C'mon! Tell me!"

"No hot date, Chloe. I actually don't know what we're doing. He said it was just something casual."

Chloe rolled her eyes, obviously hoping for something much more luxe and romantic. "He's not taking you to Ever or something like that?"

"Pfft! Like he'd even have the thought to take me to a place like that!"

"Yeah, but he's this superstar hockey player, Y|N! He can afford it!"

Now it was your time to roll your eyes, "Like we fit the aesthetic of Ever! Yeah, okay..."

Your roommate hopped down from the bathroom counter in a huff. It was like she was trying to live vicariously through your date with Connor. "I still think he should take you out somewhere nice! I expect full details!"

You sighed as she finally left the room, "Of course you do."

Bedsy: Hey i forgot to tell u make sure u wear or bring some thick socks just n case

Y|N: Oh? Okay! Thanks for the heads up ❤️❤️❤️

Bedsy: ur welcome

Connor picked you up slightly after six-thirty, which you didn't mind given that your roommates were still on your case about your plans with him. You hardly said goodbye to them when his text arrived in your inbox. They probably meant well, but whatever he wanted to treat you to was your business and they could just wait until you got home to voice anymore of their opinions.

"You alright?" Connor asked, as you hurried down the front steps of your apartment to his awaiting car. He was leaning against the passenger side door, looking comfy in his beige hoodie and black pants; his hair was tucked under the hat he was wearing, leaving cute, little wings over his ears.

"Yeah-- yeah, I'm fine. The girls were just getting on my nerves. Happy Valentine's Day, baby." You smiled against his lips before sharing a tender moment against the cool, February air. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his body for a tight hug. You nearly dropped his gift feeling yourself shift off balance against him.

"Happy Valentine's Day," He mumbled, placing another kiss on your lips before letting you go. "I managed to get us a last minute dinner reservation."

"How?"

He laughed, looking down out of pure embarrassment, "I may have..."

"Did you name-drop?"

Connor's face flushed bright red, and it wasn't from the iconic Chicago wind. "It's possible, yeah. Look, I'm not happy about it... They said they didn't have anything at that time, but took my name just in case there was an opening. After I told him, he said he'd make sure there was something open. So, technically, I didn't really do it...on purpose!"

Shaking your head as you smiled, you'd let him open the door for you, "It's okay, I won't tell."

- - -

The sushi had been amazing and a wonderful surprise to start the evening off with. You had a quaint little table, tucked back in the corner where the two of you had been free to enjoy each other's company without fear of being gawked at and you weren't interrupted by anyone but the wait staff. You didn't have a problem with fans approaching Connor, when the two of you were out in the city, but no one wants their dinner being disrupted.

You hadn't yet exchanged your gifts, but once you got back to the car, it was Connor who insisted you open yours first. The box he handed you was heavy, and proved to be a little difficult to drag up from the back seat, but he managed after a little bit of a struggle.

"Oh, this is heavy!" You commented, once the box laid in your lap.

He laughed, "I hope you like it."

Tearing through the hastily wrapped gift, you discovered that Connor had given you a pair of hockey skates! "You got me skates?"

"Yeah, I thought I could give you that skating lesson you've been asking for."

"Aw, baby! Really?" You were smiling from ear-to-ear. They looked like something an NHL player would have, not someone who had never had skates on before, but you were thankful and excited nonetheless. "These are really nice!"

"I reached out to Bauer for a favour, and they came through pretty well, I think."

"So, this is why I needed the extra socks?"

"Ha, yeah. I hoped you wouldn't figure it out," he grinned, blushing in the dim light of the parking garage.

Reaching down, you'd retrieve the gift box you had for him, but you knew your gift couldn't compare with his. "My gift isn't as flashy, sorry."

"Huh? Anything you've ever given me, I've loved. I'm sure this is no different."

He had the sweetest smile, and always knew how to reassure you, in his own subtle way, that just being around you was worth more than any boughten thing. Carefully, he unwrapped the box, and upon flipped the lid, was grinning. Inside, were a dozen pairs of hockey laces, all lined up in their individual plastic boxes.

"Thanks, babe! I can always use these."

"I just wanted to get you something you could use. I'm sorry it's nothing more than just some laces."

Connor leaned over the center console to cup your right cheek, pulling your gaze to him. "You could have just given me a candy bar or something, babe, and it still would mean as much."

You didn't know what to say, so you said nothing. He was just too sweet.

"No sad face," he teased. "Ready for some skating?"

"Promise you won't let me fall?"

He laughed, "I'll try my best."

- - -

The park's outdoor rink was bustling with giggling couples enjoying the company of their partners during the holiday. White lights twinkled overhead, hold-overs from the Christmas season, and somehow brought a warmth to the area, despite the low temperatures. Connor took your hand as you walked, giving you a little squeeze that made you smile every time he did it. It took a minute before the two of you found a place to sit down and get your skates on. As was expected, he got his on first, as you put on your extra socks and loosened the laces of your new gift.

"Here, let me get them for you."

Connor bent down and placed your right foot between this legs while he laced everything up tightly. The whole time you sat there patiently, you wondered how you were going to even walk towards the rink, let alone skate!

"Will you carry me out there?" You asked, half joking.

"You'll be alright. We'll go slow."

"Promise?"

He smirked, "I promise."

After a few minutes, it was time to see just how wobbly you were. "I'm scared."

"You're fine, babe!"

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not trying to! You're just making too big of a deal out of it. Just relax. Gimme your hands."

Reluctantly, and with a sigh, you put your hands in his and so very carefully, pulled yourself to your feet, using Connor for balance. He let you stand there for a moment to find your center before stepping backwards while leading you.

"You're okay," he cooed, holding your hands tightly, keeping an eye on your steps. "Almost there. Now, watch your step, okay? You've gotta step down here."

On shaky ankles, you followed his advice and followed after him. Connor kept you close, and you had to restrain yourself from digging your nails into his skin.

"Babe, you've gotta breathe," Connor laughed.

"Right, right! Sorry!"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Biting your bottom lip, you looked him in the eye, but you were unsure of how to answer. You wanted to skate around with him --if you could consider what you were doing skating-- but the fear of getting hurt (or making a fool out of yourself) was getting really heavy.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"I'm going to let you go for a second, okay?"

"What...? Why?"

Without another word, Connor spun around and put his back to you. "Put your arms around me."

"Oh...okay."

With your arms around his waist, you felt more secure which was a good thing, because shortly after Connor began skating around the outer edge of the ice, at much more speed than you had ever expected. You just kept your feet together while he skated like normal. It was fun being so close to him, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. Keeping your head against his shoulder, the two of you went into a turn and you gripped him tighter. Connor placed a hand on your crossed arms, giving you a silent reassurance that everything was still okay.

"I'm not going to skate off without you," he said, keeping his pace as you both stayed along the boards. "You just let me know when you're done."

Three laps had been enough for you, and Connor seemed content with getting you off the ice. He didn't want to stress you out anymore than he feared he already had, and more and more people had decided skating on Valentine's Day was a cute idea, making the ice congested.

"You didn't fall down," Connor said, walking you back to the bench. "I'm going to go get our shoes, okay? I hopefully won't be too long."

His kiss could have lingered a moment longer, but it was enough to make you wait quietly for him to return. You'd watch everyone else on the ice while he was gone. Seeing little kids out-skate you stung a little, and you hoped you wouldn't waste Connor's gift. Maybe you could secretly get some lessons and ask him again for another skating date.

After about ten minutes, Connor returned, apologizing for having taken longer than he expected. "Sorry, babe. I got stopped."

"It's okay! I figured you might have." You smiled, taking your sneakers in shaky hands.

Connor noticed and frowned, "Are you cold? You're shaking."

"I'm a little chilly, but I'm okay."

"Well, here, let me get your skates off and we'll go get warmed up."

Even though you could have managed on your own, Connor seemed adamant about helping you so you'd let him. He worked so diligently, and you wondered if it was because he knew you were cold. You did fear that he'd be taking you home after this, and selfishly, you weren't ready to let him go just yet.

"Are you going to take me home now?"

Connor looked up from undoing your second set of laces, "Not if you don't want me to."

"I just want a little more time with you," you lamented, looking away from him.

His laugh made you snap your eyes back to his face. "That's fine with me. Wanna go get a coffee or something?"

"And donuts?"

His smile warmed you through completely. "And donuts."

[baby-prophet]

ahh I'm putting two and two together..... it's because working a double and I got way too high at work and it turns out all I ate was 2 chicken tenders, three mozzarella sticks and fries for lunch yesterday..... it all makes sense..

ugh I feel hungover

[tr0ubl3d-tr4n53nd3r]

I opened up about my body image issues and people called me a horrible person, told me I'm invalidating people with eds and that I'm body shaming people? God what the fuck? Ive got no fucking support system in real life and the Internet just hates me I guess.

[getting-messi]

BREAKING NEWS🚨🚨🚨🚨

I AM ALIVE!!!🥳🤩💃🏾💃🏾

[bitchimasnake-sss]

I wanna see how the monster trip would react to their partner begging for round two..

maybe I'm just dirty or smth but I really wanna see Sanji's nose bleed /j

ahaha making sanji nosebleed is kinda my passion /hj

🌙thinkin' about: the monster trio! vs round two!

cw: pussydrunk boys. nsfw thoughts include: cunnilingus, creampie, overstimulation, cocky men, doin' it raw. oh, and pussydrunk men. okay, thats it. MDNI OR ILL HUNT YOUR PETTY ASSES. m.list

monkey d. luffy:

❤️monkey d. luffy knew — from the bottom of his heart — that you were the girl of his dreams. there was no doubt about that. the way you smiled at him, the way you pouted when he would annoy you, the way you happened to lecture him when he would act reckless. you were his, no doubt. ❤️but holy fucking shit. looking at you all bleary-eyed and tongue-tied, he almost felt his heart rip him apart whole. looking up at him with such a desperate look that it almost knocked the wind right of his lungs and replaced the air he breathed with something much more sinister. what did you want of him? he was all yours from the very start. ❤️covered in sheen, strands of jet-black clung to his forehead and his heavy breath fanned over you spent face. his cock had stayed buried within you despite painting your walls white a few minutes prior. despite making you cum twice already. shifting his weight on his elbows, he bent down to press open-mouthed kisses all over your pretty face. and as he felt weak nails breaking the skin of his biceps, his eyes met yours, "what's wrong, peach?" "l-luff," your voice stuttered, and he almost grinned at the the sweet falsetto, "hm?" "'nother round, please?" ❤️and how could monkey d. luffy say no to the girl of his dreams? grinning ear to ear, his larger palm intertwined against your weak ones. bringing you dainty palm up to his lips, he pressed down a messy kiss just as his hips pistoned into your cushiony heat, "ah ah, luffy. fuck—" "shh." a delirious smile on his face, lust-induced haze in his eyes, and your name on his lips, "don't need'ta say twice, baby."

roronoa zoro:

💚as a swordsman, roronoa zoro revered himself to be a man that could mask all emotions, all calculations behind a stoic look-of-stone. but were you so well-versed in him that you could read his mind? seemed like that since you were begging for the very thing he was ready to give. "zo." you looked over your shoulder, a stern twinge in your words despite your trembling lips and teary eyes, "again, please." "ha-hah, again?" his thumb circled your twitching clit, enjoying the way you squirmed under him with every wicked swipe over your overstimulated cunt. faux concern on his tongue, he teased you, "think you can handle it?" "yes. another round, please." bobbing your head up and down so fast, looking back at him with such raw emotion that he felt a lump in his heart where you were. fuck, why did you have to be so pretty? 💚snuggling his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his heady words accompanied the frenzied touches across your swollen clit, "might regret it later when you can't walk." "i don' care, zo— want you." you whined, your sweet voice so close to his ears. and who does he think he is that he can say no to you? nothing. he's a fool at your hands, always. 💚 and you should really be careful what you wished for. because as the swordsman dragged his tip all the way out just to push it right back in all of a sudden jolted you forward. your moans muffled as you bit down the pillow, "s-slow down, zo— ngh fu—" "c'mon," he purred, words strained as he tried to maintain whatever sanity he had, "you asked for this."

vinsmoke sanji:

he has a nosebleed as soon as you call out his name in that weak voice of yours but let's pretend he's got game. 💙vinsmoke sanji treated you like you were glass in battles. scared of out his wits that one wayward shove, one reckless pull and you would shatter. but what a fucking hypocrite he was! becausr right now, he was the one wrecking you. experienced fingers curling within your plushy heat, his tongue toying with your swollen clit as his eyes watched the woman over him fall apart. "hah, fuck." you panted, walls clenching around his fingers dangerously as nectar pooled from your divine body down his greedy throat. he almost felt himself come undone as your feeble voice called out his name. 💙he knew the routine by now. vinsmoke sanji would lap away at you like a man starve as you will try to pry him off by squirming and pulling his hair. in retaliation, he would grab your thighs harder and continue eating you out till you cried out his name loud enough for everyone to hear. simple enough, right? 💙but right now as he looked up at you, he didn't find you clenching your eyes and trying to pry him off. instead, you met his eyes with a hungry glint. reddened, kiss-bitten lips commanding him, "sanji, again." "hm?" his eyes widened, and as he pulled back, your slick shined on his lips and jaw. he looked up, grinning like the devil, "what did you say, my love?" at his sudden inspection, your throat closed up. voice growing weak, feeble, "a-again?" he answered by sinking his face back against your heat. and the last thing you heard before you lost all semblance of sanity was a rough rumble of, "again."

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD, IM LEGIT GOING OUT WITH FRIENDS IN LIKE 2 MINS AND I NEEDED TO POST THIS BEFORE I LEAVE AAAAAH anyways. ahem, ahem. am i ever gonna get tired of these men? no. so, just enjoy. okay, a genuine question: should i add ace, law to my usual roster [i.e. the monster trio]? i love writing ace so i'm just finding excuses lmaoo and with law, i think it'll give me good practice before i transition into long fics for him. let me know what you think lol. credits: @rookthornesartistry for the dividers! tagging: @mist-ixx [let me know if you'd like to be in the taglist!] m.list

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

5 acts

words: 2k

warnings: soft!rafe, very fluffy, insecurity from rafe, reader is described as having curly hair, established relationship, brief nudity but very sfw (reader is topless while getting a massage but no descriptions)

5 acts of service to spark romance between you and your partner

make their morning easier: make them breakfast, or their coffee just as they like it

take care of their vehicle: get it washed, filled, and oil changed if needed. it'll feel like a weight off their shoulders

organize something meaningful for them: go through an old photo album or set up a space in the home that caters to them

pamper them after a long day: draw a bath, brush their hair, give them a massage 

set up their favorite movie night: get their favorite snacks, light some candles, and turn a simple movie night into a romantic evening

rafe frowns as he reads over the list again.

“baby!” your voice rings out, and he's quick to jump to his feet and rush down the stairs.

“oh!” you stop as he lands on the hardwood in front of you. “you came down so quickly.” you giggle. “i was just going to tell you dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

“ill get the table set up.” rafe leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you to look at him in confusion as he walks away, a certain amount of pep in his step you're not used to seeing.

you get even more suspicious when you bring the dish into the dining room and see that rafe has a candle lit.

“is there a special occasion i forgot about?” you question as rafe pulls your chair out for you.

“nope, just treating my girl.” rafe swallows thickly, surprised and disappointed in himself that you're already noticing his change in behavior.

it all started last weekend when rafe overheard you talking to your girlfriends about love languages. he didn't mean to eavesdrop, truly, but he found himself quickly locked in when you said yours was acts of service and quality time, but that you couldn't think of any acts of service rafe has done recently.

you didn't sound that upset about it, and even immediately clarified that rafe makes up for it in other ways and you weren't even sure what he could do for you, but rafe was determined to change the tides of your relationship.

act 1

rafe shuts his alarm off quickly before looking over at you, making sure the beeping didn't wake you up as well.

he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees your eyes are still closed before carefully sliding out of bed and tiptoeing out of the room.

rafe makes it to the kitchen keeping his steps quiet as he looks around at the various cabinets. he's not sure where to start, so he begins with unloading the dishwasher and putting everything away, when he opens up a cabinet to see the waffle maker and an idea sparks.

rafe opens up the pantry, stepping in to find the mix as well as anything else he might need for the breakfast, and just like that, rafes plan sets into motion.

he makes a stack of waffles, but not before turning on the coffee machine so you can wake up to a fresh brew. he makes a good portion of eggs for you to split before checking the clock, figuring it's about time to check to see if you're awake.

rafe pours your coffee in your favorite tumbler before adding ice and syrup, smiling at himself for remembering just how you like it.

rafe is about to head out of the kitchen when he hears your footsteps coming down the stairs.

“good morning ba-”

“oh my god, im so late for my nail appointment, why didn't you wake me up?” you squeal, grabbing your purse and adjusting the outfit you threw on quickly.

“i didn-”

“i got to leave, like right now, sorry babe.” you run up to rafe and press a quick kiss to his lips, about to rush away when you realize the two plates of breakfast.

“it's okay.” rafe shakes his head. “i'll make you breakfast a different day. forgot you had a nail appointment. but here-” rafe grabs the tumbler and thrusts it into your hand. “at least take the coffee i made you.”

rafe can see the conflicting emotions going on inside your head.

“hey.” he says softly. “it's okay. go. you and i both know how ridiculous those late fees are.”

“okay.” you nod, pouting and looking back at the plates as you leave.

act 2

“do you have any plans today?” rafe asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

“nope. just hanging with you.” you smile up at him, snuggling closer to his side, not yet ready to leave the bed when rafe is keeping you so warm, occasionally pressing kisses to your face.

“im gonna go take your car to get it serviced.” rafe says. “since you don't have anything going on.”

“oh.” you hum. “okay.” you were secretly hoping you could just have a lazy day in bed with rafe, maybe even force him to watch some trashy reality tv, knowing it'll only take a couple minutes for him to get fully invested in whatever drama starts up between the couples.

“you stay in bed though.” rafe smiles at you, sliding out from under the covers, leaving you to pull the blanket tighter around yourself and inhale his fleeting scent.

rafe heads down the stairs, a pep in his step at getting this task done for you. he grabs your keys before heading out the door, taking it to the service center first for an oil change. it's not very dirty on the inside, but rafe decides he'll still vacuum the inside after taking it through the wash.

you really only use your car when rafe is gone or you have an appointment, so it doesn't get used often.

rafe finishes everything he wants to get done for you, filling up your tank before driving back home.

rafe is whistling and happy as he returns home and heads back up the stairs, and just like he expects, you're still in bed, but sat up, watching the television.

“hey baby.” your smile widens as you see him. “i missed you so much.”

“sorry, doll.” rafe changes quickly before climbing into the bed. “but i got everything done on your car.”

“thanks.” you hum. “really appreciate it.” you press your face into his chest, throwing one leg over his hips as you return to a lying position, no longer caring about what's on the tv now that you've got your boyfriend back.

“you don't have anything else you wanna get done today, do you?” you ask. “i thought we'd have all day together.”

rafe sighs as he looks at the clock, realizing just how long it took him to service your vehicle. “well, we have the rest of the day at least.”

act 3

“um, rafe?” you call out as you open up a drawer in your closet, expecting to see the tangled mess of necklaces and earrings just as you left it.

“honey?” rafe walks into your bedroom before realizing you’re in the closet.

“where’d all my jewelry go?” you ask confused.

“oh, i organized it for you.” rafe moves to the drawers, sliding open the two underneath to reveal jewelry displays and every piece neatly put away. “i also got you a display for your favorite necklaces but i wanted you to choose what ones go up there.”

“where at?” you ask, noticing the necklace rafe got you for your first anniversary in missing from the drawer.

rafe doesn’t respond with his words, taking your hand and guiding you out of the closet and into the main bedroom, where you notice the necklace stand shaped like a tree with two chains already hanging from them.

“oh my gosh, whats this?” you squeal, pulling the new necklace off the stand, admiring the diamonds that glitter back at you in the shape of an r.

“for you, baby.” rafe kisses your cheek.

“what has gotten into you?” you ask, but before rafe can worry too much about you figuring out he’s following a guide on how to treat you better, you turn and pull your hair off your neck for him to slot the necklace on.

act 4 

“oh right there!” you moan out as rafe rubs at your back, hands smoothing up and down against your skin, gently kneading into your muscles as he does.

“love pampering you baby.” rafe leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder blade.

“you’re so sweet.” you smile and turn your head. “i’m gonna have to make it up to you.”

“you already treat me better than i deserve.”

you frown and turn over onto your stomach, bringing the blanket with you to keep your chest covered. “not true. you’re an amazing boyfriend.”

“thanks, doll.” rafe doesn’t want you to worry about his insecurities in this moment, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “stay there.”

you get comfortable on your back, eyes sliding shut as rafe starts some gentle music. it flows from the speakers as rafe hums along to the instrumental version of a popular song, grabbing your hairbrush from off the dresser.

you are only vaguely aware of rafes movements, when suddenly a hand is placed on the top of your head, massaging against your scalp that has you moaning out again.

you hear rafe chuckle at your reaction, the sides of your lips also quirking up, when you suddenly feel a hairbrush running through your strands.

you scrunch your face up and give it a moment, hoping rafe would stop when he suddenly brushes through a tangle, making you cry out.

“shit.” rafe drops the brush with a clatter onto the hardwood. “im sorry.”

you can hear the defeat in rafes voice and you turn over onto your stomach to face him, frowning. “baby? whats wrong?”

“i just can’t do anything right. i try to make you breakfast, you have to leave. i take your car to be serviced, and i miss out and spending time with you. i can’t even brush your hair all romantically like the guide said.”

“guide?” you question, grabbing your shirt and putting it back on as you pull rafe up to sit on the bed next to you.

“i… i read something online. about acts of service you can do for your partner. i just want to be a good boyfriend.”

you don’t mean to, but a laugh falls from your lips. “rafe, that’s ridiculous. you’re already the best boyfriend without even trying. did i say or do something to make you feel like you needed to try harder?”

“no-” rafe sighs, knowing he has to admit it. “i just heard you talking with your friend about love languages. i’m trying to make it up to you.”

“and the guide told you to brush my hair?” you scoff. “im guessing whoever wrote that did not have curls.”

“you're probably right.” rafe lets a smile come to his face.

“i love you for you, not because of the things you do for me. besides, you do enough without even trying or following some guide. you take out the trash, you stock up on my favorite treats, you get me anything i want whenever i feel the slightest bit ill.”

“so… you don’t want me to do the last thing on the guide?”

“depends what it is.” you shrug. “if it involves you leaving and doing something for me, then absolutely not. or at least you can take me with you.”

“i set up a romantic movie night in the living room.”

“that sounds much better for both of us than you brushing my hair.” you giggle.

act 5

you tuck yourself further into rafes side, smiling as your favorite scene finishes, turning your attention to rafe.

“thank you for doing all this for me.” you whisper, keeping your voice soft. “i love you so much.”

“i love you.” rafe says earnestly, ducking his head to press a kiss against the top of your head, but you’re quick to reposition so your lips can meet.

“now we have to figure out your love language so i can do things for you.” you tell rafe.

“my love language is you.” rafe says, squeezing you tightly. “my everything is you.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,520 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude? 

Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind. 

Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body. 

“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.” 

The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being. 

Liar. 

His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through. 

The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever. 

Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly. 

Liar. 

He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave. 

So many things he should have done differently. 

You can’t change the past. 

Liar. 

He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them. 

Not without taking drastic measures. 

He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state. 

You did it because they left you. 

You did it because you thought the abandoned you. 

Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again. 

‘You let me be tortured.’

Christ. 

He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below. 

You think they left you. 

He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language. 

He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words. 

Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger. 

“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them. 

“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp. 

“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.” 

Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight. 

“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts. 

They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured. 

“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit. 

“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.” 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

NEXT ->

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[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

[biteyoubiteme]

blue raspberry flavored

soobin x fem!reader

synopsis: he’s so cute when he asks, he’s even cuter when he doesn’t

warnings: 🔞!!! breeding kink, baby trapper, dubcon/manipulation, nipple/breast play, use of teeth, marking, no protection, creampie, talk of pregnancy, soobin calls reader bunny a few times prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.5k

an: don't know how this one will go over but hope you guys like it feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the other fics here [dumdum m.list]

Soobin was never really forgetful of anything. He never forgot your birthday, missed an anniversary, messed up on your coffee order, he never even had to write down what he needed when he went grocery shopping. But bringing a condom always seemed to slip his mind. 

At first it was easy to write off in the beginning of your relationship, every time the two of you got closer to having sex and not just messy make outs every pouty ‘its okay ill just pull out’ sounded more and more appealing. But you bought a box of condoms for your apartment and didn't realize the way his jaw clicked at the sight of them. 

Soon after soobin was suddenly into pda. Purposefully teasing you out in public, hand slipping up your thigh under the table at a friends house, pulling you into heady kisses out at events, pushing you into bathroom stalls to try and undress you. You didn't make the connection until later that he was avoiding taking you home. ‘I just can't wait i need you right now,’ 

He knew exactly what to say for you to fold, slowly chipping away at the idea that the two of you even needed protection at all. It was so easy for you to remember when in your own bed, the nightstand right there. But in the back of the car with his lips all over you, hands kneading your thighs, pushing your knees apart; you let so much slide. Mumblings for him to pull out lost between moans. Where was he supposed to cum in the car anyways? He’d hate to ruin the interior or your pretty skirt. 

In the beginning it wasn't so bad, soobin could restrain himself. If you two didn't use a condom he would make sure to pull out and if you did use one he was easy to comply. But it only took one time and it was an accident, a real accident where he didn't pull out fast enough. It was in the mix of his fucked out apology that he realized he wasnt sorry at all, not when he was watching the way your abused cunt was pushing out his cum and all he could really think about was going right back in for more. 

post nut he was a bit ashamed but as soon as he thought about it for long enough he had his hand down his pants begging in an empty room to get you pregnant. And when you're ovulating it's only worse. Not only does he know it would be so easy to knock you up but it's like you're beckoning him to do it. Your hands squeezing your boobs, pushing up your bra while you're watching movies together. “Ugh im so sore,” the pout on your lips instantly makes him hard. His imagination taking over thinking about just how big they would get if he did get you pregnant. 

And when you wear that tiny little tank top he is insatiable. Nipples peeking through the thin fabric as you lay against the pillows on the bed. You didn't even notice that soobin is paying no attention to the tv, his eyes watching the way your chest rises and falls. Adjusting in his seat to not make it too obvious he was already leaking in his sweatpants. Only it does the exact opposite, your eyes drawn to the bulge outlined in the gray fabric. 

“Need help there?” it's the slight invitation he needs to roll over on top of you, lips working down your throat, hips rutting against yours. 

“Please bunny, i need you,” he begs as you run your fingers through his hair pushing the strands behind his ears. Pleading brown eyes working on you instantly, he was always so desperate to have you and he knew it always made him get what he wanted. 

He tugs down your tank top far enough for your boobs to spill out, hands reaching up to cup them both, thumbs sliding over your skin as he groans. “Look at your pretty nipples,” he squeezes his hands, pushing them together to watch the way your cleavage deepens. 

You whine softly, “gentle i'm still tender,” the reminder only adding to his want, mouth coming down to suck on your nipple, your moan going straight to his aching cock. 

Kneading the handfuls he has of your breasts, your back arches, lips popping off obscenely from one nipple only to capture the next. He's rough as he massages, your nails scratching along his scalp, his moans reverberating through your chest as he swirls his tongue over the hard bud. 

He's humping you like you don't have layers of clothes separating you two, every slow drag of his hips pressing his hardness right against your clit, his teeth softly biting at your nipple tugging to watch how you react. Soobin knows that getting you off at least once before actually fucking you led to your inhibitions being weakned enough to forget about the condom all together. His hand slipped down between you two, pushing past your waistband to rub on your clit. 

Lips coated in his spit he starts sucking marks along your chest, watching the way your head rolls back, fingers sliding through your slick as your hips buck up into his hand. He knows your body well enough to see the first orgasm coming, relishing in the way you tremble against him. With no time to let you ride out your high he's pulling down your shorts and panties, kicking off his sweats using all your wetness to lube up his cock. 

But even in your haze you reach out beside you fumbling for the drawer to the nightstand pulling out the little shiny packet. You don't even see the disappointment on his face as you rip open the packet helping to slide the condom on him. 

And he wants to be good, truly, only when he slowly pushes in he cant think about anything else except fucking you hard enough the condom breaks, neither of you knowing until its too late, until all his cum is spilling out of you. It’s that thought alone that makes him pull all the way out, his fingers slipping along the condom as he tugs it off. “What-” 

“It's okay,” he mutters, tossing the condom to the pile of your clothes on the floor. “I need to feel all of you please,” and he tries to kiss away the worry on your mouth, and you shake your head. 

“No you need another one we have extra in the nightstand,” but he's already prodding your entrance, tip slipping in as he begs, "I'll just pull out I promise, please, please,"

You don't even get to respond before his hips slam into yours, fully seating himself inside you, promptly shutting up anything else you could say. Even if after the two of you were done you were upset it's not like you would leave him would you? Not if he got you pregnant, the two of you were ready, and he'd take such good care of you. “Fuck,” his drawn out moan pressed right into your neck as he bullies his cock into you, “you feel amazing bunny,” 

You're clinging to him, moans mixing with the obscene wet sounds coming from between you two. “Soobin s-slow down,” but you're not sure you want him to, not when he's hitting just the perfect spot inside of you, pressed so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. 

“No,” he pants pulling you closer, “im going to stuff you full of my fucking cum, we will stay here all night if we have to,” your clenching gummy walls aiding him on. “Don't you want my baby?” 

You can't even think straight let alone answer his question, his long fingers moving to work on your clit, “you'd be so pretty full of me, my cum, my baby, everyone would know youre all mine,” 

The room is full of your desperate moans, your legs wrapping around him as if you could pull him any closer. “You like that idea huh?” 

“Y-yes,” you're practically crying, tears welling up in your eyes, “i want it, please,” 

That alone makes soobins balls tighten, cock jerking inside you before he spills the biggest load he's ever had inside you. He presses his hips against yours making sure you're flush together as you cum, fluttering walls sucking him in deeper milking him dry of all he has. He takes your hand in his lowering it to press over your pelvis, pressing it down enough to make you moan, “i don't think once will do it,” deep slow thrusts pushing his cum further in making you dizzy, “but you did such a good job im sure you can handle the rest,"

a very special thank you to @aduh0308 and @chyuuiung for beta/proof reading this for me ily you're the best

🏷 taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @stwq2349 @isa942572 
@tomorrowxforever @beestvng @soobingf-blog @lovinjjong @lola-horore-553 
@cypher-03 @midnight-mochii @hueningwhy @choibeomning @soobinbunnie5 
@yunjinswifee @cupidtaehyun @bamgeutsz @prince-jjae

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, Azriel's pov 👀

a/n: Someone sedate me at this point. Also I'm posting this earlier than planned because I am susceptible to peer pressure

Read part one | part two | part three | part five

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel sat at the table for breakfast, his attention occupied by the window to his right. A plate of eggs, bacon, and toasted bread sat forgotten and untouched before him. To be honest, Azriel was unsure of how it even came to be in front of him. 

Cassian was saying something, the rest of the table humoring him with sleepy mumbles and raised brows. He was always so lively in the mornings, a sentiment not shared by the rest of the inner circle. 

Azriel was typically one of the more responsive people, but his shadow was late today. It had been a few weeks of sending one out to check on you every night, and this one was late. The rest of them swarmed around his feet in anticipation. 

“Az?” Mor’s voice had him breaking his stare from the window. “What are you looking at? You’ve been checked out all breakfast.” 

Azriel cleared his throat and readjusted in his seat. “Nothing. Just distracted.” 

She snorted. “That’s an understatement. You’re been distracted for weeks now. What’s been going on with you?” 

“Nothing,” Azriel repeated. He picked up his fork despite his stomach protesting, the nerves twisting it to the point of unease. 

“Hate to concur, Az, but you have been rather absent. I think this is the first time you’ve had a meal with us this week,” Rhysand chimed in. 

From beside him, Feyre shot her mate a look. 

Azriel, feeling eyes on him, glanced to his left to find Cassian leering at him with narrowed eyes. His brother leaned his head back and hooked his arm over the back of his chair, analyzing Azriel amidst his lax posture. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “What?” 

With his tongue pressed into his cheek, Cassian let out a disbelieving huff. “You’re seeing someone,” he concluded. “Who is she? Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I’m not seeing anyone. Why would you come to that conclusion?” 

“You answered that way too quickly to be believable.” 

“Azriel, are you seeing someone? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that,” came Mor’s soft tone—trying to play the opposite side of the coin. 

“No, I—“ 

“He is. I know he is.” Cassian, with his assured pestering. “And don’t think I don’t notice how Rhys is being silent here. And Feyre. The only two people in the room that can read minds.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Feyre defended. 

“Yeah!” Nyx yelled, quick to defend his mother. “Nothing!” 

But Nyx’s interference only made Cassian turn his attention to the small child and knock his head to the side. 

“Nyx—“ Cassian began. In response, Nyx shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth. “Azriel’s been taking you to school an awful lot, hasn’t he?” 

“Mmhmm,” Nyx nodded. 

“And he’s been going to all of your school events?”

Nyx nodded again, this time with a mouthful of juice. 

“Does Azriel talk to anyone when he’s at your school?” 

“He talks to Ms. Fern.” 

Cassian let out a barking laugh and turned back to Azriel with a wide grin. “Ms. Fern? Okay, Az, if that’s what does it for you. You should bring her to the house.” 

Although he felt an immense pride for Nyx keeping his secret (because Nyx had seen him talking to you countless times) a strange, hot anger licked at the bond hanging loose in his chest. 

He wasn’t seeing Ms. Fern. The reasonable part of his mind told him that it was better this way, you would feel safer, but the unreasonable side wanted to knock Cassian across the room.

You were so much better than Ms. Fern. The teacher didn’t “do it for him” and never would. It was insulting to you. 

Azriel ground his teeth. He knew this reaction was more borne from the fact his shadow hadn’t returned and the worry he was feeling was paralyzing, but reasoning with himself did nothing. 

“I will not be—“ 

Sick, sad, help. 

A whisper at his ear made Azriel rein in his words. 

Alone, alone, alone. 

Azriel snapped his head to the side to find his missing shadow whisking down to join the rest, the hoard of them now rising to leave. To get to you, he realized. He had to— 

“What is it?” Rhysand asked. 

Azriel could feel his talons scratch along the barrier of his mind, but there was no time to let Rhysand hear what he’d heard. In one fluid motion, Azriel was up from the table and out of the house, his wings spread wide behind him as he flew to the outskirts of Velaris where you resided. 

One of the first things he would suggest after he got you to trust him was for you to move. 

He’d already reinforced your locks and checked your neighbors, but you were still so far and that side of Velaris wasn’t the best. 

He’d ask you to move into the House of Wind, but he knew that’d be pushing it. Obviously. 

His back ached as he pressed his wings further, desperate to make it to you. He flung his body one way and then the other to dodge buildings as he went, flying low to save time. Luckily, the streets were barren this early. 

But it wasn’t early enough for your shop to be closed, an all too alarming fact when faced with the “closed” sign on the front door. He yanked on the knob anyways, but the door wouldn’t budge. 

He cursed himself for ensuring their stability. 

He started knocking next—soft at first and then with a blistering urgency. He knocked and knocked and was moments away from flying up to your window and possibly scaring you off for good when the door wrenched open.

You looked beyond disheveled, bone-tired, and frankly gaunt as you stared up at him with an incredulous gaze. Your gaze softened a fraction when you saw it was Azriel beating down your door, but a tinge of irritation remained hazing your eyes. 

“Azriel, we’re closed for—” 

“Are you okay?” he rushed out.

Since the open house, Azriel had been more open with his vies to take care of you. If he were being honest, the intrinsic need to protect you and Melanie was overwhelming and he was barely scratching the surface of all he wanted to do, but you became guarded any time he got too intense. So, he walked you home and asked you about your family and he didn’t care if he got a stonewall in response. 

But right now, you did not look well. 

Right now, there was no Melanie peaking behind your legs as you stood at the apothecary door. 

So, right now, Azriel didn’t have a mind to be subtle. 

“Where is Melanie? Are you hurt?” he asked before you could formulate a response. 

He watched your knuckles pale as you gripped the door. You breathed in deeply. “Mel has been sick all night. I’m not sure what it is and I’ve been trying everything. I’m about two seconds away from calling a healer but…” 

Azriel knew that tell—the way your eyes shifted and your expression pinched. 

More people. 

Anytime you were confronted with introducing more people into Melanie’s life, you crumbled. 

“Let me come see her,” Azriel requested, the tension leaking from his voice into a softer tone. Now that he knew the two of you weren’t dying, there was some relief. Some. 

You shook your head, pressing your lips into a firm line as you deflated. “I don’t want to get you sick. I think I'm already a lost cause, but you—you have important things to do.” 

If only you knew how important you were to him. 

Azriel felt his fists clench at the defeated look in your eye. “If you’re sick, you can’t take care of her. Just let me come in. Let me help, y/n.”  

“Azriel…” 

“Please. Let me take care of you.”

He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, afraid of you drawing back in fear, but they were already lingering in the space between you. Azriel decided you must have been truly exhausted because your only reply was a pained sigh followed by your door swinging open to let him in. 

You didn’t even send him a sidelong glance. 

Azirel’s hand twitched as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, the urge to press his fingers along your back stifling. 

One step at a time, Azriel—you were only just letting him into your house. 

Any examination of your apartment abruptly halted as soon as his feet met the threshold of the sitting room. Melanie was lying on the couch looking worse for wear with a cloth along her forehead and a flush to her cheeks that did not sit well with the Shadowsinger. His chest caved in at the sight, a feeling that intensified when her small voice filled the space. 

“Mr. Azriel?” she croaked, attempting to lift her head. You rushed over to press her back down, running your fingers through her hair. “He’s always at my house,” Melanie said, turning to look at you. “Always.” 

You let out a breathy laugh as Melanie shut her eyes and began to softly snore against the arm of the loveseat. Azriel’s shadows rushed to the girl and brushed against her forehead and arms, offering the cool wind they provided. 

In a few steps, Azriel took a knee beside you. He looked at you first—at the way you hovered over your daughter with furrowed brows—and then let his gaze wash over Melanie. Against his better judgment, he wrapped his scarred fingers around her tiny hands. 

No poison, his shadows reported, although he didn’t expect it to be. She was feverish, hadn’t eaten since last night, couldn’t keep anything down; it was rare for fae to get so sick, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning. 

Even more worrisome was the fever emanating from you. Azriel could feel the heat on his shoulder and he could tell you hadn’t stopped to rest. 

“I know a healer that can help. She wouldn’t say anything to anyone,” Azriel said after a beat of silence. 

You paused your fingers in Melanie’s hair. “Do you promise?” 

The sickness had worn you down, taking the fight and fear right out of you. 

“I promise on everything. I wouldn’t bring someone here that wasn’t safe.” 

Azriel called Majda. 

Majda arrived in a few minutes, much to your surprise. Azriel had gotten the door upon her knock, his eyes catching the way your knees shook as you went to stand. 

Majda kneeled in front of the couch where you and Azriel once were, her healing magic lighting up the room. Behind her, Azriel stood with you and he watched. 

He watched your worried brow and the way you picked at your fingers. He watched the flush on your face get worse and worse as your daughter’s illness gradually got you sicker. He watched the way you tracked each of Majda’s movements, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. 

He watched your body shake as it held you up. 

He watched his mate and saw how alone you were. 

Azriel reached up and tucked a hair behind your pointed ear, using the ploy to feel for the temperature on your cheek. You turned to look up at him and he felt the way his expression strained. 

“You should let her look at you too,” he said, voice low and calm.

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I’m fine.” 

“You aren’t.” 

You turned back to your daughter, looking on. 

Azriel no longer cared for the farce he’d been putting on. He stepped closer and let his palm rest on the small of your back if only to support you from collapsing. He saw you glance at him from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to step away. 

It took Majda 13 minutes to come to a conclusion. Azriel knew that because he had been counting. 

“Well, first of all, she will be okay. As will you, as I see you may have the same illness,” the older healer spoke, rising from the ground with a grunt. “It is most unusual—what ails you. Do you have Autumn's blood?” 

The fingers you had pressed to your mouth were abruptly dropped. You looked up to Azriel with panic in your eyes, a question clear in your expression. 

He hadn’t known where you were from, but he had guessed, and you were looking at him as if he knew—as if he knew and you wanted to know if it was safe for the healer to know as well. 

Azriel nodded his head and ignored the bittersweet feeling in his chest. 

He had wanted you to tell him when you were ready. 

“Yes,” you uttered, shaking your head much faster than you spoke. “We both are. Is that—does that have something to do with it?”

Majda offered you a thin smile. “You have Autumn fever. Something to do with the fire that lingers in your blood. Sometimes it does not align with the other courts and your body revolts. It will pass in a few days as most. Uncomfortable bugger to be sure, but nothing that cannot be managed.” 

You sagged against Azriel in relief, the shadowsinger catching your weight as your knees buckled. He pulled you closer to his front but didn’t feel complete until he guided you back to the couch and leaned over Melanie as she slept. 

“She’ll be okay?” you asked. 

Azriel thought the question was for Majda, but when he looked to his side you were staring directly at him, fear and fever in your gaze. 

He lost his breath and captured your face in his hands. “She’ll be okay,” he assured. You were so hot against his skin. “You will too. I’ll fix it.” 

Something righted in your expression—something softened. For the first time since he entered your house, you let out a full breath and allowed your eyelids to drop. It was barely thirty seconds before your head fell as well, your forehead landing on Azriel’s collarbone. He trailed his hand up to rest against your hair and placed his other on Melanie’s knee as he stayed beside the couch. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Shadowsinger,” Majda crooned. “That’s a whole lot of responsibility. A lot of secrets.” 

Azriel tightened his hold on you. “Do you have herbs that would help? To lessen fever or pain?” 

Majda hummed. “I will leave a few.” A pause. The floorboards creaked as Majda went to make her exit. “Heed my words, Azriel.” 

“I know what I’m doing—what I’m getting myself into.” He dropped his nose to your temple, listening to your breath as you slept. His shadows continued their mission of cooling Melanie’s feverish skin. 

“Do you?” 

Azriel considered the question, and no, he didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

part five

[artdcnaldson]

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[evie-sturns]

secret - Chris Sturniolo

summary: chris wants to keep your relationship a secret from the fans, which means he is never around as much as he should be. this sparks an argument, where chris suggests that you 'should just leave.'

contains: angst, cocky!chris, crying, fluff, yelling, comforting.

----------------------≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫----------------———

i lay in chris and i's bed, wrapped up comfortably in the thick sheets.

my head snaps up to look at chris as he swings open the door, he walks inside the room wearing a white tanktop and some black sweatpants.

"just gonna go film." he says vaguely before walking out of the room,

"chris- can i come!?" i call out,

"y/n, no. we talked about this" chris sighs, i get up out of bed and walk towards him,

"please- i don't have to be in it, i just haven't seen you for like a week." i say softly, chris shakes his head, practically discarding me.

"i see you every week, ill be gone for about two hours okay?" chris says blankly,

i feel my face grow hot with embarrassment, i feel like im practically begging for chris to want me, even though im his girlfriend. anger courses through my body, pushing me to my breaking point.

"why- why do you not care about me- or anything i have to say!" i raise my voice, pointing my fingers at chris's chest as i glare my eyes.

"you don't scare me y/n." chris chuckles, bringing my finger down from his chest.

"proves my fucking point! right there--!" i yell, chris just stares at me with a smug smile on his face.

"we agreed to keep us a secret-" chris starts, but i cut him off

"we both agreed to keep us a secret from your fans, not everyone else you've ever known! yes- i get it your fans will be mad but you're- your'e-" my voice breaks as i turn away from him

"don't be acting all pissy because i have a job and you don't." he raises his voice at me,

"excuse you?" i almost laugh,

"yeah, get a grip y/n, honestly." chris sighs, grabbing his phone and going to walk out.

"don't fucking leave-" i shout, "you're a horrible person chris-" i say, holding back floods of tears.

"maybe you're just being a sensitive little bitch?" chris says, the regret is prominent on his face as soon as those words leave his mouth.

"you're being- so mean-" my voice breaks, tears rolling down my flushed face.

"then leave- i'm actually done with you're bullshit, please leave." chris raises his voice.

i look up at him, "actually-?" i say through loud sobs,

he hesitates for a second before speaking, "i- i dont know- if you can handle me being popular then leave-"

"your ego is incredible you asshole-" i squeeze out, walking past him.

he grabs my chin and stops me in my tracks, his large hand clasped tight around my small chin. "excuse me?" he looks down at me,

"i'm going to find nick." i sigh loudly,

"no you're not." chris states,

"i thought we were done?" i say with a loud cry, i wipe my tears away quickly.

suddenly matt peeks his head through the door, "everything okay in here?" matt asks with concern clear on his face

“fuck off matt, genuinely.” chris raises his voice,

“dude, you’re making her cry-“ matt points out, his eyes locking with mine.

“and it’s none of your business, fuck off!” chris yells shakily at matt,

matt walks into the room angrily, pushing chris’s shoulder. chris let’s go of my chin, discarding me.

“you want my girl now?” chris almost laughs as he approaches matt,

“she’s literally like my little sister and i’ve known her my whole life- so god forbid i ask if she’s okay after i hear you scream at her through the walls!” matt grows angry,

“y/n can’t understand that the fans can’t know about me and her, that’s literally it- she’s just being ignorant, like always.” chris speaks as though i’m not here,

“sort your shit out chris.” matt mutters, pushing chris backwards before walking out of the room.

“i- i think i’m gonna go to matt’s room.” i whisper, barely audible.

“yeah- go fuck him while you’re at it.” chris says with a petty tone,

i let out a frustrated sigh before pushing his shoulder back with an angry sob.

“pathetic.” chris scoffs, “do it harder-“ he taunts,

i storm out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me with a loud bang.

i swing open the door to matt’s room, he’s sat at the edge of his bed on his phone.

“matt-“ i sniffle, matt looks up at me before standing up,

“hey- hey you okay?” matt asks frantically, his voice soft.

“i think chris just broke up with me-“ my voice breaks, matt wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

“i’m sure he didn’t, he’s just upset right now, you think?” matt whispers into my hair,

i nod, “you can stay in my room tonight, i’ll get the spare mattress.” he suggests, i nod as tears continue to pour down my face.

“i hate him- ihatehimihatehimihatehim.” i sob, matt rubs my back,

“no you don’t, arguments are normal, it happens.” matt sighs.

“i do- hes so mean to me!” i bury my face into my hands.

“shh- sh it’s okay.” matt says, “are you in your pyjamas?” matt asks,

i nod, “okay- then let’s get out the mattress and you can get to sleep.” matt states.

he lets me go before tugging out the matress from under his bed, he throws a couple of blankets and pillows on it before handing me his pug stuffed animal,

“you want this for tonight?” matt asks with a small laugh, i grab the small pug stuffed animal before flopping down on the mattress on the floor.

matt’s always been like a big brother for me, he’s always cared about me so much.

matt bends down and covers me in the blankets, tucking me in. “try have a good sleep okay?” matt whispers, i nod with a small ‘thank you’.

————-

4:23am

i stir awake slowly, i sit up off the matress and look over at matt who’s fast asleep on the bed beside me.

i stand up before stumbling over to the door swiftly, the need to go to the bathroom is overwhelming.

i slowly creak open matt’s door and step out into the corridor.

my footsteps slap against the cold wood as i yawn loudly

i swing open the door to the bathroom, and i’m met with him.

chris.

he’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling on his phone. i turn on the warm light which illuminates the small bathroom.

“oh-“ i whisper, spinning back around and reaching for the door handle.

“no- no please come back-“ chris’s voice wobbles.

he’s wearing spider-man pyjama shorts, the same ones that i teased him for a couple weeks ago.

he’s got a thin white shirt on and his brunette hair is messed up completely, his eyes are bloodshot and swollen along with his puffy lips and pink cheeks.

he stands up, looking down at me. i can see the gears in his brain physically spinning as he tries to think of what to say.

“i-i’m sorry i’m still here- i was gonna pack up in the morning.” i break the silence with a couple deep breaths.

chris’s face drops, he buries his face into his hands with a shake of his head.

“i- i didn’t mean that- i was just so caught up in the heat of the moment and i really- really- don’t want to loose you.” chris starts, his eyes watering

“and i’m so sorry for taking you for granted. i love you more than anything, i love you more than anything ever.” chris’s voice breaks loudly, he goes silent as his body jolts up and down.

“are you crying?” i ask softly, he nods.

i don’t say anything, just wrapping my arms around him, he hugs me back weakly.

he buries his head into my shoulder, his soft hair covers half my face.

“and- i’m sorry for crying i just- don’t want you to think i’m only crying for sympathy i just feel really upset.” chris clarifies, i laugh softly,

“i know sweetheart,” i sigh,

“and— and- you don’t have to forgive me- ever— i said proper mean stuff to you.” chris’s voice trembles,

“i forgive you, i just want my old chris back, yeah?” i rub his back,

“you will get that- forever-“ chris sniffs.

we stand in the cold of the bathroom, his arms holding me tightly now, as though he’s afraid to let me go.

i stroke his hair lightly with my manicured nails,

“chris- i don’t mean to ruin this moment but i really really need to pee- that’s why i came in here—“

-

@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s@ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonly @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos

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[synvil]

say you love me // matt sturniolo + chris sturniolo

synopsis : not saying “i love you” back to your bfs, a tiktok trend.

tiktok trends masterlist !

matt sturniolo (☆´3｀)

‘i’m abt done here, so ill pick up some food for us and be home in like 10 mins.’

matt was currently out doing some errands and such, and is in the middle of texting you as he prepares to leave and head home, letting you know the plan.

you respond back fairly quickly, a smile lacing on your lips as you decide to mess with him a little. ‘okayy, sounds good. see u soon :)’

your text causes the boy to smile lightly and he buckles his seatbelt, texting back. ‘i love you, angel’

‘mmh!’

you can’t help the giggles that escape you as he furrows his brows at the screen and sits in the car, staring at the phone in his hand as he tries again. ‘i love u [name]’

‘yup! be safee’

within seconds, your phone suddenly begins to vibrate, signaling that matt was calling. stifling a laugh, you clear your throat and answer. “yeah babe?”

“[name], what’s wrong? did i do something?” the immediate concern in his voice nearly causes you to give in as you purse your lips and feel your chest warm. “what do you mean?”

matt frowns as he leans back in his seat and crosses an arm over his chest. “you aren’t saying it back. what did i do?”

“awh, honey. im sorry, i was just teasing you. i love you, matt.” you coo, already feeling bad and matt huffs lightly. “god, you’re so much sometimes.. i love you more, dumbass. pizza still okay?”

“heh, sounds delicious. see you soon, matt.”

“alright. love you, angel.”

breaking into a wide smile, you chuckle. “i love you more.”

chris sturniolo (⸝⸝⍢⸝⸝) ෆ

“mmh, my baby is all dressed up, looking sexy.”

chris curls his lips into a smirk as he brings an arm behind his head to rest against his pillow while his other hand holds his phone as he lays in bed. “where you headed to?”

you giggle at chris’ words and smooth down your jacket a little, adjusting it before turning to the mirror in his room to look for any last minute changes. “i’m heading out with some friends, we’re going shopping.”

“mmh, pick out something pretty then. can’t wait to see it.” chris calls out, directing his attention back to his phone and you hum, picking up your purse off the bedside table. “i’ll take pictures.”

“alright, have fun. i love you, babe.”

“i will. i like you more.” you quickly say in response, speedily making your way to the door, and just as your hand grabs the handle, chris stops you. “nuh uh, get your ass back here.”

you bite your tongue from releasing a laugh and glance back innocently. “what? i’m going to be late.”

chris narrows his eyes as he stares up at you in disbelief. “i love you, princess.”

“i like you too baby, now can i go?”

chris appears unamused, quickly growing impatient as he stands up and heads over to you, and you swallow to keep your composure. once he arrives at your side, he cups your chin and presses you against the door.

peering down at you, he tilts his head and tries again, this time more firmly and staring right into your eyes.

“[name]. i love you. now say it back and say it right.”

feeling the warmth spreading across your cheeks, you shyly look away and murmur. “..i love you, chris..”

the man only smirks and pecks your lips before pulling away. “good girl. you’re lucky i don’t teach you a lesson.” he warns casually before making his way back to his bed and waves his hand dismissively.

“see you later, baby.”

a/n : i lowkey don’t know how to write chris but gave it my best shot !! hope you guys enjoyed :)

synvil™️

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I saw that the requests were open so I thought I would request something but if I misread it or something then please ignore this!

I was wondering if you could write something with reader not used to being taken care of? Like they have always taken care of others and have never had the opportunity to be taken care of so when someone else does they feel the need to do something for them in return? I was thinking of maybe Remus for this one? Or maybe a poly! Ship but you can write whoever you want!!

I understand if this is not a topic you would like to write about but I just love your writing and thought I would give it a try. Thank you for reading this anyway and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

(Sorry it’s such a long request)

No you were right lovely! Thanks for your request :)

roommate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 625 words

You pad into the kitchen, blanket around your shoulders and half-dissolved lozenge tucked into your cheek, to find the sink clear of dishes yet again. Guilt grows like winding vines around your ribcage. 

You put on the kettle. Stand over it as the steam starts to rise, breathing in the thick air and imagining you can feel the pressure in your sinuses lessening slightly. You make a cup of turmeric tea with honey for yourself, and English breakfast for Remus, stirring in a tiny bit of sugar the way he likes. You’re careful to keep it well away from you and your potential contagious-ness while you carry it upstairs. 

You knock softly in case, but Remus is awake, as you knew he’d be. 

“Morning,” he says, looking up from his book with a smile. The sight of him, sleep-rumpled and happy to see you, is almost too much. His eyes flicker down to the mugs you’re carrying, eyebrows lifting. “For me?” 

“Mhm.” You pass it to him, ignoring his soft tutting when you turn it in your grip so the handle is facing out towards him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says warmly. He blows steam off the top, honeyed eyes on yours. “I should be the one getting up to make you tea, really. How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” You shrug, taking a sip of your tea. The heat dissolves your lozenge faster, double soothing for your throat. “And you’ve done more than enough already. Sorry about the dishes.” 

Remus’ expression clouds with confusion for a moment before he realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be doing dishes if I was unwell, either.” 

“Thanks for doing them for me,” you say softly. Or you try to, but it ends in a rasp, your throat contracting against a cough that doesn’t form. You clear it embarrassedly. 

Your roommate’s brows bend with sympathy. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “It’s really no problem. You don’t need to bring me tea just because I did a few of your dishes.” 

“I want to make it up to you.” 

His expression softens. “There’s nothing to make up, love. It’s not a debt that needs to be repaid.” 

You frown, chewing your lozenge. “At least let me make you breakfast. Is there anything you’re craving?” 

“No.” Remus smiles at you. Not quite confused, almost disbelieving. “You don’t need to make me anything. You should be resting.” 

“I’ve been resting.” You sniff, wincing at the pain it sends through your head. You’ve been either in bed or on the couch for days, and meanwhile Remus has been cleaning up your messes, keeping quiet so you can sleep, and bringing you soup from that place you like down the street. 

“It’s my turn to help now,” you say. 

“It’ll be your turn when I’m poorly and miserable.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, humming disapprovingly. You use every scrap of willpower you have left not to melt into his bed. “Listen to me, alright? I don’t mind looking after you. It’s not transactional. I washed your dishes because they were there and I had the time, and—” He gives you a playful look. “—because I know that if I were up all night coughing, I wouldn’t want to worry about dishes. Okay?” 

His eyes hold yours. You feel perhaps the most out of it you have since this illness came on. Drunk, almost. “Okay,” you capitulate. 

Remus smiles. “Thank you. So you can stop trying to think up ways to get even.” He picks up his tea. “I can see that head of yours working. Leave it alone, it’s going through enough.” 

You smile back, caught. “Thanks for all your help.” 

“Don’t worry about it, love.”