#and it will hurt. and you will have to say that.

[em1i2a3]

Carry The Zero

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry (or The Void) x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess because Bob is in here. Other than that there is nothing too extreme happening in here, it’s a bit emotional, but there is fluff in here, I would kind of describe this as a Hurt/Comfort fic than anything. There are mentions of abuse and there is also some heavy petting maybe? I mean, I’ll put that in here to cover my booty lol.

Authors Note: My second viewing of Thunderbolts truly got my mind racing for what to write in regard to Bob. Thought I would put out this lil blurb and probably add more to it later in another segment or something! Anyways! Enjoy y’all and happy premiere weekend!!! :)

Word Count: 6,784

The room wasn’t built for two people, that’s what you knew for sure. It used to be a storage space, at least that is what you assumed judging by the various filing cabinets that lined the area, the dented lockers that were near the door, and the strewn papers that nobody decided to throw away in preparation for the move-in. The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that the place had a window that let you look out onto the city. But it still didn’t truly make up for the cramped space, even though they were able to shove two twin sized beds inside it and call it a room–which showed how effective their planning was throughout all the chaos.

The Avengers Compound was still under renovations after a security breach took out part of the living space, meaning everyone needed to be shuffled like cards in a losing deck. Room assignments were given unwillingly to everyone, and you had been paired with Bob.

It was weird to be rooming with someone who had the power of a million exploding suns as people liked to say, because even though he carried that on his sleeve sheepishly, his personality certainly didn’t match that of a person who could take down the entire world. He was shy, quiet, and careful, tip-toeing around you like you were going to snap at him at any second–which was not the case at all.

Compared to the other options you had you actually preferred to be rooming with him.

The first few days had passed in near silence. You didn’t talk much, you’d only go into your room to sleep or change, and when you would do something outside of those two things Bob would rush out pretty quickly, apologizing nervously under his breath, like he thought you were obligated to time alone.

He’d go to bed early, and you’d catch him reading beneath the awful buzzing lamp that was left in the room from before the two of you moved in. You never really asked him what he was reading because the title was always changing, like he couldn’t finish anything, or he had so much time to himself he was finishing books like they were snacks.

Then there were little things you began to notice.

He’d pace a lot, wring his hands in his lap, or pick at the skin on his fingers. He was clean, he never left shoes in the middle of the room, and always lined them up neatly under his bed frame, even yours. He would flinch at loud noises, like if there was a childish argument happening in the communal kitchen and things got too high in volume he would get a little twitchy. He was observant, and paid attention to everything around him–sometimes you would hear him talking to himself, repeating fragments of conversations from earlier in the day, like it grounded him in some way.

He had his routine and you respected it as much as possible, but tonight was entirely different.

You were coming in late from training, and a med bay visit.

The scrape on your shoulder wasn’t serious, but it was bad enough to have Bucky send you down to get checked out. It was standard–some antiseptic, a lecture from one of the nurses about being more careful and aware of your surroundings, and then you were released with a warning, and a fresh bandage. You were exhausted, sore, and annoyed with yourself for not paying attention and letting your guard down during a simulation, especially because the past few nights had been like that.

By the time you reached your floor, the halls were quiet. There wasn’t any bickering or discussions happening in the kitchen, nobody was lingering in the living room with post-mission jitters, it was just peace, for once.

You stopped at the fridge to pick yourself up a bottle of electrolytes, then paused, eyeing the row of them. You bit your inner cheek, and after a second of hesitation you grabbed another one for Bob, tucking it against you.

You figured he would be awake like he always was when you were on your training nights. You weren’t sure if he was just waiting for you or if he was just incapable of resting when you weren’t accounted for, but you never asked.

Slowly, you moved down the hall, twisting the cap off your drink with a wince when you strained just a little too much, causing the bandage to sting beneath your shirt. You gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Gotta take it easy on yourself.” You heard Bucky say from behind you. You turned on your heel, seeing he was still in his training gear, also holding a bottle of electrolytes as well, “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take breaks.” You shifted under his gaze.

”I want to be better, that’s why I’m training. If you got your ass handed to you on the field you would be doing the same.” He shook his head.

”No. I would be resting and seeing what I could do better the next time. Don’t come to training for the rest of the week, just relax and recoup, we’ll revisit your regimen when you’re better.” Before you could say anything he typed his code in for his room, and was out of your sight. You could feel your body seething as you turned back around to continue making your way down the hall. You’d seen it coming from a mile away just by the way he was watching you during the simulation but you never thought he would say anything to you like that. It just added another layer of annoyance as you reached your room.

You pushed the door open gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The room was dark, which was unexpected, Bob’s light wasn’t even on. The only thing that was illuminating the room was the shimmer of city lights, casting silver-blue shadows across the floor.

Bob was in bed, lying on his side facing you, with his blanket tugged up to his neck. His face was soft in the low light–features relaxed, eyes closed. Sleeping, or at least you thought he was. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, squinting in the dimness of the room to see him a bit better.

His light brown hair looked a little messy, like he’d been shifting around for a while before finally settling on the position he was in now. You wondered how long he was lying like that, or if he had been waiting for your return but fell asleep in the process, and now you felt even worse than before.

You let the door close softly behind you with a gentle click, removing your shoes slowly, one at a time. Every motion felt heavier than it should have–dull with fatigue, and edged in frustration. You padded across the narrow space, keeping your steps quiet, with the extra bottle of electrolytes tucked against you, the condensation seeping through your training jacket.

You crouched slowly beside Bob’s bed, biting back a wince as your muscles tensed in protest, while you placed the bottle down on the floor, angling it so he’d see it when he woke up. It was a small, quiet offering, just something kind, a consideration in a way. You took your next moves slowly as you stood up and turned to your own bed with a tired exhale, putting the cap back on your drink and throwing it onto your bed. One hand rose to the zipper of your training jacket, pulling it down in a swift movement, teeth grinding while you pushed the fabric off your shoulders, feeling pain erupt from your ribs and shoulder now, the muscles pulsing with burning heat.

The cool air of the room hit your skin instantly, and your tank top didn’t do much to hide any of your injuries from the environment. Your back arched with the grating sting that came through you, and one hand came up to press against the bandage, making sure it was still on properly and not tugging at your skin. The ache was sharp and pulsing, and when your fingers came away damp, you already knew there was blood seeping through the gauze. You grimaced but didn’t consider making another trip to the med bay. You were too tired to care at this point, and it wasn’t something that would cause you to bleed out, so it was a morning issue to deal with.

You turned toward your dresser, collecting a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of sage, throwing both articles of clothing down onto your bed with a soft plop. You rolled your shoulder gently, testing the range of motion in it with a quiet wince before reaching for the hem of your tank top, peeling the rough fabric up your skin carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the sting, though even at your slowest pace you could feel the movement pulling at the wound.

The cotton clung briefly to the tape of the gauze and the dried sweat that coated your skin before finally giving way, and coming off completely. You let out a sigh of relief, as you let the fabric fall to the floor, reaching for your sweater next. The bandage on your shoulder throbbed with every shift you made, but it was the deeper bruises scattered across your body–ghosts of impacts from the past few days–that ached beneath your skin like an echoing thunder. You glanced down at yourself, taking in the way they bloomed across your ribs, stomach, and hips, at this point you could see more bruises than your actual flesh at this point, and they were tender, dark and swollen. Maybe Bucky was right, maybe you really did need a break…

Your fingers curled loosely into the hem of your sweater, but you didn’t think to pull it on yet, you just continued to look down at the wreck that was your body, and the longer you stared, the more numb you became. It was easy to take a break but it wasn’t deserved, you couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes during missions, and you knew you weren’t going to listen to Bucky, you would keep training until your body gave out.

You closed your eyes for a moment, before lifting the sweater towards you, ready to retreat into its softness, ready to disappear and call it a night, but then you heard it.

A breath. Sharp and quick. You froze in your spot.

Then came the sound of movement, the shuffling of the blanket, the mattress creaking under the shifting weight.

Your eyes darted toward Bob’s bed instantly, seeing that his back was now turned towards you. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, almost covering his whole head, but there was tension in his posture now, like he was more alert, and less relaxed.

Another breath was inhaled, only it was thinner this time, and wet, followed by a muffled sniffle. Your brows furrowed, and you worked quickly to throw your sweater on without hurting yourself so you were covered up completely, before making your way to his bed, crouching down on the floor, keeping your attention fixated on him. His shoulders were rising and falling now in uneven motions, and now you were piecing together that he was actually crying.

”…Bob?” You whispered, voice soft and low, like if you made it any louder than the volume you were at now it might shatter him. You could see the shuddering in his shoulders halt at the way you said his name, and he pulled the blanket higher over his head, like he was trying to shield himself from your eyes.

”I’m sorry…” Your brows pulled together in confusion as you leaned against the bed a little more, watching the outline of his frame beneath the covers, seeing the small tremors still running through his shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek as you reached out, your hand hovering for a breath before resting gently against the curve of his back. He was radiating heat through the blanket, but he was stiff beneath your touch, like he didn’t know what to do with the comfort you were offering.

“Bob…Why are you apologizing?” You asked softly. He took in another shaky breath, but didn’t answer. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down his back like your mother used to when you cried, trying to soothe him, to calm him as much as you could.

”I…I saw the bruises.” He said, barely a whisper. Your hand on his back froze for a moment, “I-I didn’t mean to look, I swear, I just-“ His breath hitched, realizing that you were probably throwing daggers into his back with your eyes, “I just woke up…And saw them, and I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop remembering…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, it was just too much, as another set of sobs escaped his throat. You could feel your gaze soften at the noise, almost like a piece of your heart was breaking for him, continuing your movements along his back, pressing just a little harder into the muscle.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want some electrolytes or something?” He shook his head.

”No…P-Please just stay…” His voice was hoarse, cracking under the thickness that coated his throat from the tears. You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, staring at his shoulders as he continued to cry, curling in on himself beneath his blanket.

You continued rubbing his back, keeping a steady and consistent rhythm. The heat of him radiated through the blanket like a furnace on the verge of burning itself out. Every time your hand passed over his spine, his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction.

“C-Can I ask something…Kind of w-weird?” His voice broke through the quiet again, in such a timid whisper that you barely heard it.

“Sure.” You replied, hearing him sniffle again. There was a long pause, and you could feel the hesitation, like he was trying to put his words together properly so whatever he was going to say didn’t come off creepy. You continued to run your hand over his back, waiting patiently for him, watching his figure rising and falling beneath the blanket, still seeing it shaking. In your mind, you were worried, you hadn’t seen him like this before, and there was a moment where you considered calling Bucky or Yelena to come help you, but then his voice broke through the thoughts.

”…Could you…” He took another breath, “Could you…Please hold me?” The question came out strangled, like it had clawed its way out of his throat before he could second-guess it again. You blinked slowly at the request, not because you were unsure of your answer, but because the way he said it was so gentle, and embarrassed it caught you off guard in a way.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, you thought maybe he was going to ask you for a tissue, but this was something far more vulnerable, something you never thought would come from Bob of all people, even though you knew he was sensitive. Inside you hesitated only because you didn’t want to hurt him by possibly doing the wrong thing, yet your heart ached watching him break down beneath his blanket which at this point was drowning him because of how much he had curled up beneath it.

“Of course…Just let me change out of these training pants first okay? It’ll just take a second.” There was no response to that, just movement. He shifted towards the wall so he was giving you enough space to get in, still hunched over like he felt guilty for the area that he occupied. You quickly stood up, and made quick work of shimmying out of your training pants and putting on your cotton sleep shorts, which was probably the best idea since you felt him burning through the blanket he was wrapped in. You brought your attention back to him soon after, returning to the side of the bed, your eyes roaming over the lump that resembled his body.

With a gentle hand, you tugged the edge of the blanket down just enough to uncover the top of his head, revealing his light brown hair again which looked dampened with sweat beneath the illuminating city lights that shined through the window. He didn’t say anything, or protest being exposed to you, so you took that as a good sign to continue.

You slid into the space he made for you, careful not to jostle the cocoon he made for himself too much, and eased your bad arm underneath his pillow so your scraped shoulder could rest in a neutral position where your bandage wouldn’t rip off your skin completely. You pulled up the blanket slightly, getting in behind him, scooting closer until your chest met his damp back.

His navy blue t-shirt was soaked through completely, and it wasn’t helping that he was wearing long pants to bed either. There was a fear he was gonna pass out from heat stroke or something, but he had mentioned it several times that he ran hot in general, you just didn’t see it to this extreme. He smelled like a salty rain storm, or like ozone, it was something indescribable to you in those moments, but it was what he typically radiated, it was familiar.

Slowly, you brought your arm over his torso, placing your hand onto the hard plane of his sternum, the muscles beneath his shirt twitching against the unfamiliar touch that you introduced to him.

Neither of you spoke, you just laid against each other in pure silence, listening to each other's breathing–his trembling, yours steady. He could feel your hot breaths against his neck and tried to pay attention to it, as you pushed down the blanket a bit with your elbow to shed the makeshift shield from his body. It took him a while to compose himself enough to speak again, but when he did, you were hanging off of every word.

”…When I saw the bruises…” He rasped, “All I could think about was me. When I was a kid…” The mentioning of his childhood immediately felt like a blow to your stomach. He had said something about how he was raised in passing, but it was an off handed remark that nobody really paid attention to. You figured it was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hearing him say this only made you dread what he was going to continue with.

”After he’d hit me…I’d go over to the mirror, just to see how bad it was. I’d tell myself it didn’t hurt, even if it did, I’d just lie to myself, because I knew if I cried, he’d just get angrier. He was always in the mood to beat me up so when he had a reason I think it made him feel justified in some…Messed up way.” Your chest tightened at his words, thinking about how scary it must’ve been for him, and how terrified he must’ve felt not knowing when his own father would strike. You didn’t speak right away, but you did shift, sliding your hand up higher on his chest, so you could press your palm flat over his heart. His shirt was soaked there too, yet beneath it all you could feel the frantic fluttering of his pulse, like a bird rattling against its cage.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your breath tickling his neck again. He didn’t respond, though he didn’t recoil either.

“None of that should’ve ever happened to you,” You continued softly, brushing your thumb along the fabric against his heart, “You were a child, and you didn’t deserve that.” He let out a breath like he was trying not to begin sobbing again.

”You don’t have to say that.” You raised your head a bit, almost in disbelief that he truly thought that what happened to him was somehow okay or justified.

”I do, Bob.” You murmured, inching just a little closer, feeling your body screaming in protest as your injured shoulder moved the wrong way, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Bob noticed instantly.

”You’re hurting,” He said quietly with guilt sinking into every syllable.

”I really couldn’t give a crap about that right now Bob, trust me I’ve been through worse. You’re hurting right now too and I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?” You replied back, your voice low, but lacking bite, not that you intended to have it sound stern or anything.

Bob shifted beneath your touch, slowly rolling onto his back like the weight of your words cracked something loose inside him. You adjusted carefully to give him space, keeping your injured shoulder angled away from the impact of his back pressing against your arm, even though the ache felt like white noise beneath the tension that was beginning to rise in the room. When he settled on his back you adjusted yourself so your chin rested against his chest, keeping your hand splayed in the same position over his heart.

His eyes didn’t find yours at first, they stared blankly at the ceiling, the soft glow of the city lights catching the shimmer of the tears that were still pooling in his eyes. Now that you could see him fully, you realized how bad things really were. His skin was blotchy, and flushed from how hot he was. His cheeks were stained with fresh tears, mixing with sweat that created this overall sheen on his skin in general, which made his hair cling to his forehead. A long, old kind of hurt settled over his face, the kind that hid quietly within the corners of a person.

He inhaled shakily, and every exhale got caught somewhere between exhaustion and restraint. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your chin, and it made you ache in a way that put a hole deep in your chest.

”Bob…” You murmured, barely louder than the sound of the city humming outside the window, “Look at me.” At first he didn’t move, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling, distant and confused, still taking in those short bursts of air. Your hand left his chest, bringing them up to his jaw, coaxing his attention with the lightest touch you could give him.

“Look at me Bob,” You whispered again.

Then slowly, his eyes shifted downward until they found yours. The moment his gaze landed on you, something cracked open between you both–it was quiet, and delicate, but present and grounded in the center of it all. His expression was drawn, and his lashes were clumpy and wet with tears, framing his shimmering blue irises.

The skin surrounding his eyes were raw, almost a blood red, like someone had scratched it and left their marks streaking down his flesh. You didn’t flinch away from it though, you just looked at him with such focus, like your gaze could settle the storm that was in him. You could see his lip tremble slightly under your gaze as he tried to hold himself still, tears brimming in his eyes again, threatening to spill.

”I hate remembering…I can’t stand it. I don’t want to remember this stuff…I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I don’t want you to associate me with being weak.” You raised your eyebrows, now raising your head up to you were looking at him a little better, resting your hand against his chin now.

”I don’t, ” You stated, watching a set of tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, swallowing loudly, “I don’t associate you with weakness.” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.

”I associate you with patience…With overwhelming kindness, and with strength so deep it doesn’t even have to be displayed. You could burn the sky down…You could use all the pain inside you to destroy the planet…Yet you help, you listen, and you keep going. That’s not a weak person Bob.” You wiped one of the tears away with your thumb, feeling him hesitate before leaning into your touch.

“Y/N…I’m not right in the head…You don’t understand…You’ll never understand.” You shook your head, and sighed.

”I don’t have to understand everything to care about you,” Bob’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, like the words that you said hit him like a truck. You could feel the tension in his jaw, as he clenched it tightly, trying to contain himself a bit.

“I used to think that if I could just bury everything deep enough maybe it wouldn’t make me feel so contaminated…But then when I got the serum…And The Void came…And that awfulness manifested into something bigger…I realized that it just wouldn’t go away. I’m dangerous Y/N…I’m not someone that can be fixed. I know you care, but I can’t risk hurting you.” You shifted closer to him, moving up slowly, dragging your chest along his. His eyes followed your movements, turning his head when you settled near his shoulder, feeling your hand leave his cheek.

“You don’t scare me Bob. You’re just saying this stuff because you think it’ll make me give up on you, but I’m not that easy to sway.” You whispered, reaching down to touch one of his hands, which caused him to flinch. He was already bracing himself, preparing to be pulled into one of your memories, but it didn’t happen…It was like…Things were quiet. Just pure emptiness, and the only thing he could see was you. He stared at you as you wrapped your fingers around his hand, seeing his brows draw together.

“H-How are you…Doing this?” He asked quietly, like he was afraid he was going to disturb the peace and get thrown into your mind out of nowhere.

”I locked it out.” He shook his head at you quickly.

”That’s impossible…It always gets in…” A small smile came up on your lips, hearing the disbelief in his voice, the way he was almost entirely taken aback by what you had just said. You leaned in a little closer to him, like you were going to tell him a secret, feeling his breath fanning over your face.

“Before I was recruited, I was part of a different team. Black-ops, kind of like what the X-Men used to be, but very much under the radar. It was just…Constant missions, we were a clean up crew basically, picking up the scraps that nobody else wanted…” You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching with the memories of your team, how close you all were, how none of you took crap from anyone…Similar to what you had now, just a little better because of the tether you all had between each other.

“We ran into a lot of people with gifts. Telepaths. Empaths…Stuff like that. Some didn’t even know they were projecting until it was too late. Others weaponized it. Pulled secrets out like stitches and drove people insane without ever touching them.”

Bob was still staring at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears, his chest rising beneath you in short bursts.

“It was mandatory,” You continued. “To train in mental shielding. Neural control. The discipline to lock down your own mind so tight it’s like a vault. We trained until our thoughts didn’t even echo. You learn to breathe around psychic pressure, to mask trauma with static, to reroute memories into dead space. You learn to feel someone reaching for you…And then cut the line.”

Bob swallowed hard, hearing the way you explained everything to him step by step, while still holding his hand, running your thumb over the back of it.

“I wasn’t trained to stop the Void,” You said gently, “But I was trained to stop something similar to it. And apparently, it’s just close enough.” You watched his lashes flutter like he didn’t know whether he was going to cry again or if he was just going to sink into the mattress and disappear entirely.

“…That’s why the mental noise isn’t so loud when we're alone in a room together…” He whispered under his breath, almost like everything was clicking in his mind, as his hand began to tighten around yours now, matching the same hold you had, “…Mental shielding…Who knew that would be the thing that makes everything go quiet.” You smirked at his comment, already hearing the tension in his voice wavering, feeling his breath sticking to your cheeks, shifting in front of him so your noses bumped slightly.

“Technically it’s still quite an experimental thing, but…It works when needed I think.” You can see his lip twitch slightly, drawing into his mouth just a little bit, as if he wanted to get a taste of your breath that coated it.

“It’s…Amazing.” Was all he could muster up to say, continuing to hold onto your hand tightly, like it was anchoring him to this quiet space in his head that he had not been able to reach since taking the serum. “…All I hear, and all I feel…Is you and I had no clue until now…” The sound of his voice made your spine tingle, and goosebumps raise on your skin.

It was shocking that moments ago he was this wreck, then suddenly it was like he was on top of the world. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been touched like this in so long, or maybe it was because he finally had a break from all the noise that kept draining him, you had no clue…But what you did know is how soft his eyes had become, and how deep his breaths were now that he was a little calmer, and not being treated like a threat of some kind.

You shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now, the fabric of the blanket sliding down slowly, exposing your clothed bodies to the silvery-blue light just a little more. Bob didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. His breath hitched when your knees bumped gently against his thigh, as the warmth of your bodies radiated like twin heartbeats pressed just barely apart.

Your noses were brushing against one another, and if you tilted your chin up by just a little bit, you’d be kissing.

”I’m glad I’ve been able to make it go quiet for you…Even if it’s not permanent.” A faint smile slowly appeared on his face–crooked, and trembling, but so genuine.

“It’s more peace than I thought I’d ever get…So thank you.” He replied back, his hand squeezing yours, not in desperation, but with something closer to awe, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the situation that was happening in front of him. His breath brushed across your face as he watched your eyes roaming over his. You couldn’t help but stare at him, to take him in now that he wasn’t crying, to admire the person who was in front of you. It was hard not to lose track of time studying his features, and how they were just…Him.

There was a long pause between the both of you, a snippet of time suspended into the universe where nothing else existed beyond the narrow bed and the hum of the city beyond the window. His chest rose slowly, puffing out warm shallow breaths against your lips, and for a second it felt like he was hesitating on something…But then, he leaned in.

It wasn’t fast, or sweeping like he was trying to catch you off guard. It was careful, like every little millimeter he closed between the both of you was an offer for you to pull back, but you didn’t take it.

When his lips met yours, it was a soft, trembling brush of mouths that lingered more in intent than execution. He kissed like he was afraid you were somehow going to disappear, but you could feel how much he truly wanted this. His lips were warm, and slightly parted, and you could taste the faintness of tears and salt, still hesitating to go the full mile.

There was a moment where he was about to pull back, and that’s when you took the opportunity to fully lean into the kiss and throw logic out the window, just for this one cut of time

Your lips moved against his, answering the softness of his approach with something more certain and grounded. The taste of him was still there, but now it was amplified tenfold from how much more pressure you were placing on the kiss now.

He was stiff at first, the tension in his jaw made it evident, like he was unsure of what he was allowed to do, what he was okay to give back, or like he was bracing himself for the possibility of you pulling back before he could even try to meet you where you were at. But then your hand let go of his, and slid up to cup the side of his face, and he let out the smallest gasp of disbelief against your mouth. Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye as your lips molded to the shape of his mouth with a tenderness that shattered whatever restrain he’d been holding onto.

Your arm shifted beneath the pillow, bending just enough so you could lace your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him in more with such grace that it made him groan. His hand moved to your neck then–his shaky fingers pressing softly just below your ear, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw as he located your pulse instantly. His touch wasn’t possessive, it was filled with care, and curiosity. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin, the steady–or not so steady–rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingers, he craved to be closer to you, and every moment that passed was giving him the signal that you wanted that too.

He shifted gently, slowly turning onto his side without breaking the kiss, being cautious not to put anymore unwanted pressure on your arm beneath him as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in until your bodies were flush against one another. You could feel the dampness on your sweater from his shirt, and your bare legs brushing against the cotton of his sleep pants, which only overwhelmed you more, knowing it was going to be a challenge to stop this from going too far.

His hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to brush against yours with the softest flicker of hesitation, tasting you like he was drinking something sacred. The breath he let out against your mouth made your skin prickle beneath your sweater, and it only encouraged your response.

You angled your mouth to his, encouraging him to continue, feeling him follow suit in an instant, matching your energy bit by bit, syncing with the way you moved against him. When your hand slid further into his hair, and curled within the damp strands, gently tugging, he let out the smallest, softest moan–it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for years. It made your head spin hearing it, and it only made you shift yourself towards him even more, feeling his thigh nudging between your legs so the both of you can completely mesh together. It was such a subtle move, but it lit up every nerve ending in your body like it was nothing.

Bob’s hand slid beneath the hem of your sweater, craving the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. His fingers traced the small of your spine, barely putting enough pressure on it, yet he still managed to send shivers through your body. He was getting bolder, but kept his awareness at the forefront, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him, terrified that he might cross an invisible line and ruin the moment.

You felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer, putting more pressure between your bodies until you felt every rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat pulsed through you. His knee shifted again, nudging further between your thighs, pressing it gently into the thin cotton fabric that covered your most sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from you now. You could feel yourself falter control for a moment, moving your hips just a little to test the friction that you wanted, and that’s when you both realized just how far this could go–and how close you already were to getting there.

His hand tensed against your back, and the kiss slowed down, until he found the correct moment to pull back, just a few inches. His lips were still parted, only now they were swollen and wet with saliva. He was out of breath, and you mirrored the same sentiment, as the both of you tried to even your racing hearts before they exploded. His pupils were dilated, and in the dimmed lighting you could only see a faint glisten of blue that rimmed the darkness that took over, the burn was there, the want was there, but there was the looming fear that you both were going from zero to one hundred really quickly, and that’s when regrets could be made, and neither of you wanted that.

”…We can’t do this…” He whispered, his voice cracking from being the first one to speak. You nodded faintly, your fingers still toying with his hair, reluctant to let go completely, but understanding him.

”I know,” You murmured, “Not like this…Not tonight.” You clarified. He closed his eyes, a soft exhale brushing your lips as his fingers twitched against your pulse point on your neck again.

”It’s not that I don’t want to,” He added quietly, “God I do…You have no idea.”

“I know,” You said again, running your thumb along his cheek, soothing the skin there, “Me too…I want to as well…But we’re not ready. Especially after being in the headspace that you were in a few minutes ago.” He nodded slowly.

”I don’t want it to be something that will be confused for a moment of distraction.” You stared at him, hearing how serious he was about it, “And I don’t want to ruin anything.” He added softly, opening his eyes again to look at you.

”You’re not ruining anything, we’re just pressing pause…And that’s completely fine, and it’s the best decision to make for right now.” He gave a small, nervous smile at that and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, “We’ll talk more about it later…But for now how about we just relax hmm?” He let out a shaky breath, the heat from it hitting your lips and invading your mouth for just a split second.

”Yeah…I’d like that.” You smiled faintly, as your bodies untangled just a bit from one another, removing the both of you from the intimate position you had found yourself in moments before. His knee shifted out from between your legs, and rested against them instead, letting the tension unravel and disappear slowly.

He wrapped both arms around you now, carefully noting your injury, and you folded yourself into his chest, letting your hand rest on his ribs as he pulled the blanket up to shield the both of you.

You both stayed there, nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts beating unevenly against one another until sleep came over you like a harsh wave.

[liketolaugh-writes]

It always kind of bothers me when people say that they like Bad Fenton Parents because 'it's just angstier.' There are flavors of angst, you know? Betrayal and grief and false hope and distrust and even recovery are all different flavors of angst, completely divorced from the intensity of it.

Like, I'm sorry, is it... not angst for Danny to spend fourteen years completely certain of his parents' unconditional love, only to have it cut out from under him the moment he becomes a half-ghost, leaving him floundering?

Is it not angst for Danny to grapple desperately with the knowledge that his parents love him to the ends of the universe and the certainty that his parents hate him with cruelty he didn't previously know they were capable of, and have no idea which one outweighs the other? For him to put up with their hatred because he's so afraid of losing their love?

Is it not angsty enough for his parents to find out who he is, and instantly be crushed under the realization that they have hurt their beloved son in ways they can never make up to him? Don't you want them to cry and sob with the knowledge, have nightmares about murdering their youngest child that make them wake up screaming?

Don't get me wrong - if you like what him being neglected from childhood brings to the table, I totally get that! If you like for him to have specific trauma around being ignored, and a closer relationship with Jazz, and an incomplete childhood, that's great. Have at it.

But don't 'teehee I guess I'm just a sadist' it because you are blocking off literally sooo much nuance

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (2/2) | meeting the family

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda, isack hadjar, and liam lawson + special feature franco colapinto and lance stroll (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : your formula one boyfriend meeting your seemingly "normal" family

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2661

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : surprisingly this 10k event isn't overwhelming.. it's such a good downtime from having to study for finals >.<

ʚ・kimi antonelli

kimi stood at your door holding a pie.

a literal pie.

“i didn’t know what to bring,” he mumbled. “my mom said pie is safe.”

you blinked. “you baked?”

“supervised.”

he was already flushed before your family even answered the door. when your dad opened it, kimi stood straighter than you’d ever seen him, like he was back on the karting grid at age twelve.

“hello, sir. thank you for having me. i brought… pastry.”

your dad raised an eyebrow. “pie?”

“yes. that.”

you tried not to laugh.

inside, it was mild chaos. your younger cousins immediately started whispering about “the mercedes kid” like he couldn’t hear them. your aunt hugged him too long. your mom made him a plate before he could even sit down.

kimi’s hands were in his lap the whole time. his posture was so straight it hurt to look at. he said yes sir, no ma’am, thank you very much. and the only time he dared look away from his food was to check if you were still there.

your cousin leaned over halfway through dinner and whispered, “is he always this… robotic?”

you smiled. “he’s just nervous.”

he looked like he was surviving a full-blown press conference. until your uncle asked, “so how serious are you two, huh?”

kimi blinked like the question short-circuited him.

you jumped in quickly. “we’re not getting married, uncle joe.”

“i didn’t say that,” he grinned. “just wondering if mercedes' the only thing he’s committed to.”

kimi nearly choked on his water. “i mean—yes. no. i mean—yes, i’m committed. not just to mercedes. to her too. but not—like—married committed. just—” he turned bright red. “you know what? i should stop talking.”

the room went silent for half a beat.

then your dad laughed. “relax, kid. you’re alright.”

that night, as you walked him to his car, kimi rubbed the back of his neck.

“they were looking at me like i was about to propose.”

“you did say you’re committed.”

“i panicked.”

you smiled, tugging his sleeve. “you did great.”

he finally smiled back, soft and a little crooked. “your dad said i can come back.”

“you want to?”

he looked at you, more certain than he had been all night. “yeah. i do.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

ollie bounced nervously on his heels at your doorstep, holding a suspiciously lopsided cake he insisted on baking “from scratch.”

“it’s… edible,” he said, side-eyeing it like it might betray him. “i think.”

you grinned. “it’s sweet. they’re gonna love you.”

“they better,” he muttered. “i watched a ten-minute youtube video on ‘how to impress your girlfriend’s father’ for this.”

you stared. “please tell me that’s a joke.”

“it had animations.”

you couldn’t stop laughing.

from the second your family opened the door, ollie was full golden retriever mode. hugged your mom without hesitation. complimented the wallpaper like it was his job. called your grandma “queen” and meant it.

but your dad?

that was his mission.

“sir,” he said, offering his hand with olympic-level intensity. “big fan. of… your house. and your daughter. and your grilling skills. smells amazing out here.”

your dad blinked. “you alright, kid?”

“yep!” ollie said way too fast. “just eager to bond.”

at dinner, he tried to subtly mirror your dad’s posture, which ended with him sitting like a stiff action figure. he laughed at all his jokes. nodded like he understood the economy. agreed to try the spiciest dish on the table and instantly regretted it.

you passed him a glass of water under the table.

“i’m fine,” he whispered hoarsely. “this is fine. i’m proving my worth.”

you nearly choked trying not to laugh.

later, you found him in the backyard with your dad, holding barbecue tongs like a sword, listening to a long story about fishing while nodding very seriously.

“he likes me,” ollie whispered when you came outside.

“he told you that?”

“no, but he handed me the tongs. that means something.”

on the way home, he beamed the whole time. “i think your dad’s my best friend now.”

“bold.”

“he invited me golfing.”

“you don’t play golf.”

“i’ll learn.”

you looked at him, this chaotic, giggling, totally love-struck idiot, and shook your head fondly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously winning over your family,” he said proudly.

and honestly? he wasn’t wrong.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

yuki arrived five minutes early, hands folded neatly in front of him, shirt pressed and hair just slightly too styled. he looked… nervous, but in that perfectly composed way that made you want to pull him into a hug.

“you don’t have to bow,” you whispered, watching him do just that when your mom opened the door.

“i know,” he whispered back, “but i want to be respectful.”

respectful might’ve been an understatement. within ten minutes of entering the house, yuki had complimented the decorations, asked your dad thoughtful questions about his hobbies, and called your grandma’s cooking “the best meal i’ve had all year.”

“you brought flowers?” your mom asked, touched.

“and tea,” he said shyly, holding out the perfectly wrapped box. “from japan. my favorite kind.”

you could physically see your mother melt.

the dinner table conversation started light, a few questions about where he grew up, how he liked traveling, if he missed japan. yuki answered every single one kindly, never cutting anyone off, listening fully before responding.

you were so proud you nearly cried.

but the second your little cousin leaned in and whispered, “do you drive really fast?” something shifted.

yuki grinned.

“only when they let me.”

from there, it spiraled. he told stories about karting crashes and near-misses in the most matter-of-fact tone while your uncles leaned in like it was a campfire tale. when your aunt asked how he handles fear, he just shrugged and said, “i scream on the inside. then i go faster.”

by dessert, your mom was feeding him extra servings and calling him “sweetheart,” your grandma was offering to knit him socks, and your cousin was asking if he’d teach them how to drive.

you found him leaning against the hallway wall later, looking overwhelmed but happy.

“are you okay?” you asked, sliding next to him.

“your family is amazing,” he whispered. “but your mom keeps feeding me. i might explode.”

you laughed and rubbed his arm.

he looked at you, soft and a little wide-eyed. “your grandma just kissed my cheek.”

“she does that.”

“she also told me i have husband eyes.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i panicked and bowed again.”

you nearly doubled over with laughter.

“you’re a hit,” you said.

he smiled quietly, cheeks pink. “good. i wanted them to like me.”

you kissed his cheek. “they love you.”

ʚ・isack hadjar

isack strolled up to your parents’ door like he wasn’t dying inside. hands in his pockets, shirt wrinkled just slightly, like he got ready too fast after overthinking what to wear for thirty minutes.

“i’m calm,” he said.

“you’re not.”

“i’m french. i’m composed.”

you snorted. “you’re sweating through your shirt.”

he knocked anyway.

your mom greeted him with a warm smile and your dad stood behind her with his arms crossed, silently evaluating him like a pit crew chief sizing up a suspicious front wing.

“hi, uh… bonjour? i mean, hello. thank you for having me.” isack blinked. “sorry. language overload.”

he was polite — genuinely trying. sat upright. complimented the dinner. called your dad sir at least three times. but then someone — your cousin, of course — brought up the one thing guaranteed to send him straight into a tailspin.

“wait. you’re the no no no i destroyed ze carrr guy, right?”

isack’s soul left his body.

“no,” he said too quickly. “that wasn’t me.”

you cackled. “yes it was.”

“do you say it like that in real life?” your uncle asked, grinning.

“no!” isack groaned. “only once. under stress. high emotion.”

your cousin pulled up the clip on their phone. isack covered his face in both hands.

you leaned over, whispering in his ear. “you okay?”

“i’m being haunted by my own voice.”

he recovered eventually. teased your cousins back. made your dad laugh with a sarcastic “i promise i drive better than i talk.” won over your mom when he offered to help clean up and ended up drying dishes while telling her about how he got into racing.

later, in the car, he leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

“that was brutal.”

“you were great.”

“they all mocked me. quoted me. in multiple accents.”

you grinned. “they do that to everyone.”

he turned to look at you, eyes still wide. “your grandma said i look skinnier in person.”

“she says that to celebrities. you’re famous now.”

he groaned. “i hate this family.”

you kissed his cheek. “no you don’t, you love us.”

he smiled, soft and red-faced. “okay… maybe i do love you guys.”

ʚ・liam lawson

liam showed up with a six-pack of your dad’s favorite beer and a bag of dog treats.

you blinked at him on the doorstep. “you brought what?”

“strategic bribes,” he said. “i’m trying to secure my position.”

he got both feet in the door and immediately crouched down to greet your golden retriever like it was his dog.

“look at this face,” he said, ruffling the fur behind her ears. “you’re a unit, aren’t you?”

your mom smiled warmly. “she usually doesn’t like new people.”

liam grinned. “i speak fluent dog.”

the dog rolled onto her back like she’d known him her whole life. you watched from the hallway, slack-jawed.

dinner started off simple. liam was friendly, relaxed, throwing in “ma’am” and “sir” when needed but still being his usual cheeky self.

“you’re from new zealand, right?” your uncle asked.

liam nodded. “we have sheep, rugby, and now… somehow, me.”

your dad actually laughed, and you nearly choked on your drink.

he slid into conversation so naturally it was almost unfair. talking rugby with your dad. asking your grandma how long she’s been crocheting and then actually caring. helping carry dishes to the sink without being asked.

you caught your mom whispering to your aunt, “he’s got good manners. the funny kind.”

and then, mid-dessert, it happened.

your dog jumped into liam’s lap.

“she doesn’t even do that for me,” you said.

“she’s in love with me. sorry, babe.”

“she’s my dog.”

liam scratched behind her ears. “she’s chosen.”

later, while everyone was chatting, you found him near the coat rack, dog curled up at his feet, both looking suspicious.

you raised an eyebrow. “you better not be planning a dog heist.”

“me?” he blinked, mock offended. “never.”

“liam.”

“okay, listen,” he whispered. “if i took her, it’s because we share a soul. not because i’m a thief.”

you laughed and reached down to ruffle her fur. “you’re ridiculous.”

“she likes me more than your dad does.”

“he invited you to the barbecue next week.”

liam grinned. “then i win.”

as you both walked to the car later that night, the dog followed you to the door. liam looked back at her with genuine heartbreak.

“i’ll miss you,” he said dramatically. “stay strong, my fluffy queen.”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

ʚ・franco colapinto

you warned him.

you said, “they’re loud. there’s like twenty of them. someone’s always grilling something. someone else will be dancing. my grandma will try to kiss your face.”

franco just grinned. “sounds fun.”

you were thirty seconds into the front yard when he got his first “how handsome” from one of your aunts. he hadn't even taken off his jacket yet.

your uncle hugged him like they were long-lost friends. your younger cousin offered him a soda and then immediately asked how fast his car went. your mom kissed his cheek, told him he was “very handsome,” and franco smiled like he'd just been handed a trophy.

you were watching it unfold in real time: the colapinto effect.

inside, it was pure chaos. laughter in one room, music in another, someone shouting over a blender.

franco thrived.

he complimented the rice, hugged the grandma, took his shoes off without being asked, and said “gracias señora” every chance he got. your aunt actually clutched her chest when he called her food “incredible” in spanish.

at some point, he ended up dancing with two of your little cousins in the living room, one on each foot, spinning them around like a movie montage. your dad watched from the couch, sipped his drink, and nodded slowly.

“alright. i like him.”

meanwhile, franco reappeared beside you in the kitchen, slightly out of breath, hair a little messy, a soft grin on his face.

“i think your grandma just winked at me,” he whispered.

“she probably did.”

“she also offered me food to go and told me i looked too skinny.”

“she’s adopted you now. sorry.”

he laughed quietly, then leaned in. “your family is… everything.”

you tilted your head. “too much?”

he shook his head. “perfect.”

later, after hours of being pulled into photos and interrogated about his star sign and whether or not he could cook eggs, franco finally exhaled next to you on the porch.

“i met, like, thirty people.”

“thirty-five.”

“i flirted with at least ten of them.”

“they flirted first.”

“i know. it was incredible.”

you laughed and rested your head on his shoulder. “they really liked you.”

he smiled. “i really liked them.”

pause.

“…but i’m never leaving without food again. that’s non-negotiable.”

ʚ・lance stroll

lance wasn’t nervous. not exactly. but as he stepped into your parents’ house and was immediately hit with overlapping conversations, two toddlers racing down the hallway, and music playing from a speaker that no one seemed to be in charge of.

you slipped your hand into his.

“too much?”

he blinked once, then shook his head. “no. just… new.”

you’d expected that. lance came from quiet homes and structured dinners and rooms with expensive things that didn’t get touched. your house had mismatched chairs, finger smudges on the windows, and someone yelling “who took the good plate?” from the kitchen.

he took a deep breath and followed you in.

your dad greeted him first. solid handshake. “lance, right?”

“yes, sir. thank you for having me.” he said it so politely your mom actually looked impressed.

he made it through the first hour like a champ — sat on the couch between your cousins and didn’t flinch when your aunt hugged him like they were old friends. he accepted food every time it was offered. he complimented the casserole. he nodded when your uncle asked about his car, even though he clearly had no idea which one he meant.

you found him standing near the kitchen later, hands in his pockets, watching your family like he was trying to piece together a hundred different storylines at once.

“you okay?” you asked, bumping your shoulder into his.

“i don’t think i’ve ever heard this many people talk at once.”

you laughed. “we don’t really do quiet.”

“i noticed.” he looked at you then, eyes soft. “but it’s kind of… nice.”

you tilted your head. “really?”

“it’s real,” he said simply. “everyone’s just themselves. no performance. no pretending.”

he stayed close the rest of the evening, quietly letting the chaos swirl around him. at one point, your grandma made him a plate and told him he looked tired and “too rich to be eating this little.” he smiled and thanked her and finished every bite.

when it was time to go, he lingered at the door. your little cousin hugged his leg.

“you coming back?”

lance knelt down, smiling. “only if there’s more casserole.”

the kid beamed. “there’s always more.”

on the drive home, he reached for your hand.

“i really liked them,” he said.

“i know. they really liked you too.”

he paused. “do you think next time, i could bring something? like dessert?”

you looked over at him and smiled.

“yeah. i think that’d be perfect.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[cathnospam]

“One kiss won’t hurt our friendship, right Katsuki?”

You ask him that at least once a week, for the past 4 months. At this point he’s not sure if it’s a joke anymore.

“Shut up and focus!”

It all started at your graduation party, everybody was having fun and kissing each other;

Mina with Kiri

Ochaco with Deku

Jirou with Denki

Even Sero managed to find somebody to make out with in a corner. It left you and Bakugo the only ones out of your friend group kissless during all of that you both just shared glances at them and each other before heading back up to your dorms for the evening, he didn’t care much to continue the celebration and you were just feeling a little awkward seeing everybody paired up.

Later that night Bakugo came to your door to grab an aspirin from you after 1 two many drinks, “Stupid ass music is still playing I’m about to blow the fucking speaker up.”

“Here. Also, eat. You haven’t eaten since this morning so your blood sugar is probably low too.”

He glared at you with an annoyed look of confusion, “Don’t observe me.”

He says as he takes the other half of your sandwhich, eventually he just stayed in your room, making himself comfortable splayed out on your bed as you were finishing packing to leave on Monday back to your parents, and that’s when a night of comfortable silence between you both turned into you making a joke about everybody hooking up in your class except you both.

“Yeah, even Robot legs got some pussy tonight i think.”

Which led you to making a joke about you stealing a kiss from each other, I mean you figured why not, you’re hot, he might have a mean mouth, but your blonde friend was hot too, it wouldn’t mean anything, but Bakugo immediately rolled his eyes and scoffed at you. It wasn’t mean either it was more of a, “Yeah right as if.” kind of thing.

It wasn’t a direct no though.

Since then you’ve had a continuous back and fourth of asking for a kiss, which again he never ends up saying no like any of the continuous fan girls he got during 2nd year.

Once the new semester of Uni started it became a routine and honestly you never thought you’d actually wear him down.

“It wouldn’t hurt our friendship y’know…it’d be something we do once and never speak about again.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“No I’m a good kisser.”

“Yeah right.”

“Yeah too, but you wouldn’t know because you won’t just come here and let me take your kiss virginity.”

You probably took it a little too far with that, because you’ve been friends with Bakugo long enough to know he is a drama. Queen.

“Who the hell said i never kissed anybody before?! I probably have!” His voice cracked, already a sign that he was lying. He definitely never kissed anybody. You knew, he probably knew you knew, but he refused to give you the satisfaction even IF his face became flushed.

He got up from his desk to sit in front of you on the bed, uncharacteristically so he cupped your cheeks, your phone long forgotten between your legs having to be forced to look into his irritated face.

You never noticed how sharp and soft some features of his face were.

And how clear his skin was.

And how pretty his eyes were even if they’re fiery and mad, “Close your damn eyes.”

“I’m not closing shit YOU close your eyes.”

You matched his energy by cupping his cheeks, they were nearly burning to your warm touch, thumb caressing his smooth skin. The tension was so thick between you both, you swore you could hear both your heart beats quickening. His lips were grazing yours as you pulled him closer, your stomach was actually doing backflips seeing as Bakugo had the choice to push you off, curse you out and never talk to you again, but

He didn’t and you didn’t stop either until you pressed your mouth against his. You could taste the mint gum he had in his mouth when you started to move yours, Bakugo’s sweaty hands took grip of your waist, partially holding onto you and also wiping it off on your shirt.

You were surprised when he still didn’t pull away, for an inexperienced kisser he got the hang of the way your tongue was dancing to be let inside, which he finally gave you access, but completely took charge and slid his tongue into your mouth instead.

What turned into an awkward still moment of passion transitioned into a wet, sloppy make out session which him getting lost from what he’d experienced as his first moment of pleasure ever. His hands pushed you on your back firm on top of his pillows, but not disconnecting from your mewls against him.

He tasted sweet and savory, his lips were average sized and hot, but managed to consume you. This was more than a kiss this was damn near foreplay.

Both of your bodies felt so connected though. It felt right, something so foreign felt…comforting. It suckling and moaning noises until the harsh knock on Bakugo’s door broke you both out of your cloud 9.

“Shit—Who is it?” He barked at the door, hovering over your panting body, his chain dangling over your face seeing his sharp jawline clench out of irritation,

“Hey man, we are heading to get some food y’wanna come?” It was Denki and Kiri oh so unknown to the view right behind his door, that if they wanted to barge in because the door was unlocked could see their hot headed friend on top of his own friend and in between her legs.

“No I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“Wait I’m hungry—-“

“Shut.Up.” He covered your mouth, almost growling at you for speaking, the footsteps eventually fade off and he sits back up. Looking away.

“Well I’ll be damned you are a good kisser.”

“Shut— I know I am.”

“Well. I figured, because I sure as shit didn’t know what I was doing.”

He snapped his head at you, realizing you were lying about being an experienced kisser. He didn’t know whether to feel prideful or mad, “You—“

“Well you lied too. I know you never kissed anybody. Thanks for letting me take your lip virginity though.” You giggle wiping the lips gloss you left on the corner of his lip, you weren’t sure because he had some black joggers, but you tried to not mention the somewhat obvious growing erection from between his legs that made him more embarrassed.

“If you tell anybody I’ll—“

“You’ll what…kiss me again?”

[rafesangelita]

♡ sheriff!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader get into an argument after an old friend spots them together..

warnings: implied age gap, secrecy, implication of rafe and reader’s age gap being taboo, rafe calls reader his niece, arguing, crying, angst, brief mention of reader’s mom leaving her and her dad, reassurance + comfort, fluff

wc: 2.1k

rafe glanced around the room, his guard standing tall as you hummed to the song playing over the old speakers from the jukebox in the corner. flipping through the restaurant’s menu, you looked up and kicked rafe under the table once you saw how tense he was. “you’re stressin’ me out, can you stop that already?” you rolled your eyes, wishing he wasn’t so uptight about someone from back home seeing you two out together. you were already in a different town for crying out loud!!

rafe grumbled an apology before taking a swig from his beer, his eyes softening once he saw the slightly hurt expression on your face. “we’re not committing a crime by having dinner.. for once, can you just let loose someplace that isn’t in private?” rafe swallowed thickly, giving you a curt nod before the waitress walked up to your booth. “are you ready to order babe?” she chirped, flashing you a sweet smile while she held her pen to her notepad. “yes ma’am, may i get your classic cheeseburger, and make the fries extra crispy with that, please?” she hummed, quickly scribbling on the paper.

“and for you.. sir?” you cleared your throat awkwardly at the formality, considering just moments ago she called you ‘babe’. ignoring the implication that rafe was obviously an older gentleman, he gave the waitress his order and let out a scoff once she disappeared into the kitchen. “i think you care too much about what people think about us, rafe.” you took a sip from your cherry cola, your feet rocking back and forth in your boots as the man in front of you eyed you carefully. “i am the way that i am because i don’t want people to scrutinize you. you could only imagine the type of things people say when they see people in a relationship like ours.”

you shook your head, sighing out in frustration. “we’ve been screwing in the motel across the street all weekend, haven’t we?” rafe’s eyes widened at your words, his voice lowering as he leaned in and gritted his teeth. “will you keep your voice down?!” he whispered. “i’m just saying! it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, we’re far past the point of caring, no?” rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he gripped the beer in his hand even tighter. “yeah, you would think that.” your head shot up at his words, your gaze narrowing at him as you felt your stomach churn.

“and why is that? because i’m too young to understand?” you felt your patience dwindling down with each passing second rafe didn’t respond, “i’m not too young for you when you want me to understand how you want me to suck you off.” rafe blinked, his nostrils flaring as he adjusted the hat on his head. “don’t do that.” he warned you, his voice coming out hard and still. maybe it was the angry feeling you had brewing in your chest, but suddenly you felt the urge to keep pushing his buttons. “don’t do what? tell you the truth?” here we go..

“you know— you go around town sitting up on your moral high horse, acting like you’re so righteous, but really you’re just like every man out there. you want to have your way with me, which you ultimately do, but you want me without facing the reality of it, including getting weird looks and being judged. i get in trouble with the law, i party, i drink and i cuss and i look good doing it, and you can’t stand that i don’t give a single fuck about what people think of me. if i cared enough to keep up ‘appearances’ like you do, i wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now, let alone allowing you to take me to an entire different town all so that we could share a fucking meal together. why don’t you try understanding that, asshole.”

rafe tongued his cheek as he glared at you, genuinely at a loss for words. just as rafe opened his mouth to say something, another man’s voice cut in. “holy shit. s’that you, rafe?” fixing your attention on the man who approached your table, rafe couldn’t help but feel his heart drop to his stomach upon recognizing the familar face. “barry?” he got up, extending an arm, “shit, man, how long has it been?” you watched as they shook hands, both of them catching up as if you weren’t sitting right in front of their faces. it wasn’t until you locked eyes with the beefy brunette before he excused himself.

“sorry,” he cleared his throat, “how rude of me.. who’s this pretty little thing?” you smiled sheepishly as he reached for your hand, your cheeks heating once his lips met your knuckles. rafe couldn’t stand the sight. he felt like he could break his beer bottle over barry’s head right now. “this is—” you cut rafe off, completely ignoring the heat of his gaze burning into the side of your face, “y/n.” barry smiled, the gold glint of his tooth catching your attention. “my, that’s sure a fitting name for such a sweet—” rafe stepped between you two, a look of warning passing through his eyes.

“y/n, this is barry, we went to the same police training academy way back in the day.” barry stood upright, his hand coming up to stroke his goatee. “it’s nice to meet you, ‘pretty..” you didn’t miss the way barry’s eyes traveled down your cleavage, his tongue poking out as he ran the muscle along his bottom lip. “she’s my niece, actually, we’ll be heading back to town soon.” the way everything came to a screeching halt, you could’ve sworn you a car crashed inside your mind when those words left rafe’s mouth. barry visibly recoiled, his eyesbrows shooting up at the false revelation.

“oh, wow! that’s great, that’s great..” he trailed off, pursing his lips together awkwardly as the silence between him and rafe stretched beyond their comfort. you still couldn’t believe your ears, surely they were playing tricks on you, right?

..right?

you decided right then and there that two can play at that game. “you should’ve told me you had some hot friends, uncle, i would’ve hitched a ride back to town a long time ago!” you smiled, resting a hand on barry’s arm, “where are you headed off to, handsome?” rafe was sure his face matched the color of the deep red walls of the restaurant, his fists clenching at his sides as he watched you tenderly stroke another man’s flesh. without warning, rafe yanked you up from your seat, a surprised yelp sounding from your lips as he angrily guided you out of the diner.

“it was nice seeing you, man, i’ll catch you around.” rafe didn’t even so much as spare barry a single glance as he dumped you back on your feet outside, an irritated look written all over your face. “your niece?!” feeling your skin grow hot with rage, you shoved him away before he could get close to you again. crossing your arms over your chest, you ran across the street back to the motel, ignoring his calls as he chased after you. bursting through the door of your shared room, you locked it behind you before rafe could catch up. “let me in!” he banged on the thick wood, the force alone seemingly making the walls shake.

“just leave! leave and don’t come back!” you shouted, tears now streaming down your face. for the first time during this entire thing you’ve had going on with rafe, you felt complete and utter shame. unlike him, he’s been living with it knowing that being with you wasn’t socially acceptable. he knew he had a reputation to uphold but he found himself unable to think about anything or anyone else after he first saw you that night topper dragged you into the station. he knew it was wrong, but quickly you had him doing things and feeling things he had never felt or done before. all of it was fucked up.

“please let me in, i just wanna talk to you.. i need you to hear me out and let me explain.” you hiccuped, your chin wobbling as you shook your head at his desperate plea. “you should’ve never let things go this far if you didn’t want me. i don’t need you, rafe.” of course, that was a lie. you had already let yourself become too emotionally invested in this man for you to really mean that, and you hated yourself for it. “i don’t need to hear shit, i heard enough already.” rafe sighed, his eyes screwing shut as he let his fist fall from the door. knowing he was going to have to get in there one way or another, rafe made his way to the outdated receptionist desk where he asked for another room key.

sniffling, you laid yourself down on the bed, your cheeks damp as you dried your face. you just wanted to go home already and forget about everything that transpired, forget about him. speaking of.. you groaned when you heard the lock click open, rafe stepping through the door shortly after. “i’m not talking to you.” you scooted further up the bed as he got closer, his hands shooting up in defense. “you don’t have to, i just want you to listen to what i have to say— can i sit right here?” you eyed the corner of the bed furthest from you before looking away from him.

taking that as you bidding him your permission, he sat down, hating the amount of space between you two. “i’m sorry,” he started, “i’ve never been in a predicament like this, alright? i don’t know the first thing about being with someone, let alone with someone like you. we’re nothing alike, but i find myself drawn to you anyways. i get mad at you, and i tell you shit, because i care. i care about how you go through this world, and i care about how people treat you. i hate hearing the way people talk about you, ‘saying that you just tear through town causing all sorts of trouble when they don’t know anything about you.” rafe swallowed thickly.

“you don’t think i know that already? rafe, my mom skipped town because she decided that the country life wasn’t what she wanted. she left me and my dad for the city when we both needed her and he tried his best to keep me in line, and look where that got me. I’ve been making my own decisions and getting criticized for it for a long time already, i’ve heard just about everything in the book. hell, i find it strange when i don’t get ugly looks. it’s you who can’t stand that idea.” hearing you acknowledge what he’s been scared of all along tugged at his heartstrings.

“if i want to go around screwing with a sheriff then i’m going to do it without caring about anyone else’s feelings but my own. i can’t even say that i just ‘like’ you because i feel way more for you than that.” you knew what you were saying was basically a confession right now, but you didn’t care. rafe felt his chest threatening to cave in on itself as he watched the way your features softened. you loved him while he had been keeping you at arm’s length at that wasn’t fair. with tension still lingering in the air, rafe was debating on whether or not you’d give him a right hook if he tackled you into a hug right now.

“i know we’re fighting, but come here..” at this, you met his gaze. as much as you wanted to hold a grudge and make him feel what you felt when he introduced you as something you’re not, you needed to feel his arms around you more than anything else. jaw clenching, you stood up and made your way over to where he sat. with hesitant hands, rafe held onto your waist before embracing you and taking you into his lap.

“i’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “i’m gonna work on my own shit, i swear it to you.” you let yourself be fully embraced by him, the smell of his aftershave providing you with an odd sense of comfort. “mhhm..” you hummed, refraining from smiling as best as you could. “no i mean it,” he stared down at you, “but i need you to promise me that you’ll work on cleaning up your act. i can’t follow you around in my patrol car every second of the day.” technically rafe already did that, but you figured you could make some changes too if he was more than willing to do the same.

“fine, but just know this; if you ever call me your niece again, you’re gonna have to throw away the key next time i get sent to the station.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[nadvs]

the power play (part six)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

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Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

════════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

════════

The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[crushmeeren]

in which shouto is a twenty five year old virgin.

“Do I just put it in?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, arching an eyebrow. “Well, I mean yes, technically. But Sho, don’t just shove it in.”

“Oh. Would that hurt?”

“Yes baby, it would definitely hurt. Even if you didn’t have me so turned on.”

Shouto blushes, inching further on his knees between the cradle of your thighs. He takes hold of the base of his cock, stroking once as the tip nudges your pussy. “Like this? Ah,” His breath hitches as the head eases inside.

“Yeah, just like that baby,” you breathe, falling to the bed.

Shouto spreads your thighs wider, rocking with shallow thrusts, cock stretching you slowly. “Fuck,” he moans, voice pitching higher at the end. Close to a whine but not quite. “I didn’t realize your pussy would feel so good.” His hips press tight to your ass as he grinds in small circles. Blunt nails dig harshly into your skin.

“Right,” you say with a breathless laugh. You yelp when he grinds harder, fisting the sheets. “Sex feels amazing. You surprised me, though. Your dick feels bigger than I imagined.”

Shouto’s cock throbs and he squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a cloud of steam. “Please don’t talk like that. I’d rather not embarrass myself this fast.”

You giggle, tugging lightly at his hands, guiding them to the backs of your knees. “That’s okay, Sho. I’ll practice with you anytime you want,” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows.

He laughs. “Even if this is over in two minutes?”

“Promise,” you agree. “Now c’mon my love, fold me like a pretzel. Put that hero strength to use and fuck me.”

Frost creeps up the side of your knee when Shouto draws his hips back halfway, thrusting in smoothly. You moan together.

Shouto’s biceps flex as he pins your knees to your ears.

He lasts for three minutes thank you very much.

heavily influenced by my bestie @dollyfetti ‘s recent shouto post. can be found here.

master list

[ohtobeleah]

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 1of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guys bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author Note: This guy…this fucking guy.. Truly, I could write about him for hours, if not days on end. I love him your honour.

In the practice of medicine, change is inevitable. New surgical techniques are created, and procedures are updated. Levels of expertise increase. Innovation is everything. Nothing remains the same for long, and we either decide to adapt to the change…

Or we get left behind. 

“Sir,” You sighed as you tried your best to have the man in the hospital bed cooperate. “I’m just trying to–” Before you had a chance to finish your sentence, to let the man who’d been brought in during the worst mass casualty event you’d ever worked, that you were just cleaning him up a little in a low period, he was on you like a bad rash. 

“Hel–!” You tried to scream, but two large, bloodied hands wrapped themselves around your throat as the unidentified male, mid-fifties possibly, tackled you to the ground. “H–!” 

*Crack* The sound was jarring. *Crack* The back of your head was repeatedly being slammed into the laminate floor. *Crack* You couldn’t breathe. Your lungs felt like they had been set alight, burning with a deep desire to take in oxygen. 

“Get away from me!” The man yelled as he released one of the hands he had tightly gripped around your neck, only to draw it behind his head and lay a full fist of force against your nose. 

“SECURITY!” You heard Dana shout as she caught sight of the assault happening across the way. She couldn’t tell who it was under the man who’d gone rogue. But it felt too late now…

Everything was a blur. You couldn’t breathe as blood trickled down your throat. The swelling had already begun to take effect. You coughed and rolled onto your side as the man was removed from you in a flurry of blurs. You couldn’t hear the commotion going on around on, but you could see the shadows behind swollen eyes and broken skin. 

“Y/n!?” Robby was the first voice that managed to break through the perpetual ringing. He was just a shadow, mixing with the fluorescent light beaming down on you. “You’re not okay, but you’re gonna be.” You could barely make out what he was saying. If you could, you would’ve panicked at the sheer heaviness in his tone of voice. The worry, the panic that his best friend’s wife had just been attacked. 

“Someone get me Dr. Abbott!” Robbys voice echoed across the entire expanse of the Emergency Room department. Everyone heard the urgent desperation in his voice. Everyone besides Jack…who was someone across the department, elbow deep in saving some guys bowel from needing to be removed. “Tell him it’s his wife!”

Whittaker was the one who dropped what he was doing, albeit not as important as finding Dr. Abbott, but nevertheless, he knew whatever it was that it was bad. Jack hadn’t anticipated one of the new kids to come charging in like it was life or death the way he did. 

“Dr. Abbot! Something happened, you need to come and–” 

“Someone better be dying for you to be taking any of my time away from this man, Whittaker, what is it!?” Jack didn’t shout, nor was it laced with anger. It was a response of pure and total control over the situation. Jack was as calm as they come under crisis. It was just who he was. He saw the solutions in chaos like a puzzle he could put back together. 

“Your wife–” Dennis choked on his own words like he was afraid to deliver bad news. Ironic that delivering bad news to loved ones of patients was a part of the job. “She uh–” 

“She what, Whitaker? My wife, what?” Jack never faltered. He never looked up from where he was working magic. Blood-stained gloves halted to a standstill, however, when the words that left Whittaker’s mouth next knocked the wind right out of Jack’s lungs. 

“She was just attacked, Robby has her in trauma two now, it’s bad, like real bad, sir.”

The air grew thin, the walls began to cave in. Jack Abbot was, on a regular day, as calm as they come under pressure. 

He saved his breakdowns for the roof in the early hours of the morning. He’d spend a few minutes watching as the sun kissed the horizon with a warmth that could only be rivalled by your own. 

He’d hedge his bets, cut his losses and accept what reality had dealt and delivered. All the while continuing all the reasons why he couldn’t take that leap. Always circling back to the most important of all. 

You. 

But when that guiding light is challenged, Jack's body language alters. His normally rigid, ex-military stance softened for a brief moment. 

Jack's heart was breaking. He could feel it being ripped apart inside his chest cavity. The thud of his heart was nearly loud enough to echo off the walls.

“What?” No one had seen Jack Abbot so flustered before. His eyes softened in a moment of what must have looked like weakness. But to Jack, it was love. Pure, that’s my best friend, love. The kind of love that’s deep in your bones, love. The kind of love that haunts you, love. “My, my wife?” 

It was a softness only reserved for you, a side to Jack Abbot that was hidden away behind the safety and security of his own perfectly designed Volt system. His expert ability to compartmentalise only ever falters around you. 

He can’t control it. Jack Abbot had a weakness, an affinity of affection. An addiction to the release of Oxytocin he received whenever you paid him any mind. It had always been like that, a little catch and release. Cat and mouse. Jack loved to watch you walk away because he knew you were always coming back. 

But now…you were hurt. You were hurt, and he was stuck in his own head thinking about the first time he saw you. How you lit up the entire night sky and hung every star just for him to feel comfort in the darkness. 

Your laugh, how it’s the only therapy he’d ever need. The deep cackle that’s not cute, but infectious. You’re like a shot of espresso, keeping Jack on his toes and never allowing him to fall completely off the deep end into permanent geriatric grumpiness. No matter how far he teetered over the edge.

Jack Abbot was just lucky enough to be living in general, but to be living in your world was just the luck of the Anglo-Irish. He wasn’t sure if he could live in a world without you in it. 

The thought consumed his entire being. A world without you. A life without you. What if he never got to hear your voice again? Or tell you how much he fucking loved you. The contrast between the heat of Jack's skin and the coolness of his wedding band resting upon his heart couldn’t have been more stark. 

“Is she—“ Before Jack could ask if you were okay, he was cut off. 

“Go,” Dr. Ellis damn near ordered. “I got this, go.” She reaffirmed as Jack felt her shove him over, there was no extra time that could be wasted. It was all Jack needed to find his centre of gravity again and get a hold of himself. 

His composure.

“Who attacked her?” But as the surge of panic softened, a wave of uncontrollable rage began to boil deep within Jack. His eyes scanned the utter chaos that was the emergency department, searching for whoever it was that had hurt you. “Where are they now?” 

No one gets to hurt Jack Abbots wife and gets to continue breathing. 

“Uhhh—“ Whitaker stammered, unsure of whether he should disclose that information or not. “He’s with security now, behavioural health two.”

It was a deep-rooted, all-consuming need to hook it left and make a B line directly for behavioural health two. Who did this guy think he was? Huh? Attacking people, no…attacking his wife like this? It wouldn’t be without consequence. 

“Dr. Abbot.” 

“This the guy?” Jack asked one of the security guards with a look of rage behind his exhausted eyes. “I need to speak with him?” 

“The cops and McKay are in there with him now.” 

“It wasn’t a request.” Jack snarled as he tried to make his way into the room that held the man who attacked you.

“JACK!” It was Robby who had yelled. “NOW!” You were in a rough way, Jack would tell by the tone in his friend’s voice. 

“Y/n,” Jack whispered to himself as he looked over at trauma two. “Oh, oh no no no no no.” It was a mumble only to himself, but everyone could feel the heaviness that followed Jack Abbot across and through the emergency department chaos. 

Change. We don’t like it, we fear it. But we can’t stop it from coming. We either adapt to change…

Or we get left behind. 

“She needs to be intubated, get her up for a head CT, we’re looking at some major blunt force trauma here, needs–needs burr holls to relieve the intracranial pressure.” 

“Y/n!” Jack barreled in like a hurricane-force wind. “What the actual fuck happened here, man?” 

“She was with a patient, Y/n? Can you hear me? It’s Robinovich here, don’t you make this difficult for me,” Robby spoke through panicked words as he worked on you as fast as he could. “Guy freaked, psychotic episode, probably a bleed on the brain–”

“Ja–” You barely mumbled as blood spilled from your mouth. Jack heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear as he made his way to your side. His hand was immediately in yours as he made sure to be aware of his spatial awareness as his colleagues worked on you. 

“I’m right here,” Jack cooed as he took in the sight of your face. Beaten, bloodied and bruised. “You’re okay, I’m right here, just hang on for me, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

“I, love–” You were in and out of consciousness, fighting against the pull of whatever it was threatening to pull you away from the surface. 

“Pulse is thready, she’s crashing,” someone announced as all the bells and whistles sounded off at once. You were indeed crashing, right in front of Jack. 

“Sweetheat? You stay with us, you hear me?” Jack was feeling the panic creep up his spine again. “Are you shitting me? What the hell do you think you’re doing being alone with a patient like that?” Jack knew if you were listening, you would have jabbed him back. Of all people to be giving you a lecture on hospital protocol, it shouldn’t have been him. 

You called him a Cowboy for a reason.

“If you die on me, i’m gonna be so fucking screwed here Y/n, get your shit together,” It was Jacks love language. “Robby, get her back!” 

He kept searching for some sort of eye contact, that deep-rooted ability of his that you at times often regarded as his superpower. That intense gaze, the one able to break through anything and reach your very soul. 

But Jack couldn’t see you through you, he couldn’t see anything but the blood that covered your beautiful face. The face he dreamed of at night, when all was said and done, and there was nothing left to do. 

“Working on it, someone get me neuro, NOW!” 

“O.R. is prepped and ready upstairs.” 

“Okay, let’s get her stable and on the move.” 

“I’m coming.” 

“Like fuck you are, brother,” Robby sighed, never missing a beat as he continued to stabilise his best friends wife. The love of his life.”You can watch from observation, but you can’t be in the O.R., hospital policy we—“

“Don’t work on family, I’m not, I’m telling you I’m—“

“If we can’t get her back, you’ll be in there, let me get her back, I’ve got her.” It was a promise Robby shouldn’t have made. But he knew you and he knew you well enough to know that this was not your exit music moment. 

Jack simply held his lips into a tight line of silent panic. He never let go of your hand, opting to walk you all the way to surgery. 

“Wait,” He begged right before the double doors automatically opened on your arrival. Everyone stopped moving as Jack leaned in to whisper something in your ear. “If you die on me so help me god, I’m walking right up to that roof for the last time and you damn well know it, don’t do this to us,” Jack begged. “I love you with all that I am and have.” He said one final time before letting go of your hand. Grazing across your wedding band as he let you go. 

“Let’s move people!” Someone beside your side yelled as all Jack could do was stand still, as you were wheeled away from him. 

“Oh god,” It was immediate, the sudden feeling of sickness. The wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. The nearest fake plant was the best course of action. With one hand on the wall in front of him, Jack emptied the contents of his stomach. It wasn’t much, mainly stomach bile, but the sentiment remained the same. “Fuckk-.” 

The thought of losing you made Jack Abbot's stomach churn. 

It hurts to adapt to change; anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. It’s utter bullshit. But change is inevitable, good or bad. It haunts us like ghosts of our former past. It can taunt us like a small child who thinks you’re having the time of your life. 

But when change is brought about, it’s better to adapt than deny that it's happening in the first place. 

—----------------------

There’s a reason surgeons learn to wield scalpels. They liked to pretend that their hard, cold scientists. They like to pretend that they’re fearless. But the truth is, people become surgeons because somewhere, deep down, they think they can cut away that of which haunts them. 

Weakness, frailty…death. 

Jack woke with a stark jolt. He was sweating, running a fever. The darkness was all-consuming as he tried to gain his bearings. He was in bed. The bed he shared with you.

“Christ,” Jack sighed to himself as he laid on his back in the middle of the night. A hand ran down his face as he collected his thoughts. That had been one of the most intense nightmares, one of the most realistic ones, he’d ever had. 

“Something tells me he had you on do not disturb.” Jack heard you mumble from beside him, wrapped up in a mess of covers and sheets. “Probably, don’t think that guys ever paid much mind to me, has he, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t respond, Jack frowned. You were just talking. Were you talking in your sleep? But you were talking directly to him.

“Y/n, you awake?” It was a question laced with hope. Jack hoped you were. He couldn’t stop thinking about your bloodied face in his nightmare. The way you lay there, lifeless, not breathing. “Hey, c’mere for a minute.” Jack nearly begged as he slowly but surely moved closer to where you were in the bed you shared together. 

With a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder, Jack maneuvered you from where you were lying on your side to your back. It was then he realised he was still in a living hell. 

“Remember?” Was all you said as blood spilled out of your mouth and down your chin. A bloodied smile was permanently seared into Jack's memory as pure horror washed over him. “You couldn’t protect me, you couldn’t save me. What’s the point of being married to a doctor if you can’t save my life?” 

“No, no this isn’t real,” Jack tried to reason with his mind as he hovered over your now lifeless body in the bed you shared. “Stay with me, sweetheart, stay with me!!” 

But you didn’t move, you were lifeless and cold. So fucking cold. 

“Jack?” He heard through a whisper, a mumbled distance away, “Jack?” There it was again. This time, though, a hand on his shoulder accompanied the male voice, coaxing him back to reality. “Jack, wake up, bother.” 

With a jolt, Jack was waking from where he’d fallen asleep. Right beside you with his head on the spot beside your hand. His in yours. His back ached like no tomorrow, but his hips hurt the worst. 

“I must’ve fallen asleep.” Jack sighed as he tried to regain his composure. The thought of you dead beside him in bed had rocked him to his very core. But it was always the same dream ever since you were attacked. 

I could hear you screaming from the second I stepped out of the elevator,” Robby sighed as he checked your vitals. All the signs pointed to good news. “Have you spoken to your therapist about all this yet?” he asked with a frown of concern from above his glasses. 

“Nope,” Jack explained as he let out a sigh and stretched out in the chair he was sitting on. “Can’t bear to bring it up, might jinx her.” 

“Well, the swelling is mostly stable, she’s regaining strength, and her pulse ox is great, the only thing keeping her under right now is, well, her,” Robby shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s gonna wake up, man.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. He let the silence linger in the air. He watched your steady heartbeat on the monitor. He eyed off your vitals, the way your chest rose and fell with every breath you took unassisted. He was still on edge, but was able to talk himself through it. 

He’d watched you recover over the last week since the attack. Jack hadnt left the hospital once. He’d become what he hated most. A border. But he couldn't bring himself to leave even just for a few minutes. Not when you were here. 

It took a village. Dana had organised someone to collect all the essentials Jack and yourself might need during your stay. The house was probably a mess and the content of the fridge was well past used by, but that wasn't important right now. 

He’d stay here beside you watching you heal. Watching you get stronger. Watching you slowly come back to him like Robby had promised. But no one had any idea how you would react when you finally woke up. There was worry of mental deficits from the head trauma. But Jack knew you well enough to know you were a real fighter. 

He finally knew what it was like for you when he’d lost his leg. A part of him he’d never get back. Jack wondered if you'd feel the same way after, if a part of you died that day. He was anticipating it really. The onset of depression post traumatic events. The PTSD that would haunt you like a ghost. The sleepless nights. The recklessness. The suicidal tendencies. All of it, he knew about it and was prepared for it. 

Only difference is you weren’t. But boy were you a fast learner. And oh boy did Jack understand the other side of it now. How it felt to watch the person you love suffer so much. 

“Here,” Again Robby's voice broke Jack out of his trance-like thinking state. “Drink this, eat this, don’t argue,” A juice box lands in Jack's lap, so did a half eaten sandwich. He looks up at his friend, perplexed…but already knows the answer. “I ate the other half in the elevator.” Robby still explains. 

“Thanks.” Is all Jack has left in him to say. He’s exhausted, but won't say that out loud. Won't admit it to anyone but himself. Robby can see it written in the lines on Jack's face. He can see it in the growth of his facial hair, the bags under his eyes. 

“Have a shower before she starts to stir,” It's one of the last thing Robby says before he leaves. “You look and smell like shit, she’s probably not waking up just to be polite you know.” He doesn't wait for an answer, but as he leaves and heads down the corridor back to the elevator, he knows Jack is smiling behind him. Shaking his head. 

“You would do that, wouldn't you?” Jack sighed, popping the straw into the small juice box. The sugar is a much needed relief for the man running on empty. 

It isn't just surgeons, the truth is, Jack didn't know anyone who wasn't haunted by something…or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet…

Our efforts usually fail. 

—-------------------------------------

Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. He went into medicine for the rush…for the high…for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. What he lies awake at night, replaying is the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

“One slight gust and you’d be done for, you know?” Jack knew it was you the second he heard the approaching footsteps. 

“What are you doing up here?” Jack replied, all the while he still had his hands tucked away in his pockets. 

“Oh, I dunno,” You sighed as you ducked under the railing. Coming to stand close to but not close enough to where your husband stood. “Heard some lunatic was up on the roof, didn’t take much for me to realise that the lunatic in question was probably my repeat offender.” You rubbed your hands over your face like you’d had enough of today. Coaxing your husband off the ledge of the roof was not something you had on your bingo card for today. “What are you doing up here, Abbot?” 

It was a loaded question, but a question that deserved a genuine response nevertheless. Jack shrugged, unable to look his wife in the eye for once. Something he was really fucking good at doing. 

“Guy lost his leg in a car accident.” You didn’t need much more than that, but Jack continued. You didn’t interrupt. “My call to amputate, we weren’t gonna be able to save it.” You could feel the heaviness weighing on your husband’s heart as he explained what led him to the roof. “Pains been unbearable ever since.” 

You didn’t speak, you didn’t respond, but you sure knew what you had to do. There was a deeper meaning behind the reason Jack made you carry a pocket knife with you. One that wasn’t permitted by the hospital. You casually reached into your back pocket to reveal the small pocket knife. 

“You know, a wise man once told me that you find comfort in darkness,” You said as you knelt down carefully and knew back your arm with just enough force that the blade of your knife would pierce the titanium foot of your husband’s prosthetic leg. “There, should start to feel some slight relief soon.” 

Jack sighed. It never worked when he did it himself. Nor did it work if he knew it was coming. It had to be spontaneous, quick and off guard. You did just that.

“I needed that more than you know.” It was another way of saying ‘I love you’ But you already knew that. 

“Oh trust me, I knew, otherwise we wouldn't be up here standing on the edge of a building.” Jack knew you were right. You knew him better than he knew himself most days. 

That’s why you were his wife. His life partner. His better half. 

Jack let a moment of silence pass the two of you by as you moved to stand beside him once again, both watching the sun gently kiss the horizon. He raised an arm up and over your shoulders. Drawing you close to his side as he left a gentle, but meaningful, kiss to your temple. 

He adored you, far more than you would ever know. Jack was thankful for the way you left the knife in his foot. The more he looked down at it sticking out of his prosthetic, the more the pain alleviated. The more the tendencies subsided.

“You’re pretty good at this comfort thing, you know.” He prayed the roles were never reversed, was there a version of Jack that could offer the same kind of comfort, strength and grace that you could? 

“Comes with the territory,” Was all you said as you let your head against Jack's shoulder. “But seriously, we should totally get down before you spiral again.”  You bumped Jack's hip with your own. He smirked.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack teased as he kissed your temple once more. Choosing to leave with you via the stairs rather than over the edge. 

As the warmth of the water cascaded down Jack's exposed body, he stood leaning against the wall. Prosthetic leaning against the doorframe. He needed a moment. 

The scent of your body wash adorned him, using the toiletries you hadn’t had a chance to use yourself yet. Sure, Jack had kept you as clean as you could be during your stay, but wet wipes weren’t the same as your black plum and vanilla scented everything. 

Your wedding ring hung around his dog tags, right next to his. Robby had taken it off before surgery. It had become Jack's comfort blanket. To thumb at the circular silver ring. 

But as the steam threatened to allow Jack's muscles to relax, he heard it…the warning alerts. 

“No,” He gasped. Panic rose inside his chest as he fumbled to switch the water off and wrap the towel around his midsection. Fuck a shirt, this was a hospital and everyone knew basic anatomy. “No, this cannot be happening—not now.“ 

The sight that Jack saw when he stepped out of the bathroom was nothing short of horrific. There you were, surrounded by doctors and nurses alike. Some Jack knew, some he didn't. But they all shared a common goal… 

Avoiding the experience that is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Part Two: Coming Soon. Please leave me something to encourage that to come sooner :)

[mochamvgz]

don't tell me that it's gone

; sunghoon comes home after walking out during and argument to find you asleep on the couch.

; park sunghoon x fem!reader

; genre: angst, hurt/comfort, est. rel., can be read as idol or non idol au

; warnings: mentions of neglect, mention of an argument, crying, indirect mention of blood

; 0.5k words

; tags: @sobun1est @kbookshelf

you were staring at the wall of your living room, hugging a cushion to your chest even though it provided little comfort. your phone lay beside you but your lock screen didn't light up with a text or call or anything from sunghoon. the two of you had gotten into a fight that had ended with him walking out to cool off.

when you first started your relationship, you had agreed to make time for each other despite your busy schedules and yet… lately it seemed as though he wasn't even trying. you had started to feel like you weren't a priority to him, like you didn't matter, because that was the message his actions were sending.

you had finally brought it up to him that evening only for him to get defensive and call you needy, and then proceed to slam the door on his way out.

you had slumped on the couch, utterly defeated, and cried every tear you had in you. now, all that remained was numbness, exhaustion, and worst of all, longing.

unable to fight it any longer, you let your eyelids close and retreated to a dreamless slumber.

—

sunghoon opened the door as quietly as he could, careful not to break the silence that hung heavily in the apartment. seeing you curled up on the couch, without the crease between your brows that he had grown so accustomed to of late, something in his chest loosened.

you were there.

he hadn't lost you just yet.

he held onto that sliver of hope, letting himself believe it wasn't too late.

he stood there for a while, then sighed and stalked over to you silently. sunghoon tenderly brushed your hair out of your face and removed the cushion from your arms. he gently slid his arms under your knees and lower back, picking you up bridal style as he carried you to your bedroom.

you made a faint sound and curled closer to him in your sleep, seeking his warmth. sunghoon resisted the urge to coo.

he set you down on your bed sat on the other side of it, observing the dried tear stains on your cheeks, your puffy eyes that he knew would be bloodshot if you opened them right now, the red crescent indents littered across your palms from where you had dug your fingernails. he felt like the biggest idiot in the world—no—the universe.

you stirred lightly. he stiffened beside you as you started to speak.

“you know, if you're tired of me-”

a finger pressed on your lips, cutting you off. you opened your eyes just a crack, sunghoon was violently shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut, refusing to even entertain that possibility. he didn't know such thoughts were all you had known for the past few weeks.

“no. never.”

“sunghoon-”

he visibly flinched. his name sounded foreign on your lips after hearing you call him nicknames and sweet terms of endearment, though they may have been silly at times.

“stop. no. i love you, only you, always you.”

he slipped his hand into yours, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“i'll do a better job of showing it, i promise.”

you nodded. you didn't say it was okay or that you forgave him, because it wasn't, and you didn't, not yet anyway. instead, you patted the pillow beside you, inviting him to lie down, which he did.

; a/n: *collective gasp*! cinny is alive! who would've thought??

© mochamvgz on tumblr | all rights reserved | do not plagiarise, repost, or translate

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro feels guilty leaving this time.

You’re expected to deliver your twins any day next week, and he’s expected to fly across the country for a charity event he really can’t even think straight for. You've assured him you'll be fine, his sister is more than capable of taking care of you while he's gone, but there's a pit in his stomach about the idea of leaving you.

But you send him anyways. With a kiss on his cheek and a promise to call him every day (if he had it his way, it would be every hour, but you wouldn't go for it).

The trip goes smooth enough, and he's grateful for you staying true to your word and calling him every night. It does make the time pass, you're safe, but he's more than eager to make it home to you.

He practically pushes his teammates out the door, he's the first one on the bus, his knee bounces anxiously the entire time- especially when the bus driver makes a wrong turn into straight construction, thrusting them in traffic for far, far too long without any service.

But you won't call him, right? Why would you, you've called him at night every day he's been here, and nothing of note has happened (not that that’s a negative to Rintaro, he’d rather your days be mundane and boring than active in your pregnancy).

His heart finally starts again once they pull into the airport parking lot, all of the teammates trying to not be annoyed at the events of the morning and trying to stay focused on the next steps of boarding the plane in a few hours.

Rintaro sighs, slipping his phone out and immediately calling you, not taking notice of just how many notifications bombarded his phone.

The line ring once, twice, and his shoulders relax as you finally pick up the phone. "Rin?" You ask, and you sound like you're in discomfort. But he merely brushes it off. You are very pregnant, after all, surely discomfort is normal.

"Hey babe, just got service from being in the bus, we've got a nasty delay because the fuck-head made us miss our fucking flight, so I might be home later than expected-"

“Rin, I'm in labor.”

Silence fills the line.

“No you’re not,” he says simply.

“As much as I would love to be kidding, I’m not. I’m 10 centimeters, babe.”

How you’re so calm right now, is beyond him.

Him, on the other hand, leaps up with absolute panic, a screechy “WHAT?” echoing through the airport. It catches more than a few looks from other people, but all Rin can think about is you.

You in the hospital, legs up in stirrups and gown being the only thing adorning your body. There's probably nurses and doctors everywhere, and Kaiya and Akito on the couch at home with his mother, waiting for the news.

"WHEN?"

"My water broke a few hours ago, got to the hospital with your sister and now they're getting ready for me to push. Your timing truly is impeccable."

“And you thought now was the best time to tell me?!”

“I tried to tell you earlier, but you had no service!” You defend.

Fuck, he could scalp the bus driver for getting fucking lost.

"okay, okay, okay lets calm down-"

You snort, "yeah I'll get right on that."

"Please, for everything unholy, don't joke right now," he pleads, and he hears you offer him a laughy 'sorry' on your end of the line. "Are you okay? Do you feel okay?"

"Well I don't feel particularly good, for all intents and purposes." You direct your attention to something else and he hears bustling in the background, "Rin I have to start pushing. Stay on the line.”

"No! Wait for me, I'll-"

"Yeah I'm not waiting for you," you snip. “I'll... be fine. Just stay on the call okay? For me?

Rintaro tries not to pass out as you start pushing, doctors encouragement coming through on the line, followed with your grunts of agony as you try to bring your two new babies into the world. He knows you’re strong, you don’t need him there, but there’s something deep inside of him that hurts at the idea that you don’t, he’s so close yet no where near close enough to be right there next to you, and he anxiously looks around him as he tries to find a private place for him to cheer you on, call your name, scream it, his soul in agony over something he has no control over.

It could be four minutes or four hours, rintaro has no idea as you finally scream in agony as a small wail breaks over the line, one akin to Akito and Kaiya’s as the two of them entered the world all those years ago.

“Beautiful!” His sister cheers, “just a bit more for Sachiko sis, you’ve got this!”

“No more,” you weakly whimper over the line, and Rintaro tears up as he chews on his thumb.

“Baby,” he chokes, “you’ve got this, okay? You can do this, I’m right here.”

“No you’re not!” You scream.

“Yes I am! I’m right here okay? I’m not going anywhere!”

“Rin I need you-“

“And I’m right here. I promise. Just close your eyes, I’m there, okay?”

Hes not there. He knows you know that. But right now, he can’t feel sorry for himself. He goes silent and listens to the bustling of the doctors and nurses preparing to bring Sachiko into the world, and rintaro has no clue how long it’s been before you’re ready to push again.

“Ready, momma?” He asks, and you let out a sob.

“Im so tired, Rin.”

“One more big push okay?” He chokes. “Push!”

And you do. You let out another shriek as you start to push, rintaro can practically see your legs tremble and face scrunch and throat tight as you let out another blood curdling cry, and before he can think, another set of crying fills the line.

His twins are here.

And he’s not.

“Good job, angel!” He hoots.

“She did so good, Rintaro,” his sister assures.

“I know she did,” he says, hand clutching his heart.

“They’re so handsome Rin,” You babble, and instantly, Rintaro’s face drops. “Such beautiful boys, they're so sweet, so handsome…”

Boys?

Oh fuck. Rintaro briefly thinks back at all the purples and pinks in the closet at home.

Immediately, Rin tries to conjure up an excited tone, squealing out a soft “boys?” in confirmation.

“She’s messing with you," his sister snickers. You’re laughing exhaustedly too, among your sniffles of agony and above the screaming of the newest twin.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he says, breathless and his chuckles easing out.

“You've got new baby girls, Rintaro," his sister coos.

“We got them, boys!” He announces, causing an uproar of cheers to come from his teammates. He feels his heart sink to his stomach as his throat begins to swell. “I’m so proud of you baby… my good girls.”

“They’re so beautiful, Rin. So beautiful," you cry.

He sits on his suitcase and tries to imagine them, desperately, tiny hands pawing at the air, crying at the newness of the bright light and the world…

All without him. He’s not there.

“Who was born first?” He chokes, desperate to keep his voice steady. It was a complete tossup with the names, whoever was out first or second is precisely how the names would fall. But he just needs you to keep talking to him.

You understand, and you answer shakily, “Sachie,” you sigh. “Sachiko was 20 minutes later.”

“Late; just like momma.”

“Watch it.”

He chuckles around a flood of tears, a hand coming up to bring his hand up to cover his face. Hot, bubbled tears slip down to roll over his thick fingers, trying to stay composed in the airport that’s bustling with too many people.

“Im so proud of you,” he chokes, eyes screwing shut. Not long after, a massive hand claps down on his shoulder, Komori’s eyes flickering with understanding and apology. He’s got nothing to apologize for, but Rintaro takes the kindness regardless and puts a free hand on top of his to squeeze the emotions out. “My amazing girl. Fuck, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Rin, I have to go,” you say, and he hears the gruff voice of the doctor. “I love you so much. Come home safe, you’re no use to me dead.”

“Okay, princess,” he sighs shakily, burying his face in Komori’s stomach to cry. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

He’s 99% sure he should be saying that to you, and not you to him. But regardless.

He waits for the line to die before taking the phone from his ear, blinking up at Komori with absolute heaviness in his heart.

“I should’ve been there,” he whimpers.

“You couldn’t control it, buddy.”

“But I should’ve been there. Not three cities over for some charity that I don't even care about."

It doesn’t matter the assurances Komori could try to pass him. It doesn’t matter that you’re okay, you’re strong and you don’t need him in this moment.

He should’ve been there to squeeze your hand, watch his two babies come into this world with you, kiss your forehead and whisper loving words in your ear.

And he couldn’t manage even that.

[solmire]

Deaf!Gojo mourns his life before car crash.

He tries his best not to show it, especially to you. He knows he has every right to regret everything he missed during being able to hear, but you don’t deserve to watch him breaking apart, after all, this car accident brought you two together.

Satoru misses his favourite songs, tv shows, anime. But mostly he regrets not knowing how your voice sounds.

Sometimes you can reflexively start talking, forgetting that he lost ability to capture what you are trying to say. Satoru doesn’t stop just watches how your lips move with every word and sadness starts growing deeper in his chest.

He tries his best not to think very much of it, but the way the voice inside his head keeps stumbling over the words, the spelling is falling apart and he might forgot how some words are pronounced and heard, it’s all leaving him to suffer in the loneliness of his soul, watching how life keeps going without him, as if he is locked in the room full of mirrors and all that was left for him was to watch his suffering reflected in hundred mirrors.

‘Satoru, is everything okay?’ You signed during a dinner with him in your dorm. It’s an evening outside the window. The sun is slowly setting, and you notice how the rays of the sun are reflected in his eyes, the glow of his skin because of the sun shows his beauty in a full potential, scars are playing the role of accessories in his skin making him look younger than he is.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” Satoru is accustomed to use voice while communicating with you. Sometimes he might miss the volume of his speech or the words are too slurred to understand. But you understand him. Always.

‘You aren’t even paying attention to our dialogue! Does your head hurts? Maybe we need to see your doctor?’ You signed, this time also saying every sentence out loud.

“Do you regret being with me?” His posture started to change. Satoru doesn’t meet your eyes, keeps scratching something on your floor, he moves his legs closer to his torso, silently putting his hoodie over his knees. Eyes are glued to the hole on your floor, as if it has all answers to his questions.

You are not sure what to say sign, especially when he’s not looking at you. So that’s why you are moving closer to him, lifting his chin up so he has no choice but to look straight at your eyes.

Satoru is waiting for you to sign something, but instead you move even closer to his face, noses slightly brushing, and his lips are parted waiting for your next step.

And you don’t let him wait too long, making your way to his lips. The kiss is full of immaturity and inexperience, even though it’s not your first kiss, every time it feels like it is.

Satoru puts down his knees, pushing you right onto his lap. Hands are trembling because of the overstimulation he is going through.

Everything is too much for him. Your scent takes over his olfactory receptors, as if trying to enter his bloodstream and circulate throughout his body, making it think that you are the only thing he is allowed to have in life. And he doesn’t mind it.

Lack of air lead you both to pull away. You feel the heat on your face, fingers slightly shaking be the intensity of emotions. ‘Satoru, there will never be a day, when I regret being with you. You are my love, my everything, and I will do anything for you. I love you’.

You watch how your vulnerability reflects with his in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say anything but nothing is coming out. Therefore, he is going to sign something back, but he doesn’t do it either. Instead he pulls you in a tight hug.

“I believe you, my love. I love you too”.

And none of you question the lie he is trying to pass off as the truth. You just hug him back fighting the urge to cry. Not here, not when he is watching. He holds you tightly trying to help not to fall apart because of the damage he caused.

You know the ending you are going to get.

masterlist first second

Oh my goood, it’s almost 4am in my town. I am suffering from sickness an I need to prepare for my finals. I will proofread it in the morning, sorry my lovely readers.

[iamthatonefangirl]

grumpy x sunshine but filthy smut where reader is just his wittle baby :( loves and does anything for her and she’s the same for bucky

baby - nsfw bucky barnes

this might be the softest smut I've ever written in my life. totally got away from me.

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji, I'd love to hear more from you 🤍)

~~~

you're wrapped up in his arms, the lights dimmed low. the soft, warm luminescence from the lamp makes you glow like an angel, he thinks.

you are an angel. you have to be, because how could you be real?

you are ethereal, a beam of joy and happiness for him in a world that is otherwise nothing but a void of endless nothingness and despair. you can do absolutely no wrong in his eyes; he'll defend and protect you until the day that he dies.

he's got you in his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso to keep you close. you dangle your arms over his shoulders, lazily wrapping them around his neck.

your foreheads are pressed softly together, the act so intimate and full of love it makes you feel like you’re one.

he's just barely moving you back and forth, keeping you oh so close to him while you moan lowly at the pressure of him buried inside you.

he breathes in your scent, just feeling the way you make his whole body soar with love and the surge of happiness that runs through him like a never-ending jolt of electricity.

~~~

when you met him, you were told to expect the worst. you were briefed that he doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't leave his apartment except for work, etc. you were mentally prepared for the antisocial homebody you had been forewarned about, but you weren't nervous. you would just be yourself and hope for the best.

but when you met him, he wasn't staring at you like everyone said he would. yes, he was staring at you, but not with the rage of a thousand suns like you anticipated. his eyes were wide open in... curiosity?

he was shy, but he shook your hand no problem.

internally, he was a wreck. he was melting just from seeing your smile, something that had never happened to him before. he was stunned into silence. sure, he never really made the effort to speak to anyone else anyways, but you?

how was he supposed to talk to a pretty girl like you?

he would only embarrass himself, or look like a pathetic loser, or maybe you had made your decision about him before you met him. maybe you already hated him, and he didn't even stand a chance.

he knew how his demeanor came off; he didn't care what people thought of him. ideally, they wouldn't perceive him at all. the dream life would be to work, stay in the shadows, and never have to speak to another soul again.

but you... god, you were just something else. he wanted to say more to you than he had, he wanted to prove to you that he was more than the angry, people-loathing person everyone else probably told you he was.

after your first meeting, he felt a fool. he blubbered and stuttered like an idiot, and Sam smacked his shoulder and chuckled as you walked away. he scowled at him and stalked off, as usual.

he was just a hateful person. no reason for you to think he could be more than that.

~~~

"you're so pretty, sweetheart," he whispers to you, taking in the sight in front of him. your eyes are shut so softly, relishing in the way he's making such gentle love to you. it's almost sickening how sweet the scene is.

he brings a flesh hand to your cheek, cradling your face in his palm. brings new meaning to "his whole world in the palm of his hand."

"oh, baby," you mumble to him, moving your hips against him a little, neediness taking over your mind. "Bucky, baby, my baby..."

"come on," he whispers. with your eyes closed, you don't see the way his face pinks up. "I'm not a baby. you are my baby," he says, adjusting his grip on you, keeping his hands pressed against your soft skin. his fingertips dip into your flesh ever so softly, making sure not to hurt you. he'd go to the ends of the earth to protect you, rip out anyone's spine for you...

"but you are my baby," you whisper back to him, eyes still shut. your voice is a soft whine as you slowly move back and forth. "you’re my baby, Bucky. my baby, my Bucky, all mine..."

your words send him into a spiral. him? your baby? he's fucked.

"would... would you say it again?" he says, so low in the back of his throat, the words are barely audible.

"you're my baby," you repeat, and he somehow pulls you even closer, as if you're not already as close together as humanly possible.

"and you’re mine, sweetheart,” he tells you as he begins to move you both, still keeping you pressed tightly against him as he lays you on your back and begins to move his hips between yours so slowly and perfectly. “god, I love you,” he breathes.

you let out a soft little cry. "shh, pretty baby, I'm here," he says to you, his tone just a little higher, the way it shifts only around you. "you know I'm here. I'll always be here. just let me take care of you, my baby.”

~~~

every time you spoke to him him after your initial meeting, he felt like his entire reality was warped. time seemed to speed up, moving way too fast whenever he got the chance to speak to you. it was never enough time.

he found himself smiling, even blushing around you. everyone else was shocked, wondering if the man was on drugs or something with the way he seemed to perk up around you.

but no, no drugs.

you lit up something in his soul that he didn't know was possible.

no matter how scared he was, how convinced he was that you were going to say no, he knew he cared too much about you to not make the effort. he was so deeply in love with you to not ask you.

and if you said no, he would deal with it the same way he dealt with everything else: by pretending he didn't care and falling deeper into his hatred for the world.

lucky for the both of you, when he asked you out, you said "yes!" with a vibrant smile and a small spring in your step. he thought he would never be happier than he was in that moment.

oh, but he was wrong. that moment when he got down on one knee, and saw the way your face lit up in pure delight and excitement as you exclaimed, "yes, yes, yes!" over and over again?

that was the happiest moment of his life.

~~~

he reaches down to where your hands are now interlaced, running his fingers over the metal band on your ring finger. he proceeds to bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles, to the permanent mark he's now left on your skin, forever.

a beautiful diamond for the most beautiful girl in the world.

having you, here, under him. it's the biggest privilege of his life to call you his, and he's going to spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he deserves to have you.

"you feelin' good, baby?" he whispers to you, cupping your face in his hand once more. "tell me what you need. anything at all, it's yours."

you shake your head. "it's perfect, baby..." you whine, lifting your hips to meet his.

"you ready for me to make you come, baby?" he asks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yes, please, James," you ask him, and he brings his lips to your neck.

"no need for pleas, baby, I'm gonna give you everything you want for the rest of our lives."

he moves your legs to wrap around his waist and kisses your neck up to your jaw, doubling down on his efforts as he fucks you so sweetly.

"that's my girl. my baby, my fiance," he whispers as though he's speaking to himself. "you're doing so well, babydoll. come for me."

your legs tighten around his waist, trapping his hips against yours as you bear down and reach your release with a cry of his name.

"so beautiful, that's it, baby," he whispers, holding you through it.

"I love you, James," you whisper as you find your breath again.

"oh, baby, you'll never know how much I love you. how much you've changed my life for the better. how afraid I am of the feelings I have for you... and how I'd rather die than run away from the feeling, no matter how much it scares me."

your eyes well up with tears of joy, and he wipes them away with a soft brush of his thumb.

"I'm yours, forever, babydoll," he whispers, and leans in to kiss you like the world depends on it.

because it does. you are his world.

~~~

who am I and what have I done with horny bri. I guess I'm a softie now

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[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: a quiet afternoon with dr. abbot.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower and mentions of his ex wife, it is mention that reader and her mom talk often. please let me know if i missed anything. minors DNI.

note: more of a filler chapter(i’ll consider this 6.5 instead of 7 LOL)!!! just a little look inside them, and we will definitely be seeing more soon!!! jack and reader will meet each others moms next chapter!! also, thinking about doing more drabbles set in this universe, like the proposal, is there anything specific you guys want to see?? unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 960ish

prev next

Over the past eight weeks, you’ve just about changed Jack Abbot’s entire life.

He goes to a farmers market on Saturday’s, brunch on Sunday’s with your friends, actually eats decent meals and gets a good night's rest at least three nights a week.

Also, he’d never admit it outloud to anyone, but he’s pretty invested in Vanderpump Rules.

Currently, he’s got your feet in his lap while he reads a medical journal, one hand massaging your ankle. Every once in a while, he glances up at you to watch as you knit what he thinks is supposed to be a sweater.

Ever since finding out the gender of the baby almost a month ago, you’d been determined to at least make something for the baby to wear. You got good at knitting surprisingly quickly, and so far have made three hats, two pairs of socks, and started a blanket.

You’ve got your bottom lip tightly tucked into your teeth as you concentrate on the yarn in your hands, and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching over and gently thumbing it out from between your teeth.

Finally, he thinks to himself when you’re wide eyes meet his.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.” He gestures to your swelling bottom lip as you lick it.

“Sorry,” You let out a small giggle, “I didn’t even notice.”

He nods, hand going back to your ankle, “I figured.”

As he starts reading again, you take the time to watch him, head cocking to the side as you smile.

This hasn’t been so bad.

Sure, it’s been an interesting and difficult situation for both of you. But you like to believe that it could be worse.

He could’ve just not cared. Ignored you and went on with his life. Or pressured you into an abortion you didn’t want.

He could’ve done what he could to just take the baby the second she’s here.

But he really surprised you. He’s been so supportive and so good to you. It’s shocking, in all honesty.

You both feel a lot of guilt, though.

You think you’ve stuck him with you. That he’s only here out of obligation.

He thinks he’s ruined your life.

You work through it all, somehow. You talk him off his ledge more than he talks you off of yours, but you can tell when it’s eating at him more than he can with you.

Or so you think.

Jack likes to think he knows you pretty well despite the timeline of things.

He spends as much time as he can with you. Soaking up every moment of something he didn’t even think he ever wanted. Holds your hair back when you get sick. Rubs your back and feet when you ache. Tries some of the most interesting food combinations he’s ever heard of, some of which are better than others.

Fucks you when you’re insatiable and want him more than anything.

He isn’t quite sure it’s love yet, but he knows it’s on its way there.

He’s loved before. Hell he loved someone enough to marry her, but couldn’t love her enough to give her what you’re giving him.

Another source of guilt for him- one that he’s completely bared to you.

You didn’t know what to say, when he told you about what ate at him most. Why he couldn’t figure out what brought on the need, the desire, to do this with you, but he couldn’t even bring himself to try with her.

You just listen, rub his back, and whisper in his ear that some things just happened for a reason.

He appreciates you and the the way you just let him talk. Or just let him sit with you in silence. Whatever he needs, you somehow manage to give him.

One of the more recent favorites of his is when you take a bath. He can sit up against the cabinets under the vanity with a beer in his hand while you sit and talk about your day, things you want to do for the baby, or just read.

Life is more peaceful with you than he thinks it ever has been.

He glances back over at you, and sees the look in your eyes.

A look he knows all too well will result in him doing something he doesn’t exactly want to do.

“Spit it out, honey.”

You smile at the sound of his voice when he calls you honey.

“I was talking to my mom yesterday,” You trail off as he closes the journal he’s been reading and turns his body all toward you.

“Well?”

Jack knew your mom knew the basics, much like his own family did. How you got pregnant. How you met him. His age.

He knew that the last one had her concerned. Extremely.

The two of you talk most days, and she always gets distant when asking about the baby. Something about it makes him slightly uneasy.

“She’s coming to Pittsburgh next week. Wants us all to get together,” You look down, fidgeting with your fingers, “wants to meet you.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making unease crawl up your chest.

It was a bad idea to bring it up.

“How do you feel about that?”

He sounds calm and collected, surprising you yet again.

“I mean, you are the father of her grandchild.”

You finally look back up at him, eyes meeting.

He sighs, shaky, “Is that all I am?”

You tilt your head to the side, “You tell me.”

It’s quiet for another beat before he shakes his head as he brings one of his palms to cradle your jaw.

“It’s only fair if you have to meet my mom, too.”

You laugh, nodding lightly before kissing his palm.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

He lets out a huff as he kisses the side of your head, “It’s a deal, then.”

[abbotsanatomy]

heyyyyyyyyyyyyy are requests open by any chance 🥹 if yes i would love love love a chef!reader x jack and it’s a regular occurrence for her to visit and drop off food BUT but one day she comes in and she’s like i may have sliced something……. THANK YOU you’re my fave blog rn this jack hyperfixation needs to leave my body or else i’ll go crazy💋

⨳ TODAY'S SPECIAL

pairing: jack abbot x chef!reader warnings: depiction of injury and surgical procedure, intentional medical inaccuracies (for the plot :p). not beta'd! author's note: such a fun idea! so honored to be feeding the jack abbot craze

On today's dinner menu was supposed to be roasted rack of lamb, smothered in a rosemary-infused butter, with garlicky oven-baked potatoes. Key word: supposed.

Your carefully curated ritual of making dinner for Jack and bringing it to his work was interrupted by you accidentally slicing your thumb half off. It's what you get for not sharpening your knives when they needed to be sharpened, last week.

Now, you're on the way to the ER for an entirely different reason. You've got your good hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on your leg, with a towel that smells faintly of garlic wrapped around your injury. It only hurts a little, for now. You're sure that'll change when the adrenaline of it all wears off. Or at least that's what you've heard.

You're hoping you can get there and be administered some kind of pain-killer before that pain sets in. Morbidly, the rest of your thumb's in a plastic baggie, that's in another plastic baggie filled with ice, because that's what google told you to do. And in the absence of your doctor boyfriend, you listen to google.

Obviously, you use the back emergency entrance, like Jack's instructed you to do, if you ever happened to find yourself in need of actual medical assistance. You'd fought him on the principle, claiming the whole thing stinks of favoritism and some kind of medical malpractice. Now, with the pain slowly tingling up your entire arm, you can't find it in yourself to care.

The glass doors of the ER open automatically, as you walk in with a chunk of your left thumb in your right hand. You're escorted by one of the EMTs who was standing outside when you drove by. You'd seen her around a handful of times.

“Yeah, so I was making dinner for myself and my boyfriend. You know him,” you pause, as she takes the plastic bag from your hand and nods.

“It just sliced in half. It's partially my fault. I forgot to sharpen my cooking knives,” you go on, as she finds you a place to sit and calls a nurse to grab Jack.

She smiled empathetically at you, “Don't worry. We'll get you taken care of. Dr.Abbot should be here any minute. Just keep your hand elevated for me.”

Although you're about 99 percent sure the nurse walking in behind Jack already told him exactly what's going on, he still looks incredibly shocked to see you sitting there.

“Heeey,” you say, trying to wave the injured hand instinctively.

You quickly realize how bad of an idea that was, though, “Oh, ow. Ow.”

He gives you a once-over, and then quickly instructs the nurse to grab something. Presumably, hopefully, some pain meds. You realize you assumed correct, when she comes back with a few pills and a cup of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and swallow the pills in one go with the water.

Jack's just standing there, watching you. When you put the paper cup down onto the side table, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. It's almost like he's putting off looking at your wound, even though he probably knows it's inevitable.

“I had such a great dinner planned. You have no idea,” you boast.

It makes Jack crack a smile, as he walks over to wash his hands. He takes a seat in front of you, and then looks at the rag on your finger expectantly.

“Come on. Let's take a look,” he begins, pulling the towel off, “I heard you kept the rest of it in ice. Good thinking.”

You nod, smiling to yourself at the praise, “Mhm, I know right? Didn't even panic or anything.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he affirms, still inspecting the injury.

In that moment, John Shen pops his head into the room.

“Woah, hey. What's Gordon here in for?” he asks Jack.

The nickname makes you roll your eyes. You really don't even like Gordon Ramsay.

“Sliced my thumb. Unfortunately,” you sigh.

You can't help but ask the one question on your mind right now, “Think you can reattach it?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out, sweetheart.”

You all wait with bated breath. Chopping things up could become infinitely more difficult with half a thumb.

“Yup. Found a vein for anastomoses. We can proceed with replantation,” Jack announces.

“Perfect,” Shen adds, and then leaves the room.

You let out a long sigh, “Oh thank god! I've never been more nervous in my life, I think.”

Jack leans in to kiss the side of your face, “Yeah, I could tell. You have absolutely no confidence in me.”

“No! That's not it. Not at all. You try almost losing your thumb!” you defend.

He grins at you with a tilt of his head. Then he looks down at his prosthetic, and back up at you. His expressions reads, ‘Really?’

You grimace, “Yeah, alright. You win this one.”

Jack makes quick work out of gathering everything he needs and disinfecting your wound. He starts the reattachment process, after giving you a numbing shot that makes you feel nothing from your shoulder downward.

You don't really understand what's going on, but Jack tries to explain as he's going. Frankly, you're too busy intently watching his hands work and admiring how incredibly sexy the surgical loupes he's wearing make him look. It should be criminal for him to look that good, while reattaching your thumb.

“This, right here, might be the hottest you've ever been,” you blurt out.

It makes him pause for a moment. Not in shock, just contemplation.

“Wow. Really?” he questions, the soft curve of his brows furrowed in disbelief.

You can't help but giggle at his tone. Maybe it's the antibiotics making you a little loopy, but how he's looking at you is also incredibly funny.

“I mean, yeah,” you reason, “Sure, sex with you is great, but this might be better.”

Jack just smiles and gets back to work. Mostly because he knows it isn't true; nothing tops the sex you have together. That shit's spiritual. But also, because he doesn't fully get it. He's never understood the appeal that apparently comes with being in scrubs.

Although he's deciding to back down, you need a clean-cut victory. You want him to actually understand.

“Hey, it's totally like when you spend an hour staring at my ass while I make dinner. It's mostly just that, but it's also you appreciating my cooking and how well I do my job,” you explain. “It's attractive!”

“Yeah. Sure, I can see it,” he concedes. It's a win you'll take.

There's a long pause. Just the sounds of the surgical tools in his hands filling the space between you. He's busy taking care of your finger, obviously, but you can also tell he's pondering what you just said.

“You like taking care of people,” is all Jack comes up with. You're more than able to fill in the rest, though.

“It's what I love about you.”

He doesn't need to say it. The words are buried in his tone, in the reverence in his eyes, in the gentleness of his touch on your arm, even though he knows you can't even feel it right now.

So, you nod, and come up with one of your own, “And you are immune to panic. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you haven't experienced a day of dread in your life.”

That earns you another smile. It takes him five minutes to come up with another thing to say.

The procedure takes much longer than you'd previously expected. Neither you nor Jack were too bothered by that. Anyone passing by with snacks or words of encouragement definitely found how you and Jack went back and forth, subtly trying to one-up each other with your compliments, incredibly cheesy.

The hours you spent in the ER recliner, with Jack hunched over your hand, meticulously gluing you back together, were a love letter to your long-lasting relationship. One you'll cherish for as long as you still have the tip of your left thumb attached to your hand.

[monstersholygrail]

There is a world, not far from our own, where creatures and monsters are more beloved than feared. Where they’re hunted down not out of defense and security but due to the greed of collectors looking for their next trophy. 

You never had any interest or part in it. Always seeing monsters as people trying to make a living just like yourself. But living near the harbor it’s unfortunately not all that uncommon to see poachers selling off kraken tentacles, a siren’s voice, or a mermaids tail. Anything they can get their hands on, really. It pains your heart to see so many hurt and nothing done about it. 

But that is all about to change. 

At that same moment, deep in the ocean, a poor Siren is ambushed by a bunch of poachers. Overwhelmed by their forces, captured, and attacked, they heave his extraordinarily long body onto their ship. Left unable to move as they viciously take his only means of defense. His voice. And then they toss him back into the ocean without a care for how vulnerable they have now left him.

At first he doesn’t even realize what has happened, his memory of the attack fuzzy and disoriented. But the moment he tries to speak a sharp pain radiates from his throat and has him curling in on himself against the ocean floor. Trembling eyes widen as realization dawns over him.

The waves of his mourning wash over the surrounding marine flora and turn everything around him into ash. The water turns darker with the storm of his emotions as it threatens to destroy everything in his path.

He stumbles onto land with the need for revenge etched onto his very soul, shedding his tail and walking into the unknown without daring to look back. The humans all stare as he passes, his beauty alone enough to enchant and allure them. But it all means nothing without his voice.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would find the poachers who had done this to him. Even if his memory is still as broken as the rest of him. Determination is the only thing left fueling him and he will not give that up.

But as he cuts his way through the village square, the most wondrous sound breaks through the haze of his fury. He searches hopelessly for the noise and when he finally finds it his gaze lands on you, playing an instrument he has never seen on any of the ships he’s wrecked.

The sound is mesmerizing and he finds himself walking closer to you. Though you don’t even notice him, your eyes closed, and a blissful expression painted on your face. But the music you are playing is anything but blissful. No, it speaks to his soul, it voices every word he can no longer say aloud.

He feels his knees give out beneath him and the pain cuts into his skin. He does not care. All he can do is look upon you and watch as you play the most devastating song he has ever heard. One even his previously infamous voice could never replicate.

When you open your eyes you’re surprised to see this man before you. He a vision of otherworldly beauty. Even as endless tears stream down from his bloodshot eyes. You do not know what horrors this man has gone through but something pulls at you to comfort him.

Not a word is spoken, nor is it needed, as you set down your instrument and take him into your arms. He immediately breaks down and sobs silently in your embrace. You don’t know when you begin to cry along with him but you both hold each other till long past the sun goes down.

As time passes, you teach him to speak with his hands, allowing him to finally communicate with you. His heart flutters as something in his soul clicks back into place at the gift you’ve given him. Having a voice once more.

Now that he can finally talk to you, he immediately shares his tale. Explaining he was not a man but a Siren. He fumbles over his fingers as he recounts the poacher attack, the way they stole everything from him. He confides his wishes to you, his need for revenge.

He’s shocked to see the thunderous rage booming throughout your expression. He didn’t know what to expect but a part of him hadn’t expected your support. Not with how kind, gentle, and loving you are. At least to him you are.

But you do support him and there’s no second guessing that as the two of you immediately begin to make a plan. Leading you to teach him how to speak through his hands in more ways than one.

Not only through his fingers but through the vessel of an instrument. Allowing his hypnotic magic to flow into the object while maintaining the same effect.

Even though he can now speak for himself, the Siren thanks you in the only way he truly knows how. With a kiss that speaks of all his gratitude and admiration for you. He pours all of the love and passion he’s been holding back into it.

His passion only growing into a raging inferno as you both stumble into your chambers. Your bodies intertwined, a mess of limbs and panting breaths as you join together and become one. Now in body as you are in heart.

Afterwards, with your plan in place and his magic, the two of you quickly rise up the ranks of society. Playing for people of both high and low birth. Traveling to villages and cities all across the country. Always in search of the ones who stole from your Siren his most precious gift.

It’s at a charity concert when that fateful day arrives. Your Siren’s pale blue eyes peeling through the crowd as they always do while you play. His heart hammers in his chest once they fall on a group of familiar looking men. Sharp painful visions of the past sear their way back into his mind and knock the wind out of him.

Your own gaze follows his line of sight, seeing the group of questionable looking men. All of them glancing around at the nobles in the room as if they’ve hit the jackpot. Something fierce burns in your belly and you and your Siren begin to play even harder, working as one to help strengthen his magic.

Even you feel something the moment the hypnosis seeps into their skin and latches onto their bones. Now expressionless faces fall onto you and listen as you two play the rest of the concert. None of them moving an inch as the hours pass. Like caught fish latched onto the fishing line and just waiting to be pulled in.

Near the end as you finish up the finale, your Siren uses his magic and directs the men into the back room. Somewhere isolated and private where you won’t be disturbed. The sound of roaring applause and cheering drowns out the beating of your hearts. Neither of you able to focus on their praise when your revenge is so close in sight.

It’s only as the door clicks behind you both does the siren’s song finally break. Clarity returns to the men’s milky eyes and a chorus of displeasure echos throughout the room. You don’t bother to respond. Let them say their last words, let them voice their complaints because soon they won’t be doing much of anything at all.

You narrow in on them, your murderous gazes eventually enough to silence them. And as you both lift up your instructions to deliver the last blow, recognition passes over each and every one of their faces, remembering what they had done to your love.

Your Siren being the last thing they see before perishing at your hands.

This piece was inspired by Schoenberg verklärte nacht op.4 - boulez. Please check it out, it’s such a beautiful song.

[chastiefoul]

kiss your best friend and see his reaction!

ft. nanami kento,  gojo satoru, geto suguru, sukuna, toji fushiguro modern/no-curse au | fem!reader | fluff, light-hearted basically the kiss ur best friend challenge/trend and it went a little too well

➝ gojo satoru

he hadn't been confused when you told him you needed him for a short video, since that’s already a part of his job description anyway as your best friend for as long as he remembered. but when you started the recording without saying anything satoru looked at you with a tilted head, expression beyond confused.

“wait, why am i supposed to do her-“

your sudden kiss drowned his question promptly, his eyes widened at the touch of your soft lips. the touch that he’s been dreaming of since who knows when—and gods it didn’t even come close to the real thing. a sensation that made him feel like he’s walking on clouds, and is currently devouring something that’s even sweeter than his mochis. he grinned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist pressing your body close on his before spinning you around slowly out of excitement, his hair brushing your forehead ticklishly.

satoru didn’t stop—he’s not willing to stop, as if that was the only chance he had to taste your lips. he had to forced himself to pull away, his eyes in a haze; looking at you like a man who's drunk in love, his mouth agape.

“that’s—i, it’s unreal. you’re unreal. do you know  how long i’ve been wanting to do that?”

he brushed a hand over your lower lip, a man who’s so desperate already wanting to go in for seconds. now that he knew how you taste, he became insatiable.

“no, tell me.” you smiled, feeling kinda stupid for even thinking that he’d reject your kiss when he’s acting like a lovesick fool instead; a mirror of how you’re acting, you’re sure. “you have no idea,” he replied, already kissing you again as if it hurt to pull away.

➝ suguru geto

“so i’m supposed to just stand here?” he eyed you suspiciously, searching for answer from someone who usually had a detailed instructions to prevent him from making mistakes in making your videos— even resorting light threats.

you hit the record button while wearing an easy smile, even though your chest was practically about to burst from the nerves. you approached him slowly, folding your hands on the back of his neck to stop them from shaking  slightly.

suguru hasn’t catch on to what you’re doing,  leaning closer instead. you stared at his handsome face before planting a kiss on his lips, and it caught him off guard for only a second before he reciprocated the move, the most passionate you’ve ever seen him. his arm around your back, the other on your waist, grabbing it like it’s his last lifeline.

your tongues dancing against each other, as if fighting who had been waiting for it more. and it went on for a while,  no one came out as a winner but no one was complaining. both of you stared at each other, his hand rubbing your back lovingly.

“is this why you looked nervous just now, sweet girl?” he smiled endearingly as you nodded. “as if you don’t already know you have me wrapped around your finger,” he said lightly, couldn’t even entertain the idea of him rejecting you since it’s so ridiculous.  “well you’re a closed book, sugu. it’s hard to read you sometimes,” you claimed, resting your head on his chest.

“then one thing you have to know about me is that your kiss was one of my dream come true.”

“one of?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “kiss me again and find out, pretty girl.”

➝ nanami kento

the blond man looked as stiff as a board in front of your phone camera, not quite used to it despite him always end up agreeing to your whims albeit reluctant. “do i need to do something here? some sort of dance again perhaps?” he asked, wincing at the latter sentence as he remembering  last week where he made himself a fool.

“no no, just stand there, ken,” you said, pressing the red button on the screen before going back to the man. “alright-“ he didn’t have a moment to prepare himself when you kissed him suddenly, and it took everything out of nanami to keep his knees to stay still and support his weight properly.

a kiss that took his breath away, an inconvenience that he’ll welcome anytime, anywhere. his hand instinctively reach for the skin under your ear, holding your jaw to deepen the kiss, not close of having enough of you.

camera be damned, every part of his body was a natural at the feeling of your lips, rolling his face to taste every inch of you; the usual reserve in his gestures were nowhere to be found, as if he had finally let himself be selfish for a moment.

nanami finally managed to pull away before slowly realizing that he’s still on record. everything was.yet he couldn’t find a part of him that could let go of you, his thumb brushing over your cheek gently. “you could have... told me before doing that,” he said, his tone was not deceiving anyone; that’s a man without regrets.

“and miss the chance to catch you off guard?” you grinned.

“you’re a handful, do you know that?” he said with a little sigh, wearing the widest smile you’ve ever seen him with.

“yet you kissed me.”

“yes, and and i was not even close to being done,” nanami replied, leaning in.

➝ sukuna

“what is it today?” he said exasperatedly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. and he would be, if it wasn’t for you following him around until he agreed to be in your video. “just stand there kuna, it’s easy right?” you said, setting up your phone despite the turmoil you’re currently experiencing.

you’re about to kiss your best friend. you’re about to kiss sukuna.

“knowing you i can’t even trust that even for a second,” he said grumpily. “really appreciate the enthusiasm,” you said rolling your eyes. “c’mere and start already.” and you did, even when he eyed every single of your move with suspicion, wondering what mischief you’re up to that day.

you cupped his face and he lets you, as you captured his lips with a kiss. and he lets you do that too.

and sukuna could not be more enthusiastic even if he tried, his mouth moved faster than his mind, who’s still registering the fact that you’re really kissing him. his lips stringing you along to the march of his drum. that’s a man who has been depraved of your kiss, even though he had never experienced it, his hunger was as clear as a day.

he deepened the kiss by taking another angle, the impact made you walk two steps behind before he put a hand around your neck, holding you close. he groaned when you pull away, chasing your lips like a madman.

“wait.” you panted, and sukuna did in fact wait albeit hanging on his last thread. his forehead resting against yours. “what?”

“i—it’s just, this is new.”

“then we better get used to it fast,” he replied quickly, his patience reached its end; ten seconds. he parted your lips with his thumb, when that met no resistance from you who’s as eager as he was he leaned back in, beyond ready to have another best kiss he’s had for his entire life.

➝ toji

“toji, please look like you want to be here,” you pleaded, seeing his nonchalant expression who had just finished yawning for the nth time in just ten minutes. “i don’t know how that’s like,” he said uninterested. “just a minute and you’ll be free,” you sighed, worried that his low energy wasn’t a good sign.

oh how you were wrong.

the moment your lips brushed against his toji had the biggest grin before kissing you back passionately. his hands roamed at your sides, all the way to the behind of your thighs. you understood what he meant as you jumped and wrapped both legs around him, he supported your weight effortlessly. 

you gripped his hair as you held him closer—as close as you could be, escalating the kiss even more before you both reluctantly pull away, still panting.

there’s an annoying smile on toji’s face. “so how long have you been holding that in hm?”

“too long. now shut up and kiss me again.”

“atta girl, don’t gotta tell me twice.”