#the ambulance got there eventually

[runningoutofbooks]

Things I’ve learned today:

Ambulance drivers rely on GPS directions.

Which is fine and dandy except when some GPS systems direct you to the backend of my mother’s property which is a dirt road that dead ends in the middle of nowhere a good 1/2 mile from her house.

They got very lost and very confused.

[elenadoeslife]

🌧

[balentay]

it's funny how you can be fine one moment and then years old grief can hit you the next

[uselessgaywhovian]

so how's everyone else's saturday night going

[but-a-humble-selfshipper]

Beau is a new permanent addition to The Apartments(tm) by the by. <3

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

🇱​​🇴​​🇸​​🇹​ ​🇹​​🇮​​🇲​​🇪​

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚉𝚘𝚎𝚢

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

cw | smut, swearing, pet names, unprotected p in v, fingering, cum tasting, oral (female receiving), heavy angst, reader gets hit by a car

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You adjust the weight of your shopping bags, looping them higher up on your arm as you step out of the bookstore. The crisp February air nips at your cheeks, but the warmth of the two coffee cups in your hands makes it bearable. You balance your phone between your shoulder and ear, voice light with amusement.

“I still don’t get why you made me leave the bookstore,” you sigh.

Rafe chuckles on the other end of the line, the sound deep and familiar. “Because we got plans, princess—you’d still be in there if I let you.”

You roll your eyes as a smile slips across your lips. “Not true. I would’ve left eventually. Maybe.”

“Mhmm… Yeah, sure.”

You stroll carefully on the busy street, walking with the flow of traffic, getting in their last-minute Valentine’s Day shopping. “You almost done with your errand, baby?” You ask, shifting your bags again.

“Mhmm… Walkin’ toward you, sweetheart.”

“I got you your favorite,” you smile as you lift his coffee slightly, watching as he smiles. 

“My girl. Thank you��” You barely register the car driving through the alley before the force slams into your side. The world tilts violently as your feet lift off the ground, coffee cups slipping from her grasp. You hit the pavement hard, pain jolting through your body. Your phone skids across the sidewalk, Rafe’s voice cuts off,  and everything goes dark. 

Your eyes flutter open, a steady ring sounding in your ears. People gather around you, rushing to see if you're okay and what’s happened. 

“Oh my God—Oh my God, baby?” You blink up at a man crouching beside you, his face pale, hands trembling as his breathing comes out fast and uneven. You groan, wincing as you push yourself up onto your elbows, feeling your pulse bang in your head. 

“I—I didn’t see her, man,” the guy panics, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, she-she-she fucking came outta nowhere—”

“Blame her again, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” the man beside you snarls.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, his eyes returning to yours. 

“Are you sure?” He asks anxiously, as his big hands hover over your body like he’s scared you’ll break. “Keep your eyes on me, alright?” The man asks gently as he strokes your cheek. His blue eyes are wide with panic, his strong jaw tight, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Who are you?”

His blood drains from his face completely as the words push through your quivering lips, stabbing him in the heart. His lips parted, but for a moment, no words came out. 

“Baby, it’s me. It’s Rafe—” He whispers weakly.

Rafe? He looks down at you perplexed–a look in his worried eyes telling you his name should mean something to you. His voice is reassuring, like he’s hoping it’ll bring you a wave of clarity, but it doesn’t… It’s just a name.

“What’s happening?” You ask as you try your best to hold back tears. 

“Hey, hey, easy,” he says quickly, his hand cupping your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Just stay still, okay? The ambulance is coming.”

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you look at him—really look at him. His face twists in worry, his brows drawn together like this moment is doing nothing short of tearing him apart. But you don’t know him or how you got here…

You squeeze your eyes shut, panic creeping up in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

Rafe swallows hard, his grip slightly tightening. “It’s okay,” he says, though his voice wavers, trying to assure you both in one breath. “You—You… Uh,” he struggles before clearing his throat. “You hit your head on the ground. You just need a second, okay?” You weren't sure a second would matter because looking at him—this man who was holding onto you like you were his entire world—you felt nothing but empathy for a stranger. “You know me, sweetheart.” 

“I don’t.”

Rafe looks away, trying to collect himself as tears pool in his eyes. “Where the hell is the ambulance, huh?” He screams, his voice breaking with sadness as he looks around. “What's taking them so long?” 

Rafe’s never known fear like this… Everything that he knew to be true was gone in a moment. Your words shattered something inside him, but he refused to let go.

Rafe cups your face in his hand again, tracing his thumb over the soft skin of your cheek, trying to ground you both. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re okay. You’re just hurt. You hit your head—it’s just the concussion talking. You know me. You… You know me, sweetheart,” he smiles as his lips tremble.

He needed you to remember–needed you to feel what you had always felt when you looked at him. He needed the woman you were just a few short moments before, so he did the only thing he could think of doing. 

He kissed you. 

Rafe’s lips press against yours–soft and gentle—a silent plea for you to remember. But then he felt it: the slight hesitation, the way you tensed up, just barely, but it was enough.

He pulled back, praying he was wrong, hoping to see a sliver of clarity in your eyes, but all he saw was confusion. Rafe’s stomach twists, his hand drifting off your cheek, resting lightly on your hand instead, suddenly feeling like it didn’t belong there either.

Sirens wail in the distance as Rafe weaves his fingers in yours, holding you tight. 

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he assures. His eyes stay locked on yours as they lift you into the ambulance. “I’m right behind you, okay?” The paramedics close the doors before he can say anything else–the emergency vehicle streaming down the road toward the hospital. 

Rafe doesn’t waste a second, turning and running toward his car, fighting through people on the street as he digs into his pocket for his keys. He lifts them to the ignition–his whole body trembling as he turns the car over, speeding in the direction you went. 

He reaches for the speaker, turning down the volume, trying his best to hold in his emotions as the song you were singing on the car ride there pours out the speakers.

His chest tightens, and his gaze locks ahead as his nose fills with the sweet smell of your favorite flowers, the large bouquet resting in the passenger’s seat. 

This was supposed to be a perfect night.

Now, he’s speeding through the city, his pulse hammering, trying to convince himself that everything wasn’t falling apart. That he’d get to the hospital and everything would be fine–that that moment you needed would have come and passed.

That he would have his girl back. 

He replays the kiss in his mind, over and over again, refusing to blink as he stares at the road ahead, knowing that if his eyes beat shut, the tears glimmering inside will give way. 

The hospital comes into view, and the second he pulls into the parking lot, he’s out of his car, feet pounding against the asphalt as he sprints toward the entrance. The waiting room is packed; the hallways are bright and sterile. 

“Ma’am,” he yells as he spots a nurse. “Y/N?” He asks with urgency. 

“She’s in room 214 just down the hall,” she gestures down the way with a nod. “Follow me–”

Rafe runs past her, stumbling into the room and reaching for a full breath.

He bites his cheek as he sees you already lying in the hospital bed, tucked into a crisp white sheet. The lights are drawn low; your beautiful eyes shut.

Rafe looks down at you, seeing the little bruise blooming on your cheek with a slight gash beneath it.

His eyes flick to the sink in the corner of the room. Rafe saunters over, turning on the faucet, dampening a towel before stepping to your side. He presses it against your cheek; featherlight touches as he cleans it away.

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, his voice barely audible and laced with tears. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

Your lashes flutter open, making Rafe freeze, his beautiful eyes set on yours. You were scared, but nothing even close to how you were the first time you woke up. And even though you didn’t remember Rafe before this, you felt him.

Rafe pushes out a shaky breath as he looks down at you, brushing your hair off your face. “Hey,” he whispers. 

You look at him, your lips parting, wanting desperately to say something, but nothing comes out. 

Rafe gives you a soft, weak smile as he takes your hand again, brushing his thumb over the top. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, okay? I’m not leavin’. I’ll be right here, okay?” 

The room settles into a quiet rhythm—just the soft beeping of the monitors and the distant hum of hospital sounds filtering through the walls. Rafe hasn’t moved from your side.

The doctor pushes away the curtain before stepping inside, giving you both a reassuring smile. He flips through your chart, skimming your health history again. “How are you feeling?”

You exhale slowly as you look up at the doctor from your bed. “Okay. Just a little foggy; a little sore,” your voice breaks under pressure.

“You took a pretty rough hit, but your x-rays came back clear. No fractures, just bumps and bruises. That foggy feeling is coming from concussion–a mild traumatic brain injury or TBI.” 

Rafe’s grip on your hands instinctively tightens. “Umm…” He asks uneasily before clearing his throat. “Is that why she can’t remember anything–”

“Yes, we’re looking at PTA or post-traumatic amnesia. Everyone handles it differently–”

“Differently?” Rafe asks. “How-How so?” 

“For some patients, PTA lasts minutes—for some, months. Some things could come back in flashes, others over time. But given the nature of the injury, I’d say she has a very good chance of regaining everything.”

“You hear that, baby?” He looks down at you, his voice shattered but a little more hopeful than before. You smile and nod before looking back to the doctor. 

“You just have to be patient with her; reassuring–”

“I can do that,” he answers quickly. Your heart breaks for him. At the moment, the reason he was sitting next to you is lost, but you know enough to see that he is struggling. He was scared, too. Your fingers squeeze him, giving him a small gesture of reassurance.

He looks down at you before swallowing hard, exhaling a shaky breath through a soft smile before returning to the doctor. “So, she’s gonna be okay,” he asks.

The doctor nods. “Yes. She just needs some rest, assurance, stability, and time.” 

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

Rafe keeps his hand on your lower back, leading you from the car up to your downtown apartment. Your eyes search around, taking in everything seemingly for the first time. It was new to both of you–the two of you moving in just weeks before.

“Any of this look familiar? He asks as he helps you out of your jacket. You shake your head ‘no’. Of course, he wants you to remember things… He wants you to feel comfortable and safe, but there was some solace in knowing you didn’t remember this as well because, for the moment, the only memory lost was him. 

The apartment is beautiful, warm, and inviting–a love letter of your life together so far, picture after picture, memories that you’d eventually get back.

Rafe watches you closely as you take it all in, knowing the moment the photo was taken meant nothing, hoping for you to see how much he meant to you at that moment at least. 

You follow Rafe as he moves into the kitchen, grabbing a vase off the table, taking out some older flowers, and replacing them with new ones. You smile brightly, melting his heart as he replaces them with red roses instead. 

“Valentine’s Day?” You ask as you walk toward him, stepping into the kitchen. He sets the flowers back before returning to your side.

Rafe wraps his arms around you, pulling you gently against his chest, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“Yeah, baby.”

You both take a deep, needed breath. His cologne is rich, a warm vanilla with a hint of tobacco. You rest your head on his muscular chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Tears start to well in your eyes again. 

“Hey,” he whispers, his hand tracing slow, soothing circles against your back as your fingers grip the fabric of his sweater like you need something to hold onto. “We’ll figure this out together, alright? No pressure. No rush.”

The emotion building in your chest was too much. All you could offer was a slight nod against him. Rafe presses a kiss against your hair, keeping it there momentarily.

“All you need to know is that this is your house, and I’m yours. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

“Well,” he hums as he draws back slightly, meeting your eyes. “We can still do a few things we had planned,” he murmurs, his voice warm and gentle.

“We had plans?” You ask, hopefully. 

Rafe nods as his hands run down your arms, lacing his fingers in yours before walking backward, pulling you toward the kitchen. “It’s Valentine’s Day, princess. Of course, we have plans.”

Princess… Rafe sees the way you react to it–your lips part slightly in a bashful smile, that same flicker in your eyes you had the first time he called you that. “You like that, huh?” He teases. 

You giggle and bite your lip, finding yourself having to look away before looking back at the beautiful man before you–the man who wanted nothing more than for you to remember that he belonged to you. 

Rafe pulls out a stool at the kitchen island, draping your shoulders in a cozy blanket before passing you a glass of water.

“Water?” You pout teasingly as he places the bottle of red wine on the counter back on the wine rack. He shakes his head and laughs before heading back toward you. 

“You heard what he said, pretty,” he hums as he rests his hands on the counter, leaning in closer, making your heart race. 

“You’re really taking care of me,” you smile.

“Of course I am. Not to brag or anything, but that’s kinda what I do,” he hums. “I mean, you said it yourself, sweetheart. I’m the best boyfriend ever. I'm smartest, funniest, and sexiest, for sure,” he chuckles and winks.

“Anything else?” You smile. 

“Mmm… Mhmm,” he mumbles. “You’ve never loved a man before me. In fact, no men existed before me,” Rafe smiles devilishly.

You roll your eyes and smile. “Whatever you say.” 

Rafe reaches under the counter, grabs a pot and a pan, and sets them on top. 

“Wait—do you cook?”

Rafe bursts out laughing, looking back at you like there’s a story there. “Hell no… But you do,” he adds with a grin. “And it’s so fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah?” You smile; your love for cooking’s seared in your memory, but his reaction to your cooking’s brand new. 

Rafe nods enthusiastically. “Baby, you have no idea. Your pasta? Life-changing. Your chicken parm? I swear–”

You smile against the rim of your water glass before taking a sip, listening to him rant and rave. “So,” he says playfully, “since I clearly have no skills in the kitchen, you’re gonna walk me through it.”

Your eyebrow lifts in amusement as a smile curls on your lips. “You want me to teach you how to cook?”

“Mhmm… And don’t worry, I’ll do all the actual work. You just sit there and be your gorgeous, sexy, bossy self, yeah?”

“Bossy?” You laugh as you put your hand under your chin, leaning into the counter. “I boss you around?” 

Rafe smiles boyishly as he looks down at the ingredients list before him. “Don’t worry, princess, I love it,” he mumbles, his words sending a rush of warmth through your body. 

“I don’t remember what I was gonna make.” 

“It’s the chicken thing I like,” he answers as he sets the ingredients on the counter. “You made it for me on our first date. You said it was your specialty–”

“Chicken Cordon Bleu,” you answer with a smile. 

“Mhmm,” he hums with a cheeky grin. “I mentioned that I had it before in college, and I didn’t know that it was something that didn’t come wrapped in plastic and put in the microwave, and you called me disgusting.” 

Your hand covers your smile, not at all surprised with yourself. “I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” he chuckles as he sets the last ingredient on the counter. “You looked just like you did right now when you said it, so I was more focused on that,” he smiles, looking back at you in adoration. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” he smiles. Rafe pulls out the last ingredient before looking at you, waiting for instructions. 

“Alright, first, you need to start the oven.” 

“Start. The. Oven,” he repeats your words slowly as he walks across the kitchen to the appliance. He puts his hands on his hips, looking at the little buttons and knobs before leaning in. He presses the start button, and the oven quickly responds with a shrill beep, making him tense up. “Shit,” he chuckles. “I made it mad.” 

“Temperature first, baby,” you smile. Rafe looks over his shoulder slightly before looking back at you with a smile, wondering if he heard you right. 

“Push ‘start’ again?” He asks, purposefully getting the instruction wrong, hoping you’ll repeat it.

“Temperature first, baby,” you smile, seeing how much your words affect him. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Rafe walks back toward you, his beautiful eyes focused on yours. As he worked, Rafe kept talking, filling the kitchen with stories, little pieces of you.

“We went to Italy?” He says. “About two months ago… It was the best trip ever. You dragged me through every little café, every hole-in-the-wall restaurant. We ate so much pasta, holy shit. That bottle of wine I put away was from that trip–delicious, baby. So damn good,” he hums as he recalls the memory himself.

The smell of the food fills the kitchen, and that familiar aroma surrounds you. “And those?” You ask, gesturing to the counter at a small, white box with a bow. 

“Perugina. Also from Italy. I’ve been savin’ them for Valentine’s Day,” he smiles as he cleans off the messy counter with a rag. 

You untie the chocolate box ribbon, picking one up, popping it into her mouth. Rafe scoffs, scrunching his nose as his eyebrows pinch together. “Hey, you’re not gonna be hungry for my five-star meal.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, reaching into the box to grab one for Rafe before holding it to his lips. He hesitates momentarily, his soft eyes flickering between you and the chocolate before taking it between his lips. Your finger grazes the slight stubble on his jaw, your thumb dragging ever so slightly on his plump bottom lip, making his heart stumble.

“Good?” You ask, your voice laced with sensuality. 

“So good,” he hums. Rafe grabs one himself, holding it up to your mouth. You take it between your lips, wrapping them around his fingers, lingering momentarily. The energy in the room shifts from light teasing to something deeper, which you could imagine would typically end with his lips on yours. The tension between you builds, and you feel a flutter in your stomach. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Delicious.” 

Rafe set the plates on the dining table, resting yours in front of you before taking a seat.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, nervously awaiting your reaction. “This is amazing…” You praise, watching as the tension in his shoulders fall. “So,” You say between bites, “tell me about you.”

Rafe smiles, tilting his head as he looks back at you. “What do you wanna know?”

“Anything. I feel like I should know everything, but…” You exhale, pressing your lips together before shaking her head. 

“Hey, we’ve got nothing’ but time, aight? First date convo. The basics. What do you wanna know, princess?” 

You nod in agreement, looking back at him as you think about what you want to ask first. “What do you do? For work?”

Rafe’s lips twitch, a bit of pride slipping into his expression. “I’m closin’ a huge deal soon. It’s been in the works for months.”

“Oh?” You ask, intrigued. “Business guy?”

“Commercial real estate, yeah.” 

Your lips draw to the side as you push a glazed carrot around your plate, trying to think of something else. “And what do I do?”

Rafe scoots a little closer and smiles, resting his forearms on the table as he looks back at you proudly. “You own a restaurant.” 

“I do?” You ask happily. 

“Mhmm… For about two years now, I believe. A very, very successful one,” he praises you as you look back at him in wonder. 

“Wow… What kind of restaurant?”

“Upscale New American Cuisine,” Rafe answered quickly. “And I still don’t know what that means. But, it’s one of the most well-known spots in Charleston.”

Your lips part slightly, a flicker of something crossing your mind. “The Social?”

Rafe’s breath catches, his heart skipping a beat. “Yeah, baby,” he answers gently. 

“I’ve been thinking about that for years–since I graduated…”

“And you pulled it off,” Rafe adds.

Rafe watches you carefully, letting you sit with that realization for a moment, “That’s where we met.”

“Tell me about it.” 

Rafe smiles and nods as he takes your hand in his. “Alright, princess… Umm. You were pissed at me.”

You burst out laughing again, just like you did before. Your hand covers your mouth, half-covering your smile. “Why?” You chuckle weakly. “There’s no way.”

“I swear. You didn’t know me yet, but you hated me that first night, for a while at least.”

“Why?” You ask, scrunching your nose in disbelief with yourself, especially considering how sweet he’s treating you now. It’s hard to think of another moment when you could be pissed at him, let alone hate him.

“Because I was late for my reservation,” he admits. “Like twenty… thirty minutes, maybe? I came in with a party of twelve, and you were slammed. You had given the tables away, and I shuffled in with all those people, totally expecting the table to be ready.” 

“Uh oh,” you chuckle. 

“Uh oh, is right… You told me to fuck off.” 

“No!” You gasp. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you,” he laughs. “Nah. You told me, very professionally, that you gave my tables away and that if I wanted to eat, I would have to wait.” 

“And what did you say?” You ask as you lean in a little more. 

“I turned on the charm, obviously,” he answers smugly. “Charmed your panties right off you.” 

“Oh my god,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Mhmm… Flirted with you shamelessly,” Rafe adds. “I told you no one has ever looked this good kickin’ me out of a restaurant. And somehow, magically, ten minutes later, you had a table for twelve in the back.” 

You smile and nod, looking back at Rafe as his eyes twinkle in the candlelight, looking back at you lovingly. “Everyone left, and I decided to stay for a drink, and before I could even look around for you, the prettiest woman I have ever seen in my life sat next to me. And, the rest is history.” 

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

Without hesitation, you curl up beside him, resting your head in his lap. Rafe takes a slow, steady breath, trying to control his emotions.

The movie plays softly in the background, but neither of you is paying attention, focusing more on each other.

Rafe tests the waters, leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead like he’s wanted to all night. The moment he pulls back, his eyes meet yours. And unlike before, when he kissed you in the street, the fear was gone. 

You swallow hard, blinking up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love you.”

Rafe looks down at you, and just like before, he’s unsure what he heard you or if it’s just some sweet dream. “Yeah?” He asks weakly.

You nod; your eyes never leaving his. “I don’t—I don’t remember everything,” you admit, her voice thick with emotion. “But I feel it, Rafe. I feel you.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens as he struggles to keep himself from falling apart completely.

“I know how much you love me,” you continue, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I can see it in how you look at me and how you’ve taken care of me all night. I’m so lucky to have you.”

Rafe’s vision blurs, but he doesn’t care, letting his tears roll down his cheeks. He turns his face into your palm, kissing the inside of her wrist before whispering, “You have no idea how much I love you, princess.” He wraps his big arms around you, pulling you in for a tight hug. He buries himself in your neck, feeling a wave of relief crash over him. 

When Rafe lowers you again, you shift before he can react, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. The sudden movement widens his eyes; a surprised chuckle leaves his lips as his large hand instinctively rests on your hips. 

“Well, this is unexpected,” he teases, his voice low and laced with affection. 

You smile softly, scratching your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck before you lean in, letting your lips ghost over the top of yours. Rafe’s breathing matches yours, lips brushing ever so slightly. And, just when he can’t take anymore, he leans in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss on your lips. 

His breath catches in his muscular chest, his grip tightening on your body as you melt into his warm embrace. Rafe’s heart pounds at the way you kiss him–no hesitation, no caution, fully. Just like the first night, you were together. 

“Is this too much?” He asks gently between kisses.

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all.” Your hands rest on his stomach, drifting higher up the cozy material of his sweater, pressing against his chest, then pressing again.

You still, pulling back slightly as you meet Rafe’s eyes, his brows furrow in confusion until he realized what he had done.

Your hand rests over your mouth, your eyes wide as you beg the silent question. 

Is that what I think it is?

Rafe freezes, his heart hammering in his chest as he gives you a slight nod. “Can I see it?” You whisper. 

He exhales slowly, his lips twitching into a nervous and excited smile. “I can never say ‘no’ to you, princess.” 

“Okay,” you answer as your eyes shimmer with tears.

Then, in one swift motion, Rafe lifts you to your feet, standing there before dropping to one knee, pulling out the box you felt in his breast pocket. 

“I’m askin’ you again. But, if I’m showing you, I’m still gonna do this right,” he whispers, his voice low and thick with love.

Tears well in both of your eyes as you stare at each other, caught in a moment that’s bigger than all of the lost memories.

Rafe swallows hard, staring up at you from his knee with the engagement ring resting in the open box in his palm.

His heart pounded so fiercely he could feel it in his throat, his hands trembling slightly—not out of fear, but because this moment, you had always been the most important thing in his life.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking. “Sweetheart, I know things are complicated right now. And if I’m being honest, yeah—a part of me is sad that you don’t remember all the beautiful memories we’ve made. Because, God, baby, there are so many,” his voice breaks as he pushes out the last few words.

“If I’m bein’ completely honest, I would have proposed to you the first night I met you.” A soft, choked laugh escapes him, and he tilts his head, looking at you with the same love he always has.

“The second you rolled those pretty little eyes at me at your restaurant, I knew you were it for me.” You lift your arm, wiping your eyes along the sleeve of your sweater.

Rafe’s expression softens, even more, his free hand reaching for yours. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles and smiles.

“I love you,” he murmurs, looking up at you like you’re the only thing in the world. “I’ve loved you through every version of us—through every moment, every fight, every laugh. And I’ll love you through this,” Rafe promises. “I’ll love you while we figure it all out, while we rebuild every memory you lost, while you fall for me again—which, by the way, is inevitable because I’m incredibly charming.”

Your cheeks burn from your smile, and your eyes shut slightly, causing the tears to tumble down your cheeks.

“So, what do you say, princess? Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you whisper without hesitation. Rafe barely lets you finish before he slips the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly.

The second it’s in place, he surges to his feet, cupping your face in his hands as he kisses you deep and desperate, filled with so much love it nearly steals your breath.

“I love you,” you whisper as your fingers trace the back of his neck. 

Rafe grins, pulling you back in again, whispering a breathless ‘I love you too’.

Just like before, you move on instinct, jumping into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his trim waist as your body presses against Rafe’s, kissing him just like you have countless times before. And even if you couldn't remember all those beautiful moments just yet, your body knew him.

Rafe’s big hands grip your thighs, holding you tight. "We should go to bed,” you whisper through a soft smile. 

Rafe chuckles, still breathless, his lips grazing your cheek. "You need to relax, princess."

"I am relaxed,” you murmur, nuzzling against your fiancé’s neck. "Please, baby. You said you can never say ‘no’ to me…”

He groans softly at your words, tightening his hold on you as he searches for your face. 

"Okay," he whispered, voice thick and hungry. "But I'm takin’ care of you… Princess treatment. You're not doin’ shit but cummin’, alright?” He asks. 

You nod, fingers threading through his hair. "I want you."

His chest ached at how you said it, like even though your memories were still scattered, you knew he was the one person who would always be there.

Rafe carries you toward the bedroom, your lips meeting again and again, slow and deep, each kiss stealing a little more of the space between you. 

He works off his sweater and shirt between kisses, and you undo his belt and slacks. Your hands fall down his toned skin as your breathing grows heavier, smiling against his lips.

Rafe follows your focus, your emerald-cut diamond glistening in the low light. “I’m gonna take care of you, alright. Now… Always. Okay?” He asks. 

“I know you will,” you whisper, making him smile against your lips. 

Rafe carefully takes off your sweater, quickly raising his hands to caress your curves. He smiles as he takes in the red lace. 

“This is new,” he whispers as his thumb brushes against the delicate material, making your nipple press against the fabric, whimpering at the subtle down.

Rafe reaches down, hooking his finger under the band of your leggings, looking up at you, silently asking for consent. You look at him and smile, giving him a slight nod. He pulls them down to your feet, kissing higher and higher. 

“These are new, too,” he hums as he slips his finger under the band of your matching panties. The set is no doubt purchased for the man standing in front of you.

He reaches behind your back, kissing your shoulder as he unclasps your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders onto the floor. Rafe lifts you off your feet, and you find yourself in his arms yet again; this time, it’s skin on skin. 

He sets you on the bed carefully, taking his time, looking at you underneath him. Rafe works slowly, biting the band of your red panties and pulling them down your thighs. 

You can feel the chill of your wetness between your thighs as he breathes warmly against your sex. Reaching down, you rest your slight fingers on your clit as he watches, rubbing for a moment, teasing him, making him chuckle out a deep, dark laugh. 

“No touching, princess,” he hums as he grabs your left hand, taking your middle and ring fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean up to the jewelry. 

Goosebumps spread across your skin as he kisses your inner thighs, working closer and closer ‘til he’s kissing your clit.

You throw your head back into the pillow, thighs drawing in. Rafe grabs your knees, carefully spreading you wide, spitting on your pussy before sucking down, sliding two fingers into your soaked hole.

“So fucking wet,” he moans against your cunt, working you with his mouth just like you love, sucking, flicking, and kissing, leaving you crying out for more. 

You feel yourself just seconds away from your release, but he already knows, quickening his pace, sucking down just a little more until your body comes undone. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him close as you pulse around his thick digits. 

You relax around him, dissolving into the mattress as he continues to work his fingers in and out, watching your body continue to respond to his touch. 

“How was that, princess?” Rafe asks with a smile, already knowing his answer. His long fingers are a mess with your climax.

You grab his wrist, drawing his fingers between your mouth, wrapping your lips around them, gliding them in and out like you’d suck him off.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans, watching you close. “We gotta get you feelin’ better. You’re so good at that…” 

“Come here,” you smile, wrapping your hand around his neck and leading him to your lips. You look at the space between you, watching his thick cock, leaving a slight streak of precum on your stomach as he moves closer. “Fuck, baby,” you moan needily.

Rafe wraps his fist around his dick, tapping your clit, making your body jolt with sensitivity. 

“Are you okay, baby?” He mumbles against your lips. “You wanna keep goin’?” Rafe asks as he traces his swollen tip around your soaked hole, pressing himself against it. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. “I need you, please–” And just like when he was sliding on your ring, he could barely wait until you got the rest of the words out, filling your tight cunt like he was always meant to be there. 

He lets out a deep groan, feeling the way your body pulls him in—the way the shape of you fits exactly how it should. “You feel that? Pussy was made for me, baby,” he breathes as he draws out, thrusting himself back in.

Rafe rolls his body into you, reaching that perfect spot inside you. Your body tightens around him, fingers twisting into the sheets.

You reach up, grabbing his cheeks, pressing a deep kiss against his lips; Rafe, swallowing your moans and pleasured cries.

Your back arches into him–nipples brushing against his chest. His chain falls on your chest, sticking to your sweat-glistened skin, making the tears pooling on your waterline fall as you see your initials etched in gold. 

“I love you, Rafe… I love you,” you whisper as he picks up the pace. 

“I love you more,” he soothes as he reaches up, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Come on, baby. Cum on my cock.” 

You bite your lip and nod, looking up at him as your climax comes hard and fast, your body pulsing with pleasure around his thick dick as he works you through your orgasm. 

“Fuckkk,” he moans, drawing out the word as he empties himself inside you, his eyes screwing shut as you purposefully clench around him, making his body shudder.

He collapses on top of you, lips finding your forehead as he kisses, lingering as he catches his breath. Rafe moves a little lower, nuzzling his face against you, his voice barely above a breath as he whispers, “I love you.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

tags: @rafesthroatbaby | @marleymarleymarleymarley | @chelzaa | @rafesheaven | @nemesyaaa | @starkeysbabygirl | @littlelamy | @cameronsprincess | @lottalove4evelyn | @yasmin-oviedo | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @watchmerora | @rafeslovergirly | @buckybarnessweetheart | @anamiad00msday | @namelesslosers | @cades-outsider | @romaescapes | @starkeysprincess | @lish-0 | @oxpogues4lifexo | @unrealmirrorball | @lilithblackkk | @sleepiibunniiii | @gri959 | @rafesgiirl | @daryldixon83 | @akobx | @hyperfixationgirl | @lhhlver | @rrafeswhore | @slut-4-gojo | @blair-bears-blog | @loveesiren | @rafescorpsebride | @rafegf-real | @alphabetically-deranged | @ariana2saucyy | @rafestoothbrush | @hauntedfawnn | @laniirackssss | @wtfdudesblog | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @jkrafe | @alejstarkey | @rafe-cameronswife | @rafedaddy01 | @st8rkey

[spideyjimin]

Wait for your love | jjk (teaser)

—  pairing: firefighter!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: kind of exes to lovers, parents au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

—  words: 577

—  author’s note: here you have the teaser of the fic i’m currently working on 🤗 you have a tiny little teaser below & i hope you’ll enjoy it ❤️

—  tag list: let me know in any way if you want to be tagged when i post this and if you are part of my permanent taglist, you will automatically be added ✨

Jungkook and his team got called for a car accident involving several cars, and when they arrived, the scene was horrific.

There are probably five cars pressed and smashed one against the other. There are people injured and bleeding walking around the scene. Paramedics are already taking care of them, but Jungkook is walking to the cars to retrieve the people stuck inside. His captain screams orders and tells him which car he should go to.

His eyes look around, his heart breaking when he sees everyone involved and still stuck in their cars. Visions like this are quite common for him, it doesn’t happen all the time but it’s still recurrent. At the end of the day, his job is to save people in this type of situation.

When he reaches the car, he was assigned to, he takes a look at how many people there are inside. There’s just one person, a woman behind the steering wheel. She has her hand on her head, clearly showing that she might have a headache. She doesn’t really move. Instantly, Jungkook tries to open the door, but it’s showing a bit of resistance.

It feels impossible to open the door, but Jungkook sees the woman’s head falling. He’s getting worrier; she’s slumping into sleep which isn’t a good sign as she was holding her head barely seconds ago. He then proceeds to break the window so he can try to open it from inside. There are other possible ways, but it would be harder and more dangerous to get her out of the vehicle.

“Ma’am,” he says with urge.

Eventually, he manages to open the damn door from the inside. A good part of the car’s front is crashing into her. Before even thinking of taking her out, he places a cervical collar to protect her neck and spine.

“Ma’am,” he repeats. “Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t answer at all. Jungkook gets closer, his fingers brushing the hair from her face, but when he finally gets to properly see the woman’s face, his heart skips a beat. This woman is none other than you. His mind can’t start to get lost in the past right now. He needs to focus on taking you out of the car.   

You’re in pretty bad shape.

There’s blood on your forehead, you most probably have a wound on top of your head. There’s also blood at the level of your stomach, turning your green shirt into a very dark color. He can distinguish a big fragment of glass shoved into your belly. It doesn’t look good. Your legs are also completely smashed by the front, causing the steering wheel to be very close to your body.  Hopefully, your legs aren’t too injured. He doesn’t even want to start thinking about all the bruises on your body.

Slowly, he places one hand behind your back while his other hand slowly pushes your legs. He’s trying to be as careful as possible to avoid causing any other injury.  His strong arms hold you once he manages to fully remove you from the car. His eyes look down at your face with evident pain. He notices how you’re trying to open your eyes which makes him think that you’re trying to fight the urge to fall asleep.

“Yn,” he says while walking to an ambulance. “Please, stay with me,” he whispers with despair. “I’ve finally found you, and I can’t lose you right away.”

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[moonstruckme]

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.” 

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?” 

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic gives you a kind smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you. 

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red. 

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you. 

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head. 

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her. 

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?” 

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder. 

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin. 

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought. 

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks you. 

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head. 

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests. 

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“Not really.” 

“Just try. It helped last time.” 

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed. 

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.” 

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I just don’t like this.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Spencer?” 

“Hm?” 

“I really feel like I messed things up.” 

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm. 

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?” 

“It just…it feels like…” 

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity. 

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.” 

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.” 

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps. 

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.” 

“I’m just an intern.” 

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.” 

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.” 

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” 

“I don’t feel very well.” 

“Are your eyes still closed?” 

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?” 

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is. 

“Try closing them.” 

“Oh. This is better, thank you.” 

“It’s no problem.”

[yanderedrabbles]

What would Yandere state-trooper, cowboy, and military officer react if y/n got sick or was trying to hurt themselves?

(I love your work btw❤️)

Thank you so much for this prompt!! It literally instantly inspired me

Yandere boys when you get sick/hurt yourself

Yandere! Cowboy isn't sure why you're curled up in bed when it's just a little flu. He's worked even with sprains and cracked ribs and stitches keeping him together. At first, he'll just snap his teeth in irritation and tell you to "get tough." But seeing the fever work a blush across your cheeks softens him up. He'll bring you some good old fashioned chicken soup, just like his mama used to make. He'll smooth the hair away from your face and press a cool cloth against your neck. When you thank him, he'll just huff and tell you not to get used to it. He isn't going to baby you. But secretly, he likes taking care of you. And the next time you slip and twist your ankle, he's right there to pick you up and fix it all.

"Quit being so damn clumsy, I ain't gonna kiss it better."

Yandere! State Trooper is the first one on the scene of the crash. It isn't too bad, a rough fender-bender at most. But you're bleeding from a nasty cut on your cheek and cradling your arm. He sees red and before he can even register what he's doing, he's hauling the other guy out of his truck and grinding his face into the tarmac. His cop buddies have to physically pull him off and cover it up, say the other guy was being belligerent. The second he calms down, he's kneeling next to you and practically shoving the paramedic out of the way. He cups your chin in his hand and cleans the blood off your face, telling you everything will be just fine and to let him take care of it. He insists on riding in the ambulance with you, even though he's still on duty. When you're finally alone, he'll kiss you and snarl just a little when he orders you to be more careful. You ask him why he cares so much and he gives you one of his vicious smiles.

"The only bastard that gets to rough you up is me, got that?"

Yandere! Soldier comes home to find bloody footprints all over the kitchen floor. He finds you in the bathroom, picking broken glass out of your feet and trying not to wince. At first, you won't let him touch you or even get near you. In growing irritation, he slams his palm into the wall next to you - you're a lot more docile after that. He kneels infront of you, his palm wrapped around your ankle to stop you pulling away. He's methodical and surprisingly gentle, picking out every single shard even though it takes the better part of an hour. When he's wrapped and treated both your feet, he carefully picks you up and carries you back to bed. You're still an unpredictable, hissing menace and he doesn't trust you to take care of yourself, so he calls in sick for a week. And for a whole week, he doesn't let you walk anywhere. He carries you around the apartment, complaining that you're too light and that he's going to lose his muscle mass. Eventually you can stand on your own feet again and you manage to mumble something that sounds like thanks. You don't see it, but he smiles.

мой долг заботиться о тебе

"It's my duty to take care of you."

[ameliathornromance]

“Ouch!” Your Orc hissed, jerking in pain as you pressed alcohol soaked cloth to his arm. “You can’t be more gentle, can you?”

“Well if you stopped moving,” you returned through gritted teeth, “then it wouldn’t hurt as much. It’s not me that’s causing you pain, it’s the chemical. If I’m any more gentle about it, the pain will just last longer and it will sting a lot more.”

The giant gash in his arm just did not want to stop bleeding. You let out a sigh of irritation as you realised it was going to need stitches. “Hold onto it for me?”

Grumbling, your Orc Boyfriend pressed held the soaked cloth in place as you reached for your medical box behind you, “how did this happen then?”

“I was in the gym,” your boyfriend started, “and this goblin wouldn’t stop trying to take pictures of me, so I told him to put the phone down. He said ‘no, it’s a public space, I can film who I damn well likes’ and his smug face pissed me off. So… I might have gotten a little rough with him.”

You sighed again. Typical of an Orc to start the physical fight. Pulling out a needle and medical thread, you cleaned them, nodding as your boyfriend went on, “and then this little bastard pulls out a knife and just slashed me open!”

Your head whipped around to look at your partner, “what the fuck?!” you set the needle and thread down on your bedside table. “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you? Oh my God, why did they even let that guy in with a weapon!?” You surveyed your Orcs topless body, searching his green skin for any kind of graze or cut.

“Something about it being for Goblin arts practice.” Your boyfriend grunted, annoyed. “Anyway, he’s then restrained by some of the staff, the police are called and there was also an ambulance.”

“Why didn’t you let the paramedics stitch you up?!” You asked, aghast. “Why would you refuse it and come back here!?”

Meeting your boyfriends gaze, he gives you a sheepish look. “… Because you used to sew up my cuts when I was a cage fighter?”

“That was only on the fly!” You snapped, “I’m not a medical professional, I could have really hurt you doing that!”

He scoffed, “we all could have gotten really hurt doing that. It was underground and illegal for all of us to be there.”

You rolled your eyes and picked up the needle and thread again. You set to work sewing up your boyfriends wound, “that was a very, very long time ago. I don’t know if I’m still any good at this.”

“I trust you.” The Orc said, smiling. “You were always gentle with me whenever I’d come out of the ring.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, “I was only gentle with you because I liked you.”

Back then, it was difficult to find any kind of joy. You were in a lot of trouble with loan sharks and had to do something to pay them back.

You’d been kicked out medical school, were drowning in their debt… but there’s no reason as to why you couldn’t put to use the little skills you’d learnt.

So you started helping illegal cage fighters with their injuries. They paid well and everyone had a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Although half of your pay check got taken back by the loan sharks, the fighters you did heal would give you tips of 100 coins, sometimes up to 1000, depending on how they were feeling, so that helped a great deal.

Your boyfriend, known as ‘Big Money’ for his green skin and huge muscular body, was the top fighter there. If you were smart, you betted on ‘Big Money.’ It’s in the name isn’t it? You want to win? You bet big.

Every time you took care of him, he always took you out to dinner as thanks. And eventually, he was taking you out just because, and before long, you were dating.

Everyone knew you as ‘Big Money’s girlfriend’ and rarely gave you any slack… apart from the occasional too big for his boots fighter who snarked you or shoved you away when you tried to tend to his injuries.

When that happened, everyone would treat said fighter like he was a bomb about to go off; no one wanted to be near him, or associated with him And who would? If Big Money was going to get you for disrespecting his girl, you would stay clear too.

A cold shot went through you, “you don’t think that Goblin knew who you were, do you?” you asked.

Your Boyfriend stiffened at the question. He was quiet for a little longer than you’d have liked, but he answered you. “I’m not sure. I didn’t recognise him when I saw him, he might have just been a spectator.”

“Either way… it’s still a concern.”

Your boyfriend was in a similar situation to you too, but the difference was that he was hundreds more in debt than you were. Which is why he was put in the ring. Partly as a punishment, partly as a way to earn back all the money he’d lost.

The pair of you wanted to escape that place. Not because you didn’t want to pay off your debts, but because of the barbarity of the environment.

Every time you saw your Orc coming out of the ring, he just looked worse and worse. Black eyes, shattered orbital bones, fractured fingers and toes, tendon snapping and a whole list of other, much gorier things were what made you both realise you wanted out.

With each time you had to fix up his injuries, your hands became even more unsteady.

The event organisers had no clue of your relationship with their ‘Big Money’ and often berated you, threatening to raise your interest if you couldn’t do your job properly.

“We need to leave.” Your Orc had urged you after a particularly bad fight. Both his eyes were swollen and he had stitches sewn into his bottom lip. He paced up and down your cramped bedroom, “this is getting bad, like, too bad. Who knows what they’ll do if-”

“Just stop saying things like that!” You had said, grasping the sides of your head. “I don’t think I can cope with talking about that kind of thing, if they find out we’re thinking about running, they’ll kill us!”

“No, they won’t.” Your Orc had said, firmly. “They won’t. I won’t let them lay a finger on us.”

He had bent down to you, squeezed your hands reassuringly. “I can do this, get us out of there, but you have to trust me okay? I know a guy, who knows a guy. They can get us out and we won’t have to worry about the debt again.”

When you began to shake your head, your boyfriends puffy eyes meets yours. “Please, (Y/N), trust me on this, they’ll believe we’re dead and gone, they won’t come looking for us!”

The final straw came when your Orc was knocked unconscious for two hours. They’d had him in fight after fight, breaks of ten seconds all but before he had to get back in the cage and fight on.

You had to fight back tears as you shakily stitched up a split eyebrow and tried to keep your cool from going off on the event organiser, who sat behind you and counted bills, feet up on the table in his ironed clean suit, paid for in blood money.

And when your boyfriends stitches had failed to hold together and he went down and out… the blame fell to you.

That was it.

You knew you both had to leave.

Your Orc had woken up with no apparent brain injuries and as soon as you were both able to speak again, you told him, “that guy who knows a guy, how much money does he want from us and how soon can he get us out of here?”

From that point it was simple: a fire would be started, people would have to clear and escape the premises, and that’s when the two of you would run.

You remember what it was like, preparing for it. You had to get your blood drawn every two weeks, not a lot, but just enough for people to know that something had happened to you during the confusion.

Your boyfriend did the same thing. He got all of his – limited payments, just enough for him to eat off of – in cash, so he saved and saved for weeks, you did too.

And the moment that fire broke out, you’d never felt such relief.

The pair of you took off in the crowd and the guy, who knew a guy, spilled the blood you had drawn in those earlier weeks.

You’d both gotten into an unmarked van, before being dropped off in a city where nobody knew your names, your past or what you’d had to do to become free.

Once the adrenaline of getting caught had worn off, the pair of you had celebrated with buying a new flat and staring new careers.

You got into alternative medicine, and now healed people through those means, while your boyfriend became a fitness trainer.

And overall, everything seemed to be going well… until today that was.

The guy your boyfriend knew, had said that you had to avoid being photographed, filmed and having any kind of digital trace if you wanted to avoid being found.

You had completely forgotten about that part. Life had been so good that your past had felt like a nightmare.

But if your anxiety was correct, it seemed like you would need to pack up, go on the run again. Or find a way to get that footage off of the Goblin and delete it… and that’s assuming that he hadn’t already put it on social media or sent it to the event organisers, if he was connected to them.

“Hey,” your Orcs soft voice broke you out of your trace state. You tied off the stitches as he put the knuckle of his finger under your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Whatever happens, we’re going to be alright.” He said, firmly. “No one is going to try and hurt us. I’ll get in contact with my guy, and we’ll see what he can do. Who knows? That little bastard might have just been running a fitness page or something. Since he had a knife, he might just do this sort of thing a lot and expects to get into fights.”

You smiled, grateful for his reassurance. “Yeah.”

Sometimes, occams’ razor is the way to keep your head above water. You still made a mental note to pack a duffle bag full of valuables to make sure that you could both shoot off if you needed to.

But you trusted that your Orc Boyfriend would keep you safe. He’d done so all this time, so what would stop him now?

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story! If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

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@sunndust @greenie-c

[postmoe]

Moe im absolutely DROOLING at capitano 😵 May I request yandere! capitano preeety plees with a cherry on too 😫😫 U CANT TELL ME HES NOT JUST AHHXJSNSNSN HES SO FINEEEE

im sorry it's been so long life is just UGH i think we all need a bit of capitano rn-

i think i made the yandere a little too subtle but I hope it's still okay-

When you first fell to this world, no one believed you to be an outsider. You were just crazy, a patient who escaped the asylum.

It happened when you were out on a job, your last year of med school and you were doing your practical part, following along in ambulances and assisting paramedics. There had been a building collapse, chaos everywhere, dust surrounding the scene. You weren't supposed to stray too far, it's only when you heard a young voice calling from help did you separate, calling out your intentions to your colleague before rushing through the door with your bag of equipment held tightly to your chest. As you began through the doorway, it was as if an earthquake struck, everything trembling and crumbling. You couldn't believe your eyes, the way the ground turned blocky, a red and black colour eating the sides of your world like an 8-bit transition. Gravity hit hard as you fell through, the broken, wooden floors turning into a faraway city, canopies of trees, rivers, mountains - before you fainted.

When you awoke you couldn't find any injuries that would result from a free fall from the atmosphere, namely death. If anything, you were a little tender in the muscles. You found your med bag not far from you before awkwardly making your way, searching for help.

One lonely night you had approached a group of soldier-like people. They were part of the 'Fatui', which people seemed to fear but what other option did you have? You told them your story, begged for food, and out of pity some had helped you. A lot of laughs came your way, but even so, you sat at a table with drunken fatui and got a nice bowl of stew and bread.

Just as everyone was leaving, you felt a large hand on your shoulder. It was their Captain, who the party under his command conveniently referred to him as 'Capitano'. He holds out a small, woven bag once he gets your attention, dropping it in her hands when you hold them out. It feels like coins - Mora, if you remember correctly, the currency of this world - and regards you with only a few words, "I believe you. However, I cannot help you."

It was the little glimmer of hope you needed. You stored some leftover bread in your paramedic jacket, running after him and calling him to wait, to have a conversation but, he was a busy man. He retreated into a nice looking motel on the outskirts of the city, leaving you to sit outside.

So you did. You waited all night on the side of the road, resting until he eventually came back out.

.

Granted, following an 'evil' organisation wasn't the smartest thing, that's only if the words of the people you've met are to be believed. As of now, they're the only people who have reached out a helping hand, and Capitano, the only one to make you finally breathe and remember that you aren't insane; that this is real.

Still, you keep your distance, following diligently like a lost puppy. "Leave her be," Capitano had said when one of his men asked about you, "She is no threat." Later he would say he was hoping you would get the message to journey on your own, to find your own way.

On a cold night he had saved you, though to anyone it appeared as nothing more than an easy kill. Two hilichurls, you were half asleep, focused more on keeping warm than any dangers. It wasn't until you heard the slash of his blade did you even notice he was there, the monsters leaving behind blood and dust in their wake.

Capitano drapes a blanket over you, "Come." You follow him into the camp, beyond the guards and closer to a fire. He points to a sleeping mat, "If you're going to follow me then stay within the group." With that, he retreats to his tent. You can't help the tears of gratitude as you bathe in the warmth, your sleep the best it's been in weeks.

You make friends with the fatui, it's unanimously agreed that everyone in Capitano's ranks are morally... adequate, compared to other Harbingers. "Don't even get me started on Il Dottore's..." one mentions, and you think as a 'doctor' yourself, you couldn't handle hearing his horror stories.

Eventually, you become part of their medic team, showing them all the fun tools and medications from your world. Even if they don't believe you, they pretend to, and they show interest. You've only cried twice when reminiscing.

A few times you've seen Capitano enter the medic tent, he grabs some bandages and some ointment before retreating to his tent. "Would you like some help?" You ask, not for the first time, and it won't be the last.

His usual response is what comes, "No, thank you."

It's a routine, you like to think he appreciates it.

.

You're not a stranger to violence. During your schooling you saw a lot of gore, it never phased you in the ways it would others. Of course, it was sad, seeing children who needed to have a leg amputated, people being victimised by a violent stranger, you could only do your best to give them the rest of their lives.

War, however, was another thing. Footage does nothing compared to witnessing it, the people you eat dinner with being ripped apart by monsters, other factions of the land getting burnt to death by the power of their gods, or frostbitten and forced to watch their comrades suffer until they themselves succumb.

Capitano scared you, in a way. He was always so strong, so willing to give his all to anyone who had the courage to fight back. It was his way in honour. You're lucky he had a sense of justice, apparently anyone else could have killed you and be done with it. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like if he drew his sword against you, or used his large hands and wrap them around your neck, suffocating you until he saw the whites of your eyes...

He was a monster, but maybe compared to the other, real monsters out there, he was the better option.

Tonight he got hurt, enough to show the blood spreading through his clothes. Wounds and scars were normal but this made your stomach churn. You see a glimpse of a monster claw that he's tried to hide with his cloak. There's a tear in his sleeve as well, showing his long glove underneath.

Nope. You can't just sit by as he struggles, you signed a contract saying that you would help anyone, no matter the circumstance. As he walks back to his tent, you follow him closely behind, your bag in hand. He stops, the flap partially open as he turns to you and says in a strained voice, "I'm fine. Go tend to the others."

You shake your head defiantly, staring into the dark abyss of his helmet with conviction.

He huffs, entering the tent and murmuring, "Do as you please."

His tent is much larger than any of the others, perhaps the medical one only being marginally bigger. There's a fireplace, a desk with a multitude of papers, scattered, used bandages and a large pile of bed wrapping and furs. He takes a seat on the chair near the desk, removing his coat and grabbing the claw, about to yank it out when you slap his hand away.

You waggle your finger at him, crouching to get a better look at the wound, "You're only going to make it worse. Honestly, if that's how you treat yourself it's a wonder you're still alive. Help me get your shirt off."

There's a hint of hesitation in him, though you're only a little sure you see it. Your focus is on pulling it over the claw without moving it too much, it had gone through bandages around his stomach as well, wrapping over his chest, the rest of his body... Look over him, taken aback. His flesh isn't normal, what you thought were gloves was actually the decay of his arms. No, decay doesn't seem right either but even so, there's no life. He lets you take it in, waiting until your eyes look to his mask. "My body is rotten, rotting, still," he clarifies, and you realise that perhaps decay is the right word, it's just a different meaning in this world. "I'm fine," he says again, as though expecting this to be too much for you, "You can leave."

You wonder why the smell isn't so bad, the sweet tinge mixing with a sour after scent. It wasn't the most pleasant but if you're being honest, it wasn't horrible. You put this aside and give him a dead stare, "You're so aggravating. Are you just allergic to help? Shut up and let tend to you."

He sits still after that, leaning back in the chair as you get to work. You tell him when it might hurt, he doesn't even flinch when you're prepared to extract the claw. Even the inside of his body isn't normal, his blood seeming to pulse out than continuously flow, the colour off in a blackish way. You had removed the bandages before, so the feeling of his leathery skin was odd, there was an odd sense to it that you couldn't describe. Darkness? How could you feel darkness?

You're priority is the claw wound, which you diligently tend to, cleaning and stitching it until you were satisfied with the result. You have a gauze left that you wrap onto him, sitting back on your heels to admire your work. "I'll have to check on it twice a day. If you need help bathing let me know, or I can instruct one of your men how to assist you without infecting the wound," you tell him, expecting him to blatantly deny any outside help.

Instead, he changes the topic entirely, speaking lowly, "I still can't help you."

"What?" You ask, mind still on the topic of his wellbeing.

He rolls his shoulders and looks to his tattered shirt, reaching to put it back on, though leaving it open, "To get back home, I still can't help you. You're wasting your time here."

Oh, so that's what he meant. You haven't spoken about it with him at all, and you did have questions you wanted to ask but you're not even sure if you have the mindset to discuss your fate immediately after learning the man you've been following is rotting before your eyes. It feels kinda shitty to bring up your trauma over his. You reach forward, fingertips grazing against the damaged skin above his stomach, wishing you could do something more than than bandage a wound, "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse, at least it didn't come out the other side," he tilts his head to the claw, and you can imagine he might have a disinterested look by the sounds of his monotone voice.

You laugh, and you're not sure if he's saying that so you don't bring up his skin but you honestly can't believe what you're seeing, "No no, your body. Your flesh. Does it hurt?" You distantly wonder if that little vial of morphine you saved would alleviate it. Would it be a blessing of reprieve or a torture since it won't last?

Capitano sighs, probably the first sign of true emotion you've heard from him, "Yes, it's very painful. I'm used to it, however."

"Does the ointment help, the one you get from the medic tent? God I wish I could just," you frustratingly clench your fist before opening your palm to him, exhaling in sombre, "Take your pain away. I'm a medic in my world, but here I feel really useless sometimes."

You sit in comfortable silence, still crouched down before him. He hasn't removed your hand, you're not sure why but perhaps the cool touch it soothing to him? His muscles tense underneath you, and you only open your eyes when you feel him relax again. You're face-to-face with a strange light from your palm, a swirling breeze like a vortex coming inwards. You freaked out, retracting your hand fast but only getting a fraction of a distance before Capitano grasped your wrist, forcing you to press back against him. It's too late, whatever concentration you had fades, as does the light.

The way his shoulders sag gives a sense of disappointment. "What was that?" You practically whisper, a little scared of whatever just came from you.

He finally relents your hand, leaning back in his chair, "I believe... It's an ancient power. I shall do some research."

Capitano is curt, his head turned to the side and away from you. You get the hint, knees cracking loudly as you stand, causing you to laugh anxiously while you dust off the imaginary dirt from your thighs, "Y-Yeah, okay. Thank you. I'll check in on you in the morning."

Your goodnights are brief, the flap of the tent closing gently behind you.

There's a pyroslinger skirmisher standing guard at his tent, you give him a pointed finger and declare, "If you see him take off his bandages without me, you let me know! I won't tolerate my patients disrespecting my orders."

He gives you a salute, playing along, "Yes ma'am!"

.

Capitano's body is corrupted by the abyss, he's been stuck in a torturous torment of decay for over 500 years. Your heart aches at this, a condition your mind struggles to comprehend but there is one saving grace you both had realised:

You have the power to ease his pain.

It's a form of light that counters his darkness, and whilst you can never truly cure him, you can certainly take the edge off and allow him to rest. Physical touch works the best, a few times now as you're focusing on his ailments has he fallen asleep. Now you provide mandatory rest, it had taken a lot of complaining and arguing but you finally managed to get him to take off his helmet.

"I've seen the aftermath of a person's skull from a violent car crash, I don't think it could be worse," you had told him.

To which he responded, "What is a car?"

Seamless to say, you were correct. If you were honest, you were expecting some sort of Freddy Krueger look, though he certainly didn't meet those expectations. What caught you off guard were the piercing blue of his eye. Sometimes, you had thought you'd caught a glimpse of them through the mask, whenever raw emotion truly shined from the Captain. Now, you know you weren't imagining things. One eyes was scarred shut, though he could open the lid, the eye itself was pale and sat naturally closed. The scar across it took up almost half of his face, his skin partially remained its true colour, though he says its faded over time. The blight that covers most of his body travels up his neck, like twisted vines growing along his cheeks and forehead. His long, black hair remained neat, only a few strands falling forward once the mask is removed.

The tent remains securely closed at the time, your back facing it as you both rest in the furs of his bed for extra security. You hum a song that doesn't exist here as you caress your fingers through his hair and down his neck, circling around his shoulders and along his spine. He rests comfortably in your lap while the light from you absorbs his pain. One of his hands reaches out, grasping your left hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, his own hand enveloping yours like a delicate treasure, "I'm not sure I could ever let you leave now. You should have turned around when you still had the chance."

You laugh, because you know Capitano and you know his values. Even as the alarm bells ring from the way he squeezes your hand, like he'll never let you go, you ignore them in favour of your naivety, "If I left then I would have been torn apart by monsters."

He grunts and rolls so he's on his back. Your smile is awkward from the position he's put himself in, your chin tilting up to lessen the double chin from looking down. His hand now reaches up to your face gently stroking your cheek as he thinks aloud, "So as long as I stay in dangerous areas, you won't run away."

His words are making you feel too uncomfortable, so you flick his forehead and scold him, "Stop being so weird. You've kept me safe this far along, right? As long as I'm here, I'm going to help you." You hold his hand against your cheek, hoping to comfort him with a smile, "Besides, who would I follow if not my Captain? Anyone else would just be a downgrade."

Capitano's stare is as piercing as ever. He takes his time sitting up, shirtless and uncaring of the cold temperature. You much prefer this angle, looking slightly up so you can still meet his gaze. True to Capitano fashion, he hits you with a curveball and says something that catches you off guard, "I want you to sleep with me tonight."

Your face goes red, eyes avoidant as you stammer, "F-For the comfort, right? To keep your pain at bay?"

You think this is the first time you've seen him smile and, if this is his joking tone then... What was everything else? "Of course, for the pain. Why, was there something else you had in mind?"

[rogueddie]

Steve had been watching the kids play D&D with Robin. They were curled up on a beanbag together, almost painfully wrapped up together. It was so normal that no one batted an eye. And the two of them sitting in the corner to watch the kids play had also become routine enough that it was more unusual to find their corner empty.

Nothing about the afternoon, the day, or even the week, was in anyway odd or unusual. Steve had been feeling better, if anything. It showed too. Even Mike had pulled Dustin aside to ask what had him to much happier. But it was just the fact that everything was starting to look up- Max had taken a noticeable turn for the better, the cracks infection of Hawkins was increasingly slowing down and the amount of monsters had slowed down to the point that Steve didn’t even need to join the patrols.

All in all, Steve considered it a good month. What could possibly go wrong?

The room had started spinning so violently and so suddenly that he couldn’t hold in his confused, distressed noise. All heads in the room turned, just in time to see Steves eyes roll back, slumping back.

“Steve?!” Robin says, shaking him. She struggles to get up with most of him still wrapped around her, with how limp he’s suddenly gone. “Steve!”

Dustin is there in seconds, knees thudding to the floor next to them. “Steve! Oh, shit. Steve!”

“Has he just fainted?” Will asks, stepping forward with the others, hovering nearby. “Should we call an ambulance?”

“Check his pulse,” Mike suggests.

They’re all quiet, tense, watching Robins fingers shift on Steves neck.

“I can’t find it!” She sobs.

Dustin, who’d been checking his pulse via his wrist at the same time, yells, “no, I got it! It’s- shit, it’s faint.”

“Call for an ambulance,” Will tells Mike, already heading for the door. “I’m gonna get El!”

Dustin and Robin struggle, but eventually lift him enough for her to stand up. She insists he check for Steves pulse again, beginning to pace, pulling at her hair.

“Maybe it’s something to do with his head,” she continues to ramble. “I mean, he’s been hit a lot, that must have done some damage, right? And, like, I didn’t notice any lights flickering, but maybe he did and-”

“Robin!”

“Yes?”

“Not helping.”

“RIght. Sorry.” She’s quiet for a moment, continuing to pace, glancing towards the door. Mike can be heard talking on the phone. “But it’s gotta be something normal and easy to explain, right? It’s not like… it’s not like Vecna could have done this… right?”

But Dustin turns to her, slowly, frowning. “Maybe. It would explain why things might have suddenly gotten better. Vecna could still be weak, so a direct attack would take all his energy.”

They both turn, looking at Steve. But there’s nothing obviously wrong with him. He just looks… asleep.

“-in here!” Will is saying, rushing into the room, El hot on his heels.

El gently pushes Dustin aside, kneeling down beside Steve. She grabs his hand, quickly closing her eyes.

She stays there for a long time. Long enough that Mike comes back, warning them that the ambulance should be there any minute. Robin starts to pace again, whilst Will bites his nails. Dustin stays crouched beside El, staring at Steve like he’s tempted to try and jump inside his head alongside El.

“He is… not here.” She eventually says, opening her eyes.

“What does that mean?” Robin asks.

“He is not here,” El repeats. She looks as confused as everyone else. “His mind. It’s… not here.”

“You mean like… Max?” Will says.

“No…” El looks back to Steve. “Her mind is… empty. Hiding. He is gone.”

In the Upside Down, Steve wakes up.

His body doesn’t… feel right. He tries to stand up but, as soon as he tries, his legs wobble and he falls onto all fours… but…

Steve hesitates, looking down nervously. And, if the size of the world hadn’t given it away, the fluffy little paws he’s met with do. He tries to move his hands up, tries to tell himself that he’s just seeing things- but the paws move instead. The wrong feelings match up with the furry little body he’s in.

Panic bubbles up, so overwhelming that he gags. The noise he makes, though, only makes him panic more.

It takes him a long moment to realize that it’s him that’s yowling. It’s him making those sounds. It’s him… meowing.

“Woah, hey,” a soft voice coos. “How’d you get in here?”

Steve jumps around, hissing- but immediately stops. Because that’s…

“Eddie?” Steve tries to say. The meow he makes instead sounds curious.

Eddie smiles, awing at him. He crouches down, slowly extending a hand towards him. “Hi there, little guy. You got a mouth on you, huh? Heard you all the way from the trailer park. You must be pretty spooked. Did you fall in here?”

Steve stares at him, amused and annoyed. He huffs, sitting down, before pointedly tapping one of his paws on the floor. He still remembers the simple morse that Eddie had used to flash their SOS to Dustin… he’s pretty sure.

He barely gets two short taps done, before Eddie Is lifting him up. His hand curls under Steves belly, pulling him up to his chest. Steve yowls, annoyed- but Eddie shushes him. He glances behind him, which is when Steve realizes that he’s scared.

Then he hears the subtle sounds of movement. Something… stalking towards them.

Steve realizes, then, just how vulnerable he is like this. He’s tiny. He’s a fucking cat. If Eddie drops him, leaves him behind for whatever reason, he has no chance of survival.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Eddie whispers, startled, as Steve tries to worm his way inside Eddies jacket. He tugs it open though, curling an around around himself so Steve has some support. “That’s a good idea, you stay there, ok? Stay quiet, shh shh.”

Eddie is still, not moving or even breathing, for a long moment.

Eventually, he heaves a great sigh, gently prying Steve out from inside his jacket. He's careful to support him whilst holding him up for inspection, one hand around his chest and under his front... legs? But he has his other hand flat underneath him to sit on.

"You're so fluffy," Eddie mumbles, turning Steve around. "And clean. Where did you even come from?"

Steve grumbles, trying his hardest to glare.

It just makes Eddie laugh. "You're a fiesty little thing, aren't you?"

He pulls Steve closer, propping him up against his chest, starting to walk... deeper into the forest.

Steve tries to make his confusion clear, though he's not sure it works.

"It's ok, I have a little base set up at Harringtons place," Eddie explains, absentmindedly petting Steves head. "Not many vines there, so it's pretty safe."

Steve tries to wriggle around at the mention of his name, bringing a paw up to pat at Eddies chest, urgently.

"Hey, sh, it's ok," Eddie coos, stroking him from head to butt- Steve hates how much it does sooth him. "You're ok. I'll find you something to eat, ok? You're gonna be fine." Eddie glances down at him, humming. "I should name you, shouldn't I?"

Steve feels his ears droop. He's sure that Eddie will insist on giving him some D&D name, or some other nerd-

"Stevie," Eddie says, grinning at how quickly Steve perks up. "You're just like him, you know? Pretty, fluffy, soft... but also, a little bitchy."

Pretty?

"I shouldn't bore you with stories of old high school crushes though, should I, kitty?"

Steve meows, jumping up. He's too curious now.

Eddie laughs. "Alright, alright... but it's a long story! Don't say I didn't warn you. It starts in 83, he was a year below me..."

[hardly-an-escape]

inspired by this gorgeous art by @newtkelly 🌹💕

It's just a normal Tuesday. They're about two hours out from the end of their shift and Buck is upstairs in the kitchen, finishing up the dinner dishes, when Chimney's voice floats up from the floor below.

"Hey, uh... hey Buck? I think you have a visitor."

He sounds a little weird, almost like he's trying to hide something. Buck frowns and grabs a dishtowel. "Be right down," he calls back.

He hops down the last few steps, rounds the front of an engine at a jog, opens his mouth to ask what's going on and – stops dead.

Tommy is standing in the middle of the ambulance bay, feet planted like he's expecting someone to come along and shove him out the big garage doors – and from the slightly murderous glare Eddie is throwing his way, it might be a valid concern. He's wearing a cream colored Henley and his hair is tousled, a couple artful locks falling over his brow.

But what stops Buck in his tracks – what roots his boots to the floor and makes his mouth drop slightly open – are the flowers.

Tommy's arms are absolutely overflowing with roses. There's got to be at least two dozen, maybe even three, wrapped in classic brown paper with a bright ribbon holding it closed. They're full and perfectly opened and a deep, rich red, with a handful of pink and white carnations scattered through the bouquet that, rather than distracting from the roses, just make them look even more luxurious by comparison.

"Hey," Tommy says. "Happy Valentine's Day, Evan. Can we talk?"

Buck spends at least two and a half seconds fruitlessly opening and closing his mouth.

"Valentine's Day isn't until Friday," is what eventually comes out. He can practically hear Eddie's eye roll from behind him.

One corner of Tommy's mouth lifts in a tight little smile. "I know," he says. "But this is the day I knew for sure you'd be on shift, so."

"Oh. Right," Buck says stupidly.

"These are for you." Tommy hefts the armful of roses and Buck automatically steps forward to take them. His fingers brush the backs of Tommy's hands as he does so.

He could swear he feels a spark. Maybe it's just static electricity. But Tommy's eyes widen minutely, so he must feel it too, whatever it is.

"You, uh. You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. Yes." Tommy clears his throat. Buck is intensely aware of the fact that they have an audience. Eddie is still frowning, Chim is doing a very bad job pretending he's not hanging on every word they say, and even Bobby has paused what he was doing to lean too-casually against a wall, arms folded and carefully neutral expression on his face. "I have thought... so much about what I want to say to you. I've gone around and around, telling myself if I could just find the right words, I could make you understand. And then telling myself I haven't even earned the right to try." Tommy takes a deep breath. "It shouldn't have taken me so long to get my shit together and come talk to you. You deserved better than that, Evan. But I... I'm here now."

"I'm listening," Buck says. He's glad he can hold the flowers, because he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Tommy seems to be having the same problem; he clasps them awkwardly in front of himself, then unclasps them, then goes to shove them in his pockets and seems to change his mind, rubbing them briefly against his hips instead.

"Thank you. Thank you for being willing to listen," he says. "I... I never found exactly the right words. But I know what I want to say. First, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I fucked up, and I panicked, and I just kept panicking until it felt like it was too late to do anything else. Second, there are still things I hope we can talk about, things I tried to say that night that I couldn't get out right. Stuff about my past, and questions about the future. But most important... Third. I do want a future with you, Evan. Everything you said that night, I want it so... so badly. And it took me walking out to realize that, because I'm an idiot, and a coward, but all I learned by being without you these last couple of months was..."

Tommy trails off. His eyes have never looked so blue. "Was how much I don't want to be without you," he says simply.

There's a long moment of silence. You could hear a pin drop in the firehouse. It's as if everyone in the building is holding their breath. All Buck can see is Tommy – Tommy, with his broad shoulders, and his fidgety hands, and his blue eyes, full of hope and tears.

"Can someone come take these flowers, please?" Buck says over his shoulder, without unlocking his eyes from Tommy's. Chimney comes up behind him and gently takes the bouquet from his hands, stepping back without a word.

Buck takes a step forward. And then another. And then Tommy steps too, and then their arms are wrapped tightly around each other, cheeks pressed together, and it's as if the entire station heaves a sigh of relief.

"You are an idiot," Buck whispers fiercely into Tommy's neck.

"I know."

"This doesn't magically fix the fact that I'm still really mad at you."

"I know, Evan. I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I promise."

Buck pulls back far enough to look Tommy in the eye again, and what he sees there reassures every uncertain inch of him: sincerity. Hope. Apology. Even – he dares to hope – love.

He begins to lean back in, but before he can crush his mouth to Tommy's, the bell rings – because of course it does – and the alarm squawks, calling the 118 to a house fire a couple neighborhoods over. Buck reluctantly tears himself loose and heads for the engine.

"Don't you dare leave!" he yells to Tommy, pointing a dramatic finger at him.

"I won't! I'll wait right here for you!" Tommy yells back.

Chim claps Tommy on the shoulder and shoves the bouquet back in his hands as he runs past. The last thing Buck sees before they pull out and round the corner is Tommy's smile, blindingly bright above a cascade of red roses.

ETA: now there's a part two!

[captain-bubble-wrap]

QUINN WORRIED ABOUT YOU AFTER AN ACCIDENT 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

This one broke my heart to write. I'm sorry it took me longer than expected to finish.

CW | Car accident descriptions and injuries.

It had all happened so quickly; the literal blink of an eye. 

You had the right of way but the driver in the other car never saw you. One minute you were excited for that evening's plans, and the next you were drifting between consciousness and not. The sounds of everything had been so loud that your ears were ringing to the point of near deafness. Both the driver's side and rear of the vehicle were crunched and crumpled inwards; all of the airbags had deployed throughout the interior. The whiplash from being hit had jerked your head so violently to the side there had been enough force to give you a concussion and the seatbelt would fracture your collarbone; your right foot and ankle were broken due to so much impact against the gas pedal they had snapped; your right knee would hit so violently against the center console it would tear your MCL. 

All in a matter of seconds. 

You were headed to the arena to watch the Canucks play at home. Now, you were headed to the hospital in an ambulance. Worst of it all, Quinn wouldn't know until the game was over that anything had happened to you. Once he got to the arena, he was off his phone until post-game and you, yourself, wouldn't want such news given to him mid-game anyway. However, right now, you weren't conscious enough to even have that worry. 

The game would result in a Canucks win over the Oilers but that high-note to the night would come to a devastating end when one of the team's athletic trainers would break the news to Quinn. Pulled into the hall, following his post-game media interviews, Quinn would find himself unsure of how to process what he had been told. The trainer monitored his star player, taking in every subtle emotional que he'd show, but it was mostly just blank stares and shaky hands. 

"Are you alright?" The trainer asked. "Can we do anything for you?"

"Uh...no-- no, I uh..." Quinn stuttered. He had processed what he had been told, but to make comment on it was proving impossible. "I've gotta...I need to--"

Noticing Quinn was trying to say he needed to go, the trainer filled in the blanks. "Let us know if there's anything you need, alright? Be safe getting there."

Quinn nodded before turning towards the dressing room. He'd nearly trip over his own feet in the process, catching himself on the wall behind him. Back inside the players room, Quinn said nothing to no one, kept his eyes down and tried to hurry yet everything he picked up he fumbled. 

A few of the guys would notice their captain's change in demeanor but just watched on, because no sooner was Quinn in the room, he was out, and running and wouldn't stop until he was in his car. 

He'd remain in a complete daze the whole drive to the hospital. Traffic was still congested around the arena and Quinn tapped nervously on the steering wheel, silently pleading for things to get moving. 

"Ah, come on, come on, come on!" He said exasperated, his palms sweaty with anxiety. 

Eventually, he'd fly into the parking lot, and make a break for the automatic doors of the hospital. 

"May I help you?" Asked the woman behind the desk. 

"My girlfriend was involved in a wreck this afternoon. I don't know her room number."

The woman eyed Quinn curiously. His hair was still wet with sweat, forehead still marked red from his helmet, and he was wearing the same clothes he wore beneath his gear. There simply hadn't been time to worry about changing. By now, the wreck had been near five hours ago, but he couldn't help when he had arrived or the state he was in. He gave your name and she scrolled through the directory to give him your room number.

"Second floor of the Pattinson building," she said, rattling off directions of how to get to the ICU building. Quinn retained some, but not all, of the twist and turns he needed to take and would have to get assistance in finally getting to you. Outside your recovery room, your mother sat talking to one of the nurses in charge. She'd nearly interrupt the nurse to get up and embrace Quinn without a second thought.

"Oh my god, Quinn! I'm so glad you made it!"

"How is she doing? What happened?" His voice cracked and was shaky.

"I don't know! She told me she was headed to the arena, then I got word that she had been in an accident. It's not good, Quinn. I mean, she's okay, but it was a really bad wreck. They had to cut the car apart to get her out!"

"I need to see her, may I?"

"She's awake now, yes." The nurse replied, Quinn having turned to her for the permission. 

"Do you mind?" He asked your mother, and she gave her well-wishes with tears in her eyes. He'd give her another hug before quietly entering your room following her blessing. 

"Quinn?" You said, your voice hoarse from the intubation tube and not above a whisper. 

"Oh...baby," he choked out, not getting far into the room before his feet stopped moving. You looked so broken, laying there connected to all manner of machine and he hadn't begun to prepare himself before walking through the door. 

Your vision was blurry from the concussion, but you knew his outline regardless of the double vision. Had you felt better, you would have lifted your arms to him, but every limb felt like it weighted one hundred pounds each. Instead, they'd remain by your side when he finally managed to approach you. 

"Sweetheart, I'm-- I'm so--," he couldn't speak through the tears. He put his head against yours on the pillow, nuzzling against your temple as gently as he could. His weeping completely took away his ability to speak an audible word. As best as you could, you'd turn your face toward his, although minimal due to the neck brace. 

You couldn't handle hearing him cry like that, in fact, you had never seen Quinn cry until now. His fingers didn't know where to go, not knowing if where he placed them to touch you would cause you pain so instead, they clawed into the mattress and sheets.

"Quinny?" You whimpered, struggling, being unable to reach out for him.

"I'm-- I'm here, I'm here," he managed, his lips grazing your cheekbone. Your skin was bruised and red from the airbags, and every time you took a breath it hurt. Your eyes finally locked on to one another's with Quinn finding it so hard to see you like this, and him being powerless to do anything for you. "I'm sorry I-- I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. Baby, I'm-- so sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'm just glad you're here now," you strained. Your throat felt like you hadn't had a drink in a week, but you had to talk to him. 

His cheeks were flushed red and streaked with tears that continued to fall without end. All you wanted to do was reach up and wipe them away but lifting your arm was slow and he would stop you halfway through. 

"No, no, baby, it's-- I'm okay," he shushed, gently coaxing you to return your arm back to where it had been. "Just-- just stay still, sweetheart."

Closing your eyes, you bit your bottom lip to try to keep from crying yourself. Your ribs hurt and crying would absolutely be too much to handle. 

"I love you so much-- so, so much," he confessed, brushing some hair from your forehead. "I'm so sorry this happened to you! I wish I-- I wish I could have been-- there for you." He struggled again to speak, a hand pressed to his mouth to somehow stifle the emotions that were getting the better of him. 

"I love you, Quinn."

"I don't want to imagine being without you, Y|N--! I'm so glad you're-- I'm so glad you're alright." He was struggling to take a breath now, gasping for small little breaths between breaks in his words. If only you could have embraced him. 

"I'll be okay," you reassured, your eyes getting watery. 

"No, no, please don't cry sweetheart," Quinn pleaded, seeing you tear up. "It's okay-- It's-- You're going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you, I promise."

Your mind was in a haze from pain meds and the trauma, but you remembered tonight's game would mark the beginning of a 3-game road trip for Quinn's team. "You're going to be gone."

"I could probably request leave," he said, struggling to regain his composure. 

"I don't want you to do that. They need you." Talking was getting harder and harder for you do, but as long as he was there, you'd keep talking to him.

"Baby, you need me more!"

Your eyes pleaded for him to understand where you were coming from. "I don't know how long I'm going to be in here, Quinny. I just want to go home!"

"Shh, shh, baby, don't cry. Try to relax, please! This is the safest place for you right now. Trust me-- I wish you were home, too. I wish this had never happened." Quinn's eyes were so red as he frowned looking at you, smoothing your hair to calm you. No amount of his kind words or gentle touches were going to help you right now, not as long as you had to lay in that hospital bed and he had to leave you there. Soon, there was a knock at the door.

"I'm sorry, but we're nearing the end of visiting hours," the nurse said regrettably, seeing the state you were both in. "They resume tomorrow morning at 8am."

"I'll come see you in the morning before we fly out, okay?" He reassured you, a soft kiss placed on your forehead. "I promise."

You'd give him the faintest nod you could as silent tears marked your cheeks. "I love you."

"I love you so much more, sweetheart."

- - - 

Quinn couldn't stay long the next morning. Your care had taken longer than was originally anticipated and he was forced to remain in the hallway until the nursing staff had finished what they needed to. When he was allowed in, he spent the entire time stroking your skin, almost like he had forgotten what you felt like beneath his fingers. He had missed your warmth in his bed, waking up beside you in the morning, and the sound of your voice in his apartment. Even though you had to spend long spans of time apart throughout the season, this hit so much differently. You were hurt, not yet out of the woods, and he couldn't be with you. Now he had to leave you for over a week and still remain focused on his job as if nothing had happened. 

"Here, I brought you something," he said, trying to give you a reassuring smile. "That hoodie you always steal from me."

Struggling, you gripped it beneath your fingers as he laid it across your chest. You could tell he had sprayed it with that Dior cologne you had bought him for Christmas. "It smells like you. Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome," he smiled, kissing your bruised cheek. "Hopefully it gets you through till I get back."

"I don't want you to go," you whined, for good reason. 

His smile faded quickly in a frown, fingers brushing hair away from your face, "I don't either. I talked to your mom this morning. She said if they released you before I got back, she's stay with you in the apartment. She said it would be too hard to take you back to their house because of all of the stairs."

You were thankful Quinn and your mother had such a good relationship. They meant the world to you, both of them, and it was going to take both of them to get you back on your feet. 

Eventually, he had to leave, so to make it to the airport on time and it hurt worse to watch him go today than it had last night. You knew it was because you wouldn't be seeing him tomorrow. 

"I'll call you every night, okay? Your mom said they recovered your purse from your car and she's going to bring it to you today."

"Oh, okay," you mumbled, your heart hurting from him starting his goodbyes. "Thank you."

He kissed you one more time, for as long as he could before finally having to be on his way. 

"Please, be careful," you urged, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie. "I love you, Quinn."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. And I will. I'll be extra careful, promise." 

- - - 

The ten or so days Quinn was away passed by so slowly. The video calls with him had been a blessing although anytime you had to say goodbye it had ripped open those emotional wounds all over again. Your mother had brought you home two days ago and it had been nice to be back in the bed you shared with him, now if only he was there with you. Currently, you were laying near the middle of the bed, tucked in with your foot propped up with a pillow. You had just had a light lunch and taken the pharmacy worth of pills that had been prescribed for your recovery. Soon, you'd be drifting off for a nap at around the same time Quinn would be returning home. 

"I just got her asleep," your mom said after welcoming him. 

"How's she doing?"

She looked down, her lips pursed. "It's been a slow go of it, if I'm being honest. That concussion turned out to be a lot more severe than they had originally thought which has made her sleep schedule a nightmare. She cries all the time, she doesn't want to eat, and the pain has given her an attitude at times. I know a lot of it is because she misses you. I know my daughter, Quinn."

He let a soft sigh escape his lips. He couldn't blame you for how you were feeling, he had just hoped to have better news to come home to. 

"All of her meds and doctors instructions are on the counter. She won't need to take anything until dinner, aside from the pain pills. I'll warn you: she doesn't like to take them. She doesn't like how they make her feel, and she only really takes them if the pain gets unbearable."

"Okay, thank you. I appreciate everything you've done."

"Thank you, hon, truly. I'm happy she has you."

Once your mother left, Quinn locked the door, turned all the lights off and made his way to the bedroom. Quietly, he pushed open the door and leaned against the doorframe. Initially he smiled, but the longer he looked, the longer he was reminded of everything that had happened and the reason you were bed ridden. The neck brace was no more, but the bruises still remained, and the boot on your right foot and ankle. Your breathing was shallow when he walked over towards you, that's when he caught sight of you still clinging to that hoodie he had brought you like a security blanket. Carefully, he'd climb into bed and lay down facing you. His hand found your free one; his fingers trailing across your skin hoping to gently coax you from the faint sleep he hoped you had drifted off to. 

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" He whispered, placing a kiss to your shoulder. "I'm home, baby." 

You managed a whimper, a sleepy kind of affirmation that you had heard something that had stirred you, but your eyes remained closed.

"Baby, it's me," he said again, this time his lips against your cheek. 

After a few more seconds of his fingers against your body your eyes would blink open, a smile instantly appearing. 

"Oh, Quinny!" you mumbled, lazily. "How long have you been home?"

"Just a little bit, I've been watching over you, but I got selfish. I wanted you to know I was here."

Lifting your hand, you reached for his face. His curls were in full force today, soft and something you had missed playing with. Something so simple as hearing him breathing you had missed. Quinn was finally home, and for a while this time. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked, scooting closer to you. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you more," you quickly replied. "I feel like I'm probably expected to. Everything hurts, I can't move without pain, breathing still sucks. I had a coughing fit yesterday and I thought I was going to die."

"Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry. I was hoping you'd be feeling better."

"I'll get better now that you're home. I just wanted you to be here."

Quinn smiled, "Me, too, babe. Me too, but now we're both finally home. Everything is okay now."

You nodded as your eyelids felt heavy again. He'd give you another kiss, making sure you had everything you needed. 

"I'm okay," you said, "I'm just tired."

"Then sleep, baby, you need it. I'll be right here, okay? I'm all yours. Anything you need, anything you want, just let me know and I'll get it for you. It's my turn to take care of you."

Quinn would drift off to sleep with you, your fingers interlocked as you slumbered. Although it was unfortunate you were still severely hurt, this was the only place he wanted to be. He wouldn't let you out of his sight for anything. He doted on you like a princess, making sure you wanted for absolutely nothing. 

He was everything you could ever wish for. 

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (07)

Don’t think I forgot about the chapter! I took an unplanned nap earlier, but I still made it (from where I am, it’s still five minutes before midnight, so technically, it’s still Monday)! This chapter was tough to write and edit (tough is an understatement 😭), but here we are! I think as I’m trying to write longer chapters, they’re becoming significantly more work (especially when I try to do it all at once). Hope you enjoy this one too!

Warning: cursing

tags: aged-up characters ; Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; afab!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; eventually smut ; bisexual!Reader

06 <- 07 -> 08

Masterlist

Taglist —> if you want to be tag

When Todoroki arrived at the hospital, he paused at the entrance, his gaze fixed on the bouquet of dahlias in his hand. The vibrant petals stood out sharply against the sterile white surroundings of the building, and for a moment, doubt crept in. Was this a mistake? Should he have stayed home? Couldn't he have just sent an apology email or made a call instead? Why was he here, standing in front of these doors? Doubts filled him, but just as quickly as they appeared, they were pushed aside. Something about this moment—about seeing you and apologizing face-to-face—pulled at him in a way he couldn’t explain. It felt necessary, like a weight he couldn’t ignore. The urge to make things right, to apologize properly, tangled with an unclear mess of emotions, stronger than his uncertainty. The thought of seeing you again was both tempting and terrifying, and he couldn’t quite understand why.

With a deep breath, he steadied himself, taking one last look at the bouquet before stepping forward. His body seemed to move almost on its own, urging him forward as if it knew better than his mind. It felt pointless to resist, and he hated not fully understanding himself. Usually, everything was clear and simple, but now, the confusion, the unknown, and the awkwardness destabilized him.

Clutching the bouquet like a shield, Todoroki walked through the unfamiliar halls. Nurses and staff gave him curious glances—heroes usually arrived with an ambulance, not alone—but he ignored their stares as he normally did when he was in public. His focus was solely inward; his heart was racing, fast, too different from its usual calm beat. As he tried to compose himself, he knew this wasn’t just nervousness; it was something else, something hard to name. Todoroki could barely distinguish it, buried under so many feelings and the he closer he got to the hero wing, the more intense the feeling became. He was painfully aware of how each steps made his pulse race, and him self-conscious of his heart pumping loudly in his chest and ears.

When he reached the front desk, he paused for a moment, swallowing, preparing himself and trying to stay composed, as the receptionist looked up at him, briefly eyeing the bouquet before offering a polite, practiced smile.

"Good morning, how may I help you?"

"Good morning," Todoroki replied, his voice quieter than usual, and he mentally shook off his awkwardness before continuing. "I was here a few days ago, and… I was wondering if it would be possible to see the doctor who was in charge of my care during my hospitalization."

The receptionist’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as he typed. After a few seconds, he turned his attention back to Todoroki. "Of course. If you have questions about your treatment or would like a follow-up consultation, Dr. Hasegawa would be happy to schedule an appointment with you."

Todoroki nodded absentmindedly, but his thoughts had already wandered. Dr. Hasegawa... So that was your name. It floated in his mind: Dr. Hasegawa, I’m sorry for my behavior, he thought, trying to figure out what he would say when he faced you. I apologize for acting so inappropriately. Please let me make it up to you... maybe I could buy you a coffee after work?, but he immediately dismissed the thought.

Todoroki barely noticed how tightly he had been gripping the bouquet, the delicate stems pressing into his fingers, but he didn’t loosen his hold. He was still lost in his thoughts, and he couldn’t understand why he felt so anxious, on top of that, now the flowers seemed like such a strange gesture. When was the last time he’d bought flowers for anyone who wasn’t his mother? He couldn’t even remember. Maybe for Bakugo? That one time? Giving you flowers seemed more and more odd with each passing second, but he knew he couldn’t just throw them away now. A small part of him was still wondering if the flowers colors would truly match your eyes, as he had imagined back in the flower shop.

This was supposed to be a quick visit, just to apology to you. He was only here to make amends—no need for coffee or flowers, no need for anything beyond that. And yet, there he was, dahlias in hands, and feeling a flutter of anticipation building in his chest, an unexplained excitement buzzing through him.

“He’s currently in a consultation but should be available to meet with you in about twenty to thirty minutes. Will that be alright?”

Todoroki blinked, startled. He? There was no he.

“My doctor was a woman,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion.

The receptionist looked equally confused by his words, and he checked his computer before replying. "No, the doctor who treated you was Dr. Haruto Hasegawa, and he’s definitely a man."

There was now way he could have been wrong, he was sure of it and in his memory of the moment, although blurry , he could still clearly remember you: your eyes, your hair, the curve of your lips, your hands—everything about you had looked so pretty in his eyes. He was certain it was a woman who clung to his mind, like a shadow he longed to fade with time.

“There must be some mistake,” he said, sure of himself. “A doctor came to check on me in the afternoon and I saw her, it wasn’t a man.”

“In the afternoon?” The receptionist frowned, his tone taking on a slightly exasperated edge. “It says here that Dr. Hasegawa treated you in the morning, and he was in surgery all afternoon.” His gaze flicked back to Todoroki, the growing impatience evident. “Doctors don’t usually handle post-treatment checkups unless it’s an exception.”

This just didn’t make sense to Todoroki and as he opened his mouth to argue further, the receptionist’s expression shifted. His eyes lit up, as though he’d just pieced together a puzzle.

“Wait a second,” he said, fingers flying across the keyboard once again. “It was probably Nurse Asuna Shimizu. The nurses handle most of the checkups after treatments, and according to your file, she was assigned to you during your stay.”

For a moment, Todoroki faltered. He had been so sure it was a woman—but whether you were a doctor or a nurse? He wasn’t certain anymore. Now, he wondered if he’d completely missed the pastel pink of your hospital scrubs. After all, he hadn’t exactly been focused on your uniform that day—his attention had been caught by... well, everything else about you. You were a vivid image against the foggy backdrop of his memory.

“I guess you’re right. I might’ve been mistaken,” he admitted reluctantly, though uncertainty lingered in his voice. “Would it still be possible to see her?”

“Of course,” the receptionist replied smoothly. “I’ll call her now, she should be in the break room, so it won’t take too long.”

As the receptionist made the phone call, “An ex-patient wants to see you again, probably about his treatment I don’t know. It’s a pro hero.” Todoroki stood there awkwardly and stiffly.

The unfamiliar ticking of anxiety crawled through his veins, unraveling his nerves with every heartbeat. His held his breath every time he heard footsteps approaching from behind, and he fought the urge to whip his head around, afraid of appearing too eager or worse, desperate.

The wait stretched on endlessly, and he stared blankly at the sterile hospital walls as he tried to keep his thoughts from spiraling. His palms felt clammy, and his throat dried out despite his repeated attempts to swallow. The stems of the dahlias, crushed and fragile beneath his restless fingers, bore the burden of his agitation and he prayed silently that his jittery state wasn’t so visible to anyone nearby. When the receptionist finally spoke again, Todoroki felt the ground shift beneath him.

“Oh, Asuna, you’re here. Here is the patient who wanted to meet with you.”

Todoroki froze. The wave of emotions that had been brewing all day—restlessness, anticipation, and fear—crashed over him all at once as his breath hitched. This is it, he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Slowly, he turned around, as though he was bracing himself for the sight of you while the memory of your sweet peach scent tugged at him like a siren’s call, and demanded him to turn faster.

Todoroki’s heart sank at the sight of the nurse. The woman who approached wasn’t you; her hair, eyes, height, and face bore no resemblance to the seared image of you that he held in his mind. But the most glaring difference, the one that sealed it instantly, was her scent.

Scents were undeniable markers of identity—a fact anyone with a decent nose understood. It wasn’t usually a big deal; people were described as “the omega with the citrusy scent” or “the Alpha who smells like coffee beans,” just as casually as someone’s hair color or complexion might be noted. But your scent had been different. He wasn’t sure if it was his premature heat that made him more sensitive, but it had struck him like a physical blow, enveloping him completely and commanding his attention in a way he hadn’t been able to shake since.

The soft lavender and floral notes emanating from Nurse Shimizu weren’t unpleasant, sure, but they didn’t come close to the syrupy sweetness of peaches that had lingered around you. That scent—your scent—felt addictive, disorienting in its intensity, and it had burned itself into his mind more than he liked to admit. Whoever Asuna Shimizu was supposed to be, her scent clearly told him she was not you and definitely not an alpha too. Nothing about it poked and tease his omega like yours had.

Todoroki’s stomach twisted with a bitter ache. He felt foolish for expecting anything different. Maybe you were purposely avoiding him, and who could blame you? He had acted so shamefully during his heat, basically threw himself at you, and let his instincts overshadow his judgment. His mate's breaking your face had only made things horrifically worse. He was so focused on seeing you again that he forgot how serious the situation was and the guilt he felt soared from this realization, which only made him feel even more disappointed in himself. He had been acting so strangely over the past few days, wondering about trivial, selfish and superficial matters instead of how his actions impacted you. He know from experience how a punch from Kirishima could knocked you down and how disgusting unwanted sexual advances felt.

"Nurse Shimizu," Todoroki began, after he approached her maintained respectful distance. "I understand if your colleague doesn’t want to see me again. My mate and I behaved inexcusably, and I want to offer my sincere apologies. Please let her know she can contact my agency if she wishes to seek any form of compensation." He said, serious, measured and polite as possible, wanting to cause any further trouble for you or, what he assumed, your nurse friend.

It took Asuna a moment to piece everything together, before realization flashed through her eyes and she stepped closer to Todoroki, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

“When were you hospitalized?” she asked, her suspicions growing clearer after his response. Her fingers anxiously tugged at the edge of her sleeve as she pressed on, her tone tinged with nervousness. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Dr. L/n, but... is there any chance we can keep the hospital out of this? I know I shouldn’t have asked her to cover for me, but... whatever happened could be sorted out privately, right?” She let out an awkward laugh, clearly unaware of the incident between the pro hero and you, and her focus instead on ensuring her little escape from work remained unnoticed. Her eyes flickered around the room to check no one could over hear her little confession before they landed on the bouquet in Todoroki’s hands, a spark of curiosity breaking through her tension.

“Are those... flowers?” she asked, her voice a little lighter, in a terrible attempt at shifting the topic after the lack of response from Todoroki.

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Yes. Could you give them to her? As an apolo—"

Before he could finish, the nurse interrupted him. "She left early that day and hasn’t been back since. But I could tell her you want to see her when she is back ?” She offered.

The words hit Todoroki like a brick. You weren’t here. You hadn’t been here for three days, and it was undeniable—he was the reason for your absence. He had spent so much time thinking about you since arriving at the hospital, yet the truth slammed into him again: his thoughts had been filled with peaches, warmth, and beauty, while the reality was far darker. He couldn't escape the image of your tears, the memory of his unrelenting grip on your wrist as you tried to leave, the sickening sound of Kirishima’s fist connecting with his face, and the heavy, metallic scent of your blood staining the hospital’s sterile white floor. Now, all he could see was the wreckage he had caused you, and the painful realization that perhaps the only apology he truly needed to offer was leaving you alone.

Don’t tell me you thought it would be that easy. The reader is over there thinking her life is over, and you think she’s just going to go back to work?

Todoroki is a mess in this chapter, blushing and acting bashful like a high schooler with his first crush (this will make sense later). But, I didn’t want to downplay what happened to the reader too much. Todoroki should at least be aware of the consequences of his actions. I thought ending on a serious note would provide a nice contrast to the silly ending of the previous chapter. God I hope I didn’t write myself in a corner but I think I’ll make it work.

I think we’ve seen enough of Todoroki for now—next chapter will focus on Izuku! I know Todoroki may seem like my favorite character in this fic since, aside from the reader, he’s had the most POV chapters (probably more than the reader), but surprisingly, he’s not actually my favorite from the group. Don’t worry, though. I’m not playing favorites in thisbdix. Everyone will get their fair share of attention and dedicated chapters. We’re just starting off with a lot of Todoroki.

2,2k words, the chapter is extra long as an apology to the wait. Oh yeah, I am still waiting on the polls results but I’ll be honest, I maybe just decide for something else.

As always, criticisms are welcome.

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

06 <- 07 -> 08

My apologies if I forgot anyone in the taglist. This taglist is lowkey getting out of hand 😭

-> If you want to tag in the next update, check out the taglist post !

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender r ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @bluepatrolbear ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ; @roxy776699 ; @kamy-thee-egg ; @talia-the-gemini ; @pikachuzhc ; @itsnotjustmyself-blog ; @roxy776699 ; @mystic60 ; @reallysparklychaos ; @sixxze ; @blurryperrtymoonlight ; @1poison-cat1 ; @allyfoxglove ; @mindsbloody ; @jkvolgs ; @haruaikawa ; @k3nmakyan ; @my-anime-garden