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chososcutie · 3 days ago

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⟡ ݁₊˚⊹ SWEETHEART, SORRY IM LATE, I WAS LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ synopsis♡: when one fateful day leads to you being cursed, you go on a mission to find the infamous satoru gojo and his castle, but little do you know you’d find yourself in his bed later that night..

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ featuring♡: satoru gojo x reader

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ tags♡: unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!recieving), mating press, praise, making out, p in v, cervix kissing, big dick gojo!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ a/n♡: howl’s moving castle is my favorite studio ghibli film ever, so you already know i had to write a fanfic about it!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ w/c♡: 4.5k

"oh, darling won't you come out of that hat shop with us, you're truly overworking yourself!"

you smile softly, eyes flickering over to where your expectant sisters stood watching you, before looking back at the vibrant purple hat you had been working on, threading through with flowers. "oh no, i couldn't. you all go ahead, though."

they giggle softly at your reply, already well-acquainted with your firm work ethics and habits of almost never leaving the shop, tossing a, "suit yourself!" over their shoulders.

and as the door closes behind them, leaving you to stare at all of the colorful creations of caps littering your desk, you sigh, leaning back to take them all in.

maybe you had been working too hard..

being the eldest daughter of your family, you had been entrusted with the shop from a young age, making and sewing up hats for a living. it had been your father's, though now had been passed down to your mother, who had appointed you as an apprentice, although you were practically the only one who crafted and fabricated everything, and though the work was quiet and calming, it did tend to get rather boring at times.

the interior of the shop was tiny and just a bit cramped, every available surface being taken by assortments of feathery, patterned hats in almost every color. brown, old, and creaking rows of shelves surrounded your working area along with coatracks dipping under the weight of all the caps resting on them.

and though it wasn't much, it was yours.

you continued working for another hour, listening to the rickety clock on your wall tick tick tick away, with an impending sense of dull weariness.

was this all you were ever meant to do?

finally, you push back in your chair with a squeak! decidedly grabbing your hat and plucking it on your head, locking and closing the shop door with a resolute slam.

you would get out and see the town to clear your head. it wasn’t good to lock yourself away in the shop for too long, so you needed to breathe some fresh air before you started working again, and find some inspiration.

and so, you venture out through the hustle and bustle of crowded markets, trains whistling and blowing gray smoke as they chuff along, and the bumping of carriages along stoney paths.

the air grows thick with the amount of people thronging around you, spilling heedlessly in countless directions, and after more than one person gets in your way and abruptly stops, you huff, veering off toward a side alleyway.

it wasn't ideal but it would just have to..

bump!

“hey, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone? you lost, sweetheart?”

a slightly heavier set, blonde man leaned in front of you on a wall, blocking your path. he smiled down at you condescendingly, but it lacked any actual warmth, all teeth instead.

“n-no sir, i’m not lost.” you manage to stammer out, trying to duck past him, but seemingly out of nowhere his companion sidles up next to him, bumping his hip and peering down at you, his mean brown eyes and thick mustache seeming menacing in the dim lighting.

“you sure?” his friend snickers, one gloved hand reaching for your side and spinning you around to press against his chest, a sinisterly unfamiliar cologne surrounding and practically suffocating you with its intensity. “why don’t we show you the way home?”

“leave me alone!” you gasp out, trying to break free from their suddenly too-tight grip on you.

“there you are sweetheart, sorry i’m late, i was looking everywhere for you.”

your body stiffens as a large, warm hand comes to grasp gently at your wrist, tugging you away from the two men, and spinning you around to lay eyes on the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

his eyes were azure colored and half-lidded, his voice low and resonant throughout the empty alleyway. he was dressed extravagantly with a poofy white button-up and red and black pattered overcoat flowing loosely behind him, and as his eyes meet yours, something warm twinges in your stomach, the feeling spreading all down your body hotly.

his gaze flickers away to the men still stood there, as if noticing them for the first time, and something about him sharpens, voice noticeably colder. “oh? and what are you two doing?”

"hey, we were just.." the blonde one's voice raises indignantly, trying to pull you back to them with a hasty tug.

"leaving." the blue-eyed man behind you finishes, his other hand lifting to raise his pointer finger and slice it to the side, causing the two men to immediately break into a march, boots landing heavily as they stomp away in sync.

"wha.. how did you?" you stare up at him in wonder, his own flicking down to your face with a small little smirk tugging at his lips.

"magic. now hang on!"

before you can even reply, he's grabbing you by the hand, and lifting you effortlessly up, up, up, into the sky, floating alongside him high above the town, all the people below you seemingly tiny dots scattered around the vibrant landscaping.

"oh!" you exclaim, fearfully clinging onto him as you feel weightless, the air whooshing below and around you.

"straighten your legs, it's okay.." the white-haired man whispers to you playfully, hands curling protectively around you. "now, start walking andd.. see! you're a natural!" he laughs softly at your hesitant steps into the air, growing more confident as he holds you up with ease.

the ground becomes a blur as you match each other's steps, airily floating as if it were any other day, coasting in sync as colors whirl below you in a mess of banners and flags.

"so, where ya headed?" the man's sultry, honeyed tone interrupts you as you quickly turn to glance at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"oh, i.. uh.. just the hat shop."

so much for your day out.

"hmm, a hat maker you are?" you follow his eyes to where they linger on your simple little sun hat adorned with red ribbon.

"something like that.."

he smiles as he glides over to the small overlooking balcony outside your workshop, helping you down easily, your wide eyes gazing up at him as he prepares to leave again.

"make sure to be more careful next time you're out, mmkay? not everyone around here is quite as gentlemanly as me." his tousled, snowy white hair billows around him as he grins down at you teasingly.

" 'kay.." you nod shyly, and he begins to back up, smile widening.

"good girl."

and blowing a kiss to you, he jumps back off the balcony, eliciting a small gasp from you as you instantly rush over to press yourself against it, straining for a better look.

but he's already gone, practically dissipated into thin air.

with a tired sigh, and a combing of your fingers through messy hair, you lock the door to your shop with a click! before slumping down to the floor.

it had been a long day, and just as you're starting to relax, you hear a small, telltale tinkling of the bell that hangs above your door, alerting you when new customers arrive.

"hello? sorry ma'am we're closed right now." you start to stand up, noticing the woman in front of you, her face slightly flushed and eyebrows scrunched, as if in anger.

her figure is awfully plump, with a round, chubbed neck and doughy arms that hang out of her dress like deflated balloons.

her makeup is done rather sharply, as if made to look intimidating with hooked eyeliner and boldly colored eyeshadow, all accompanied by rouge red lipstick and a mole on the side of her mouth.

"why, you!" she stops right in front of you, lifting her─many─chins to stare down the bridge of her flat nose at you. "it was you he was floating around with this afternoon?"

you stiffen. she couldn't possibly mean..

"that wretch!" she hisses angrily. "eleven miserable years of my life spent chasing him! and this is what he does?" she slams her hand down on the counter loudly, causing you to flinch.

"please leave now! we're closed!" you say, your voice taking on a more firm tone as you try not to tremble, straightening yourself up.

she wheels around at you then, as if having forgotten you were there, still rambling on with passion. "oh? standing up to the most powerful witch, are we?"

her overdone, puckered lips draw up into a sinister little grin as you start to back up, unsure of yourself now.

witch?

"since he likes you so much, let's see if you can win over my precious, when i haven't been able to in more than a decade!"

black oozing spirits erupt from her flabby form, rushing over to you as you stand agape, horrified.

"and if you don't manage to fully capture his fleeting heart, you will die!"

all of a sudden, a cloying murky fog drifts in the homey space of the shop, invading your every sense, and clogging your nose tightly.

"what..?" you gasp, but all at once, it surges over to you, enveloping you in its tepid humidity, your mouth gulping in thick heaves of it, pouring into your throat, mouth, eyes, and nose with tendrils extending out of you, like a possession of your very body.

and then.. all is silent as darkness settles upon you, save for the fading echoes of the evil witch's deep, resounding laugh booming throughout the night.

when you open your eyes again, peeking out through your fingers carefully, you don’t feel different, with the exception of a vague, lingering sense of fear.

you were still plain ol' regular you, the you that stayed in working all day and turned down invitations to go out, opting to sew hats instead.

but something was.. off.

what had happened last night to make you so dazed, and memories so jumbled up?

and then, as quickly as it had been evading you, it all comes rushing back─ the man who had floated you into the air as if in a dream, the witch appearing, the sound of her cackle as she cursed you..

when you think back on the specifics of the spell she had cast however, you feel yourself pale, hands falling to your sides limply.

you were supposed to make the mysteriously magical guy that you had met yesterday fall in love with you? when you didn’t even know his name, or who he was?

that was practically impossible.

taking a deep breath, you desperately begin to wrack your brain for ideas as you try not to panic or think about the cruel ways the witch would kill you if you didn’t end up being capable of it.

one way you knew however that would be worth a shot to undo the curse, would be to find a well-practiced witch or wizard, and have them lift the curse from you, saving you a lot of time having to look for the elusive man and making him love you.

but.. there was no guarantee it would work.

you sigh heavily, trying to calm yourself down. that would mean leaving your town behind to move toward the wastelands where the witches resided, and in turn, leaving your faithful little shop, the only place you’d ever known to travel in the hopes for a remedy.

and so, it was with great strength that you straightened yourself up, huffing determinedly, and placing your hat firmly upon your head before heading out, intent on finding a way to break the curse before it was too late..

to the far west of the town, where weeds ran wild and the flowers never bloomed, muddy trails streaked across the land in brown stripes, was where you found it.

a creaking thing, four-legged and made of rotting wood with rusty pipes haphazardly sticking out of it, emitting black curling smoke to twine through the air, its agape, timber mouth and chipping, corroded eyes bringing a shiver to your spine.

gojo’s castle.

you had heard of it many times from your sisters, stories varying from grossly evil reenactments of how he devoured the hearts of beautiful women in search of his own, to tales of his haunting beauty, with glowing, cerulean eyes that were the last thing you'd ever see of the world, never being able to tell a soul.

and then it occurs to you.

of course! gojo was the most powerful wizard of them all, wielding magic that left no trace, going along with his cold reputation and secretive identity.

he could easily remedy the curse placed upon you with a snap! of his deadly fingers, but with the consequence that you still might not leave alive.

you look back up at the faltering, tarnished castle beginning to build up speed as it strode along.

it was now or never.

and so, with a running start and a leap of faith, you manage to clamber aboard the quickly taking-off oxidized clunker, clutching on to the door handle tightly before the wind practically shoves you inside, falling to the floor in a heap with a little, “oof!”

and when you look back up, rubbing your head with a wince, the enormity of the castle stretches before you, all glittering details that suggest riches, and antique, aged wooden furniture, cobwebs crowding near the top of the roof from the impossible vastness of it all.

slowly, you make it to your feet again, looking down all of the many stretching hallways for a sign of life, your steps clicking on the tiled floor ominously.

“hello? anyone here?” you call out, but to no avail.

eventually, your steps lead you to a small, tucked away room, filled with heaps of glinting trinkets and worn carpet that suggested someone had been here many times before.

there are bookshelves with dusty paperbacks piled atop them and shiny frames, but your interest was in the hefty bed shoved in the center, dipping under the weight of quilted blankets thrown lazily across it, and antique floral pillows that looked alike to a grandmother’s.

from the hours of walking that it had taken you to get here, your feet ached and your eyelids were already starting to droop from exhaustion.

all you needed was a nice sleep, and after evaluating your choices, your fatigue eventually wins as with a soft sigh, you shed your slightly muddied clothes into a pool on the floor, and trudge to the edge of the bed, lifting the heavy covers to slide in, your breathing slowing as you drift off, blissfully unaware of the warmth radiating from someone next to you.

darkness covers the room, so you don’t notice when you turn over on your side and press your soft tits against a moving, breathing body next to you, slinging your leg across him and drifting back off.

but he does, stirring awake with a sleepy murmur and tired, blue eyes blinking open only to freeze on your face, his cock hardening painfully in his pants instantly.

it couldn’t be..

you yawn sleepily, shifting closer only for your hand to drape itself directly across his lap,

fuck.

his eyes squeeze shut, breathing coming in soft, short pants as he tries to control himself.

this was so wrong, you were sleeping, completely unaware of..

your eyes flutter, and you groan as your hand curls around something hot, heavy, and pulsing, twitching beneath your touch frantically.

immediately, his face flushes a tinge pinker, eyes growing half-lidded and his breaths coming faster. wake up, wake up, wake up.

and then with a small yawn, your eyes blearily open to blink drowsily at your surroundings, startling only when they land on the pleading, blue eyed man next to you, hips unintentionally pushing up into your hand for more.

you scramble backward as your eyes land on where you’re tightly gripping him, gasping with surprise and already stumbling over an apology.

“i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t know there was someone in here or i would’ve..”

but before you can stutter out another word, his mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you hard, lips crashing onto yours a little uncertainly, as if he was lacking the experience, only making up for it in eagerness as he quickly finds the softness of your hip, pulling you closer and tugging your leg over him so the heat of your core is against him.

and then, as suddenly as he had been on you, he pulls back, face still shadowed and lined with the darkness of night as you gasp for breath from the intensity of it all.

you lean closer to him, causing your plushy tits to press up against his arm as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, only being able to see a faint outline of the man before you.

“i’m trying to control myself, but you’re making it a bit hard, sweetheart.” his voice is deep, slightly hoarse, and familiar all at once though you can’t quite place where you know him from.

you feel warmth pooling between your legs and lean forward, your hair tickling his face as you prop yourself up atop him.

“are you gojo? the wizard who eats the hearts of pretty girls?” you breathe out, rubbing your thighs together subtly.

he swallows thickly, lips parting slightly as his hand slowly makes its way to squeeze the soft, supple skin of your thighs as if grounding himself, his body feverish beneath yours as you feel his raging bulge poking into you with every small movement you make.

"s-something like that, although right now i'm thinking of eating something else.." his large hands skim slightly over your inner thighs, grazing the hot, gushing flood of wetness that had already begun to seep from your panties generously, one long thick finger curling slightly to press on your throbbing lil' clit like a button, your pink lips parting in a gasp as your eyes roll back immediately.

“y-you..” but your words immediately die in your throat as the bed dips and creaks as he rolls you over so he’s on top of you before pressing soft kisses all the way down your body, breathing out a soft, “s’this okay?” to which you quickly nod, already breathless for more.

and then he’s tugging your panties down in one swift motion, and exhaling sharply at the sight of your dripping cunt all laid bare before him, the feeling of the cool air grazing you making you squirm slightly.

two warm, large palms spanning across your waist hold you down as he nuzzles his head between your thighs, placing a chaste kiss to your pussy before pulling back, strings of arousal already attached to his lips.

“mmh.. so sweet.” he quickly buries himself between your legs, busying his mouth with lapping at you like a man starved, his tongue dipping into your honeyed cunt for more as the tip of his pert, button nose nudges against your clit.

“g-gojo!” you gasp out, your head falling back onto the pillows and back arching up helplessly as he uses hot, calculated sweeps of his tongue to stroke against you perfectly, slippery drool stringing sloppily between your legs.

“please..” he grunts, sucking your sensitive, twitchy bundle of nerves into his mouth before releasing with a sticky pop! “call me satoru.”

“satoru.. fuck!” you moan softly, body desperately curving up as you grind against his face for more friction which he lets out a pleased groan at, hands coming to your hips to rock you back and forth, suffocating himself in your warmth.

he quickly throws your legs over his broad shoulders, his head shaking side to side as he sticks out his tongue, gathering all of your honeyed slick with eagerness while you can only writhe and cling onto the snowy locks of his tousled hair tightly, tossing your head back with every loud moan he draws out of you.

it's only when you glance down that you notice the way his hips are desperately rutting against the creaking mattress, humping his throbbing, raging boner into the cushy bed for some form of relief as he eats you out vigorously, parting your sappy folds with his lengthy, dextrous tongue.

“castle gets lonely..” he mumbles into your pussy, the vibrations rocketing up your spine and causing a whine to get stuck in your throat as your stomach knots achingly tighter, the tang of your release on your tongue. “so m’so glad you decided to stop by..”

your eyes glassily cross, barely able to think or hear what he’s saying above the roar of blood crashing in your ears and your heavy breathing, hips twitching up into his mouth and thighs trembling as your stomach aches with the intensity of it all.

and then his whole mouth is covering your core, hot strings of spit mingling with your own sultry mess to streak down your thighs obscenely, and the stimulation turns out to be too much, as all at once your vision turns spotty and you're cumming hard, saturated shimmery squirt just gushing out of you as your body turns into a trembling, whining mess beneath him, sensitivity making your thighs clamp hard around his head.

and as he laps up every drop of your candied cunt, lips glossy and splotches of your sticky wetness pooling across his face, you can only shudder as he continues to suck and slurp at you, until you're desperately pushing him away, the tingling of overstimulation starting to settle over you in pulsing waves.

he sits back, out of breath and you see the slippery sheen of your essence dripping off his glistening chin in droplets, as he eyes you hungrily, like he hasn't had enough until he devours you whole.

he slowly makes his way back up to your face, your back hitting the plush mattress with a thump! as he pins you down, head lazing in a downward angle to draw your attention to the achingly painful, twitching bulge in his pants, sexy half-lidded blue eyes opening just wide enough for you to lock eye-contact.

blue? why did that remind you of someone..

but all of your thoughts are lost the second he's sliiiding his pants down and revealing the neatly trimmed, tufted white happy trail leading all the way to a massive, blushing pink cock, veiny and girthy with milky precum frosting out his tip so prettily.

his lip catches between his teeth as he wraps around himself with one hand, and begins to pull upward in rough-paced tugs, as his head lolls back, more stringy precum coming to gloss over his thickened mushroom head.

"you just gonna watch, or are ya gonna help me out here, doll?" he huskily drawls out, shuddering as you immediately spring to action, coming to straddle his lap in one fluid movement, desperately aligning yourself flush with his heavy cock and sinking down just on the chubbed, rounded tip with a grimace at how enormously big he was.

he makes a gruff noise, leaning back as he helps you to slowly work your way down onto his length, taking every thumping! veiny inch of him to meld into your hot, clenching walls, jaw falling slack at the pure effort it is just to fit him halfway.

"oh g-god, sweetheart.." he chokes out and you feel him pulsating and twitching faintly inside you as if he's fighting back the urge to cum right then and there, his hair flopping into his eyes as he rocks forward slightly.

and then, one thick finger is finding itself on your clit, gliding across the wetness just pouring out of you in sultry sheens as he guides you to take him, and almost instantly, your cunt greedily swallows him to the hilt, a faint bulge outlining his cock stretching all the way up past your belly button generously.

"good.. hah.. girl, taking me so well." he breathes out, and then his jittery lap is already bouncing you slowly, unable to wait another second as you feel his hefty length tracing sweltering hot strokes deep inside you, rolling his hips upward as he pants feverishly, a hand draping its way around your waist and pulling you closer.

drool pours down the side of your mouth helplessly as he moves you up and down on him, your pussy so stuffed and overspilling, it's almost obscene, though he seems to like it, cooing soft praises to you in encouragement.

"i betcha like this, yeah?" quickly grabbing ahold of your hips to get a better angle, he begins hitting into the cushy, soft spot of yours that always makes your legs weaken, smearing gooey precum from his bludgeony tip into you roughly, while the squelching between your legs grows louder, and more lewd with every thrust, the plap plap plap! of your sticky thighs ricocheting off his echoing throughout the vast castle.

he jolts his swollen head allll the way into your cervix, jackhammering with an urgency that leaves your mouth agape and tongue lolling as you feel your abdominals tighten, a familiar tautness creeping its way into your mind.

your pussy flutters around his length as his thrusts grow sloppy, and uncalculated, soft hair tickling you as he leans closer, his musky cinnamon-y scent infiltrating your every sense. "m' s'close my girl, i n-never.. hah.. thought this day would come." he shudders under your touch as you pause, bringing his face closer to truly examine it for the first time that night.

"wait- satoru?" and then, all the pieces come clicking together.

the magical man who had flown and twirled you around in the air was nothing other than the satoru gojo, owner of the infamous moving castle and the most powerful wizard of all time.

and it's then that he cums, spurting heaps n' heaps of creamy bucketloads of ribbony white. so much of it is pouring out, in fact, you swear your tummy swells up with it all, beginning to drip down your thighs in messy rivulets as gojo groans, unable to stop emptying himself heftily inside you.

your release follows just seconds later, as you soak his abdominals in your honeyed essence, slippery sheens coating him generously as he moans softly, still huffing from the effects of his own climax.

as you both come to, stars still blinking hazily behind your vision, you turn to him urgently. "g-gojo, the real reason i came here was 'cause.."

but he quickly shushes you, placing a finger on your pouty lips with a smirk curving up his features. "shh, baby i know, i know. you got a curse on ya, hm?"

you pause, taken aback. "how did you-"

he shakes his head. "in all truth, i was the one who sent her. i wanted to see you." he shifts himself to lean over you, bending your knees up to poke into your soft tits, grinning lazily down at you as he folds you into a mean, mating press. "and sweetheart, even if that love curse was real.. let's just say i already broke it, heh."

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @brownied0ll @iluvgogurt445 @loafteaw @satoruswifeyyyyy @lunar-harts @springismss @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @luvvcho

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madamechrissy · 2 days ago

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Escort! Satoru- part five

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mutual pining, lots of yearninggg, kissing (I KNOW YAYYY) dry humping, teasing, fingering, public play, fluffy and cute- there will be a part six! (final) pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Four

Escort! Satoru finally does it, he asks you on that date, watching the shock in your eyes, the trembling of your lips as you step back, and Satoru feels it then, the hammering of his heart. Is it too late? Should he have reached out again to you after the first night, when you didn't answer? His blue eyes peer at you over those glasses, as the sunlight beats down on your skin, making his cheeks just a little reddened, striking across his pale skin.

Escort! Satoru eases his hands gently off your face, when you swallow nervously - he hurt you so badly that night, the embarrassment of asking him to hold you, dying for a mere kiss on the lips. How could you be so foolish, truly, you had to try to forget him in any way you could, after sleeping with him and knowing he would never be yours, always sharing him, he was just there because of your money and maybe he enjoyed it. But it wasn't more.

Escort! Satoru realizes how much he fucking missed you now, as if some void is filled by your presence, but you lower his hands gently, holding them for a moment. 'I was so...' stupid, you were stupid 'I'm very sorry I asked you for things you never do,' you sigh, looking around, seeing people walk by. 'I should have respected your-' Satoru stops you then, tilting your chin up, your gaze focused on him. 'I should have held you, okay? I'm sorry...' you feel your eyes fill with the tears, as words you've dreamed of are spoken, and they feel just like that- a dream. 'I want a real date, could we?'

Escort! Satoru eyes you when your phone rings, and you look down nervously. 'I have a date tonight, the first in... years' Satoru steps back now, glaring at you. 'With who?' you blink in surprise. 'Why does it matter to you? Do you think after months I wouldn't ever wanna try?' Satoru grips your wrist, thumb brushing against the veins gently, sending shivers down your spine, as he tries to compose himself, he has no right to be so mad, so jealous. 'Fine, then give me a date after' he murmurs, desperate for you, how can he see you and not try? After everything he's been yearning for appears before him, and he knows how badly he fucked up. 'I don't know...' you want to, god you do, but you also know how badly Satoru can hurt you, uniquely. 'Please just, give me a chance to explain myself, to be myself and not...' he trails off, the wind blows gently and a little blossom lands on your hair, which he sweetly brushes away. 'One chance'

Escort! Satoru is furious thinking about anyone touching you, though it's toxic and unrealistic in every aspect. His job was to touch, though he'd throw it all away if you asked, god he would, because he doesn't find joy in any of it. No amount of money fills this emptiness, but he never thought he'd have a chance with you - only to ruin it. 'I'll go out with you this weekend, but you pick the place, and pick me up' you say softly, his heart thuds as he nods eagerly, desperate and pathetic for you - something he's never been until you ruined him with just your energy, your body, that laugh he'd love to have back. Memories of your night fill him then, as he aches to touch you, to know you, to kiss you.

Escort! Satoru plans the date to a tee, but the whole time he's wondering - where are you going, and with who? Would you prefer them over him? Meanwhile you're trying to get through that date, mind wandering, you just tried to open up for the first time since Satoru broke your heart - even if it was your own fault. You try to smile, and enjoy him, a handsome man that surely was perfect on paper, and interested in you. As the night goes on and the drinks pour, you think to yourself, you should try, letting him kiss you at the end of the evening, wondering what you'll feel. It's nice, but it's nothing like just being near Satoru. Frustrated almost to tears, you're laying in bed that night, as the man in your head that you almost pushed down enough, is back front and center.

Escort! Satoru can't stand it, knowing you're on a date, he almost texts you so many times before he caves - 'ready for our date?'- he smirks, hoping your with whoever it was. But you don't answer him for hours, until you finally write him - yes - and that's it, no sweet banter like the two of you had. It's different, had you really already moved on? He trembles as he texts you - 'how was the date?' - and you write - 'it was fine, any jobs tonight? - and that's when he realizes you're mad. The sweetest girl he met is so clearly mad. He hadn't taken a job tonight, and he's cancelled his week, but he gets it clearly. - 'no job tonight, I'm excited to see you' - He's never said that to anyone. You heart the message, emotions catching, excitement but apprehension in equal parts, you just don't know if he's serious, you're so scared to let go again.

Escort! Satoru picks you up that night in his car, some little Maserati sports car that looks like it goes way too fast. You can't act like he's not sexy as fuck as he steps out of it, opening your door and grinning at you, but you try to hold back, smiling with a 'thank you' as you slide in next to him. Satoru's hand craves to press on your thigh, but fuck if he's not nervous, he hasn't had a date since he started this career despite his job being to go on dates, not a real one, not with someone he asked. He's damn near shaking with his nerves, trying to play it off, as he drives through the quiet streets, smiling over at you with a quirk of his lips. 'You look beautiful' his words make you flustered, nervously tugging a bit on the gorgeous dress you're wearing, glittering like the stars in the sky - fuck your very skin itself glitters. 'you're saying it truly this time?'

Escort! Satoru glares now, foot on his break, scowling at you. 'what do you mean truly? you think I didn't mean any of it?' you blink back unexpected tears, looking out the dark tinted window as he drives once more. 'It was your job, that's all, and I told you I took it too far, you shouldn't feel bad that happened. I - ah!' he skids to a stop suddenly, pulling off the side of the road, and unbuckling your seatbelt so fast you can barely register. He's got you on his lap so fast, as cars whirl by, shaking the fucking car and shocking you further, as he handles you like it's nothing. You brace your hands on his chest, so nervous now, hands clenching the black jacket of his tux, breaths faster and faster. 'You are beautiful, I never said that because of a job' he swipes away your tears, lips hovering over yours, as he exhales, breath tickling your lips. 'What are you doing, Satoru?' your whisper is weak, as he drags you even closer, and his eyes dart to your lips. 'What I should have done that night'

Escort! Satoru slams his lips on yours then and there, you feel it like hot, electric shots going through your body when he does, when he's pressing those plush, glossy lips on yours, and you're shattering over him, lost in his kiss. Satoru has never felt anything like it, like finally kissing you, his tongue slipping in your mouth, drinking up your every cry, every gasp, as you roll your hips just right, and he feels the heat he's been dying for against his aching cock. 'Fuck...' his hushed words are met with your little cry, which just has him dragging you down harder, ready to devour every sweet inch of you, but barely being able to drag himself from your lips, gasping as he pulls back, eyes meeting yours, glimmering now. 'Satoru you... kissed me...' you're close to crying now, trembling as he sighs, cupping your pretty face, the one that's haunted him. 'I've wanted to since I first saw you'

Escort! Satoru keeps kissing you, over and over, desperate and messy, you almost cum just from that friction against you, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, as his huge hands press into your skin. 'I need you, fuck I need you sweetheart- god you have no clue' you're easing back, struggling to compose yourself. 'Am I so VIP?' you tease softly, and he feels it then, the soft way you're asking - not judging, but scared. He exhales, resting his head on yours, shaking his head and pulling you down again. 'I'll gladly delete my whole fucking profile, for a chance with you' his words sink in fully. Your cheeks are hot under his gentle touch. 'I just don't... Satoru, you don't have to do this for me. I understand...' He kisses you once more, before your phone rings.

Escort! Satoru glares, and you can't help but giggle. 'Are you jealous?' he just sets his jaw, as you look over and see it, holding the phone with a shaky hand, and he pulls you harder on his cock, having your eyes roll back in your skull. 'Tell him you're on a date' he whispers, gripping you so tight, before easing you to sit back in your seat, kissing you over and over. 'Let's get there, okay?' you're trying to compose yourself, seeing him shift and wince while he drives once more, pouting. 'You enjoying my pain, sweets?' you can't help but giggle again. The date is pretty and serene, the restaraunt on the roof top, swathed in moonlight. Satoru feeds you carefully, the two of you sharing dessert, talking and laughing like the first time he fucking met you - when he knew then, something was so special about you, something he could never pin fully, but he sees it, with how the candle light hits your face, your sweet blush as his hand slips up your thigh.

Escort! Satoru is not happy to learn you've had a kiss, and your amused little smile is quickly lost, when he slips his fingers between your thighs, and you wildly look around, as he smirks at you. 'That's cute, you kissed? did you like that?' he's taunting now, possessive gaze, that you can't get enough of, fuck you want all of him, even though you're scared, so scared to be hurt again. He's pressing his fingers against your panties, which are soaked, watching as your eyes get lidded, hand gripping the thick white cloth, and he slips under then, feeling the heat he'd been dying for, leaning in close. 'Asked you a question, hmm?' you lean closer, hips shifting, jerking as he thumbs your twitchy little clit, making you gush. 'Would you be mad if I liked it, Satoru?' he sighs, slipping two fingers in your slick hole, making you almost moan in the fucking restaurant now. 'You're wet for me, aren't you, all me?' He's curling them now, acting so casual as a waitress refills your wine, and you pray no one hears the squishing noises your juices are making.

Escort! Satoru can't help but suck you off his fingers, right before he makes you cum, and you're throbbing around nothing, wanting. You're clenching your teeth as you watch, as if he's finishing his dessert- and when he tastes you again!? He can barely control himself, eyes dilated while you sink into his tastebuds, ready to finally give you what you want, and need, and deserve, fuck you so good you can't function, and hold and kiss you. Satoru slips his lips on yours in front of the restaurant, and you taste yourself, whining into his lips. Suddenly a girl sees him, a frequent client who'd gotten too obsessed, and walks right up to him, crossing her arms. He eases back in the seat, as you look down shyly, unsure of who she is. 'I'm on a date' his words make your heart flutter now, as she glares. 'ah, so you do kiss? was this some special package, do you know how expensive you are?' you bite back a smile, and Satoru just grins, shaking his head like a little shit. 'It's different, she's my girlfriend.'

Escort! Satoru blushes when you whisper 'your girlfriend, huh?' in his ear moments later, as a very angry client stomps off, and he brushes back your hair, hard body against yours, studying your face. 'Would you... be my girlfriend?'

I need one more part for these two - it'll probably be all sex lolll hope you enjoy this one!

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#satoru gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo x you #divider by strangergraphics #satoru gojo fluff #gojo x f!reader

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ghstzzn · 3 days ago

Text

—so confusing

☹︎ because being just friends clearly isn’t working out anymore.

or, your best friend going from avoiding you to letting you dry hump him after an emotional confession.

pairing: yang jungwon x f!reader genre: smut/suggestive, f2l

tags/warnings: smut/suggestive, dry humping, weed usage and mentions, nobody gets too high, completely consensual and he cums in his pants, fluffy shit, he calls her a brat a few times but in a cute way :) MDNI! barely proofread! lmk if i missed any mistakes :3 3.8k words

💭 : yeah its fluffy. idk man. it was supposed to be nasty but i got really emotional.

jungwon was living in the prime years of his life.

a full ride scholarship in one of the best universities in the country, a tight knit group of friends, the professor’s favorite… and yet, here he was, sitting alone in some basement at a party he should’ve skipped out on as he smoked someone else's weed.

you and jungwon had entered this college together, being study buddies bloomed into something deeper and now you both were each other's treasure— best friends.

jungwon never once wanted to stay just friends, in fact, he used to have a crush on you when you first became friends. but you were dating someone— someone shitty, who could never treat you the way he could.

but it didn’t matter now that you both were adults, and in college.

he’d watch as you pranced around from boy to boy with a smile, acting as if it never bothered him. he’s moved on from his silly crush. but the feelings linger deep inside of him.

but it’s only gotten worse for jungwon.

you became confident when it came to him. he was your best friend, the closest friend you had, so of course you came to him when you needed help with boys. when you asked what type of girls his friend jake liked, or if sunghoon had ever talked about you before.

everything went downhill when you accidentally sent him a picture of you in your tiniest bikini, “hows this?” he tried to ignore it, he really did. but it was hard. every time he closed his eyes, he saw your tits squished together and barely covered by the black bikini top. jungwon almost drove himself to the nearest church after he shoved his right hand in his pants while his phone sat in his left.

jungwon was losing his mind.

his feelings grew along with your own popularity. you became a trending name within the university and the parties that were thrown. people started to adore you, they seeked you out in a crowd of people. you were sweet and charming, a rather large friend group but of course—only one best friend.

the male has been avoiding you since you sent that picture. of course you bugged him, asking if you did something wrong or begged him to just talk to you. even though jungwon was avoiding you, he couldn’t deny the burst of pride he felt in his chest when he knew you seeked him out the most out of everyone.

he avoided you so much that he lost track of your daily routine, he had no idea you were coming to this party tonight.

when jungwon saw you skip around in the living room of the large house, he almost started choking on the drink he was ingesting. the small skirt you were wearing was a centimeter away from revealing the panties you were wearing.

he was torn between throwing a jacket around your hips or lowering his chair to catch a good glimpse. both would surely get his ass kicked.

and so he escaped, barely noticing the glance you threw in his direction.

he jogged down to the basement of his friend's ridiculously large house, plopping down on the couch with his head in his hands.

he was fucked, so fucked. jungwon had told you last week that he’d be stuck at the library all night tonight, which is why he turned down your invitation to hang out. he didn’t want to be alone with you on a friday night.

his phone dings, once or twice. your contact name flashed on his screens for a few moments before it turned off, only showing jungwons reflection.

all he can hear is charlie xcx vibrating through the upper floorboards of the basement. he’s never felt this confused in his life. he was sure he was over the small crush he had on you, so sure. he went almost three years without a single romantic thought. now his mind was flashing with images of your lips, plush tits and your thighs.

jungwon’s feelings only confused him more when he found himself getting irritated the more he thought about you. he truly did not know if he hated you or if he was in love with you.

every thought consumes him as he leans back into the couch cushions. your parents loved him, it took awhile for him to gain their trust but he finally did. but now they see jungwon as your protector, a brotherly love, someone who could cherish you but never cross any lines. he wasn’t good enough to be a boyfriend nor a husband like they want, and he was sure that sleeping with you and breaking your heart would result him to be shunned away leaving behind a broken relationship that could never be fixed.

reaching over the coffee table with a huff, jungwon picks up a pre-rolled joint from an unlabeled container. he wastes no time before lighting it and deeply inhaling.

just to pause his mind.

he closes his eyes, listening to the muffled music as he holds the joint to his lips. soft thuds coming from the staircase rips jungwon from his short meditation session. as soon as his eyes open he’s greeted by you skipping down the stairs, turning your head differently directions as if you were searching for something.

when your eyes land on his lazy figure, they widen and you let out an excited “oh!”

jungwon clears his throat, trying not to choke on the last hit he took and attempts to sit up but you had already appeared directly in front of him.

“jake said you were down here?” you start, slightly out of breath. “i didn’t know you’d be here? didn’t you hear me call for you upstairs?”

he shakes his head, blowing the smoke from his mouth away from you. you quickly take a seat next to him, your legs resting against his. it takes everything in him not to push your legs off of his and run away.

“do you hate me?” he might. you take a deep breath, toying with the string sticking out from the seam of his pants. “did i do something, won?”

you’ve never really sat down and figured out your feelings for jungwon until he started avoiding you. it started out as a tiny crush on the guy you used to study with, but when he started hanging around more often, your stomach would flutter.

there was an attempt to get rid of the foolish feelings you had for him. it just would never work between the two of you. your best friend has a smile brighter than the sun, he has aspirations bigger than the both of you and a pure heart—surely he was interested in someone else.

and the way he looks at you now just hurts. and it hurts worse than the ways he tried so hard to avoid you.

you tried going for his friends, ones that you knew were good guys, cute boys that could easily take your mind off your best friend turned love interest. but if anything, it all got worse.

every person you turned to had talked about jungwon. it was like you couldn’t escape and you were forced to face your true feelings for him.

so when you saw him tonight, after days of radio silence, you were excited. not just because of your feelings, but because to you—he’s still your best friend.

“you didn’t do anything.” his voice is monotone, dry and weak of any emotion. yet it drives a stake straight through your heart.

“you’re not mad at me?”

he shakes his head.

“were you busy?”

you only wished he told you yes.

“i wasn’t busy.” jungwon sighs, exhaling the smoke from his mouth. and for the first time tonight, he really looked at you.

your hair looked softer than usual, it’s probably the new hair product you showed him in a message he never responded to. he can smell it along with your perfume—one that he picked out. he thinks the scents are too strong but he likes them on you.

“are we still friends?” his heart almost breaks in half when he sees the pout forming on your face. the fact that your glossy eyes and downturned lips were because of him, made him hate all of this even more. what was he even doing?

he can feel the high take effect, it’s subtle yet the room still spins around him as he studies your sad expression.

“i could never hate you.”

you glance up at him, locking eyes.

“but i don’t think i can be friends with you anymore.”

your heartbeat quickens and you feel your hands get clammy. the regret of showing up tonight was starting to sink in, by now, you were wishing he really was stuck at the library for the night. “what?”

“no, don’t say anything.” he sighs and leans forward, stubbing the joint in the ashtray. “i like you. it’s getting to a point where it’s too much for me to handle.” jungwon practically vomits up that sentence, feeling the weight be lifted from his shoulder. “i can’t be around you. it’s like, you control my body and emotions when you’re near me and i just— i can’t pretend to be your friend when you make me feel like an entirely new person.”

you swallow hard at the sudden confession. you want to say something but you feel stuck in your spot.

“i don’t expect you to return my feelings but i need to be honest with you and myself,” he continues, facing away from you because god, he would rather die than see you reject him face to face. “i want you in ways you can’t imagine and i want to be the only one you look at. and you have a right to know this.”

“jungwon, please look at me.” you sigh, pleading with him.

“i literally can’t.”

you roll your eyes and grab his arm, tugging it closer to you which forces him to turn his head. he feels his heart stop when he sees the gummy smile on your face. “i want to ask you to be my boyfriend but only if you’re looking at me.”

“excuse me?” jungwons voice is full of disbelief.

“what? you just confessed to me as if i’m dying or something,” you giggle, studying his furrowed eyebrows. you could tell this was tearing him up inside. “i want you to be my boyfriend but not if you’re gonna be all gloomy about it. i like you too, stupid.”

jungwon couldn’t even hide the smile growing on his face. it’s take everything inside of you to not lunge at him and kiss every inch of his face. the way his dimples are on display and his eyes crinkle as he smiles makes you melt into the couch.

you lean forward onto your knees and cup his face in your hands. “you’re the bravest person i know yet you couldn’t even tell a girl that you liked her?”

“not when that girl is you.” his voice is soft and his face is flushed.

“i’m nothing special,” you respond, leaning close enough so that your lips are ghosting over the tip of his nose. “and i like you a lot.”

jungwon wastes no time pulling you into his lap, earning a giggle from you. it was music to his ears. “and what do you like about me?”

“well, for one, you’re hot.” he laughs, shaking his head at your response. you smack his shoulder lightly. “i’m serious. and, you’ve got such a broad personality—you’re comforting to be around. i can be myself and not feel bad about it.”

“really? all i do is smoke weed and study.”

“shut up and let me finish,” you cut him off, poking his forehead. he reaches up and grabs your wrist, bringing it down and interlocking his hand with yours. “you make me feel so good about myself, you protect me even when i think i can handle myself and you’ve just always been there when i needed someone. you make me feel safe, won.”

this was not what jungwon had in mind for the night. never did he think he would be confessing to his best friend at some random college party after a few hits of a blunt. nor did he think she would be the one to ask him out instead.

“so yeah, i fucking like you a lot. and if you ever ignore me again like that, i’m going to tell my mom because that really hurt, won.”

he lets out a nervous chuckle, “i’m not usually like this.” you nod in agreement, causing him to roll his eyes. “seriously, you know this. i just… didn’t know what to do.”

“well, it doesn’t matter now.” you hum, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. “okay, boyfriend?”

“mhm… girlfriend.” the room has stopped spinning for jungwon. now, all he could hear was the soft bump of the music upstairs and your breath. he glances up at your eyes but quickly realizes you were focused on his lips. a small smile forms on his face.

“but what about jake?

“seriously? i’m about to kiss you and you’re asking about jake…?”

jungwons eyebrows raise, “i’m just wondering beca-“

you slam your lips onto his, effectively cutting him off. he immediately falls into the kiss, letting his hands wrap around your hips to pull you closer. months of tension had built of to this moment, and it dissipates with every needy pull at his lips.

he starts to regret every minute he spent avoiding you as he holds your body close to his, feeling the warmth against his own. jungwon could lose himself in you, and he wouldn’t mind that at all.

and he’s not sure if it’s the lingering high that's making his stomach flutter as you deepen this kiss or his pure longing for you, but what he does know is that he needs you now.

jungwon pulls back slightly to say something but you peck his lips again, “stop talking.”

“i just wanted to say how pretty you look right now.”

you blush at his words. it was finally sinking in that your best friend returned your feelings, and that you were here in his lap, kissing him as if it were your last night on earth. “are you high?”

he gives you a lazy smile, “a little bit. but that’s not the reason for any of this.”

you purse your lips and shrug. his hands were tight on your hips, rubbing slow lazy circles into your skirt with his thumbs. it sent shivers down your spine. the moodiness of the room plus how good jungwon looked under you was pulling you into a trance.

he looked mesmerizing.

“can you kiss me again?”

his question makes you melt. you nod your head before gently placing your lips on his again. it turns more passionate with every passing second. his tongue brushes against your lips, seeking entrance to your mouth and you let him in.

“‘m so lucky,” he mutters into the kiss. you smile, gripping his hair in your hands as you suck the words out of his mouth. “you’re so pretty… and all mine now.”

you pull back, slightly out of breath. “i’m all yours, so act like it.”

“i promise.” he lifts one hand and pulls you against him once more, this time taking charge of the kiss.

jungwon trails his hand slowly down your side, reaching your lower back. you arch in his touch, rolling your hips against his lap in the process. he lets out a soft groan that makes your ears perk and your heart flutter.

you release his lips and plant soft kisses around the corners of his mouth, against his cheek and down his jawline. giving soft kitten licks against his jawline as you trail down his neck. he leans back and lifts his head, giving you full access. jungwon takes this as a sign and begins gently moving your hips with his hands, guiding you into grinding against the crotch of his sweats.

you pull back, grabbing his hands as you rut against him, just like he wants. “you’re so cute, won.”

“cute?” his voice is breathy, on the verge of breaking. “you think this is cute?”

“i think you’re very cute when you want something,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his. he nods his head, his breath hitching as you grind against his hardening length.

“i told you earlier how badly i wanted you. i wasn’t lying.”

you giggle, pecking at the corners of his mouth. you’re grateful he wore sweatpants to a house party. “i can tell.”

he groans and leans his head back against the cushions. his cock is twitching against the fabric of his sweats, and the fact that your only wearing panties under your skirt isn’t helping him at all. jungwon could practically feel your warmth and it was killing him that he couldn’t be inside you right now.

“you’re killing me.” his voice is strained, and you can see his jaw tighten with every roll of your hips.

you situate your position in his lap, making sure you’re directly on top of his length. he sucks his breath in and lifts his head, staring down between both of your laps, wishing he could just move your skirt from his view.

“but you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

jungwon shakes his head, gripping your hips tighter and lifting the fabric of your skirt up just enough to see the lace you were hiding beneath them.

“fuck…” he practically moans out. “please don’t stop.”

you bite back a whimper, every word caught in your throat now. “g-good… because i really don’t want to.”

he lifts your skirt higher, bunching it at your hips so he could watch as you grind down onto his clothed dick. the view is mesmerizing, and the sight of it makes him want to bust right there, especially when his eyes catch the damp patch you were leaving behind on the grey material.

“just couldn’t wait, could you?”

you let out a deep exhale, hips stuttering when you hear his voice, deeper and strained. “no… couldn’t wait for this.”

“baby…”

“you think that bikini picture was an accident?”

upon hearing those words leave your mouth, he can’t help the way his hips jolt upwards against you, causing you both to let out some form of whimper.

he lets out a dry laugh and looks up at you, “you’re kind of a brat. all of that was on purpose?”

“i don’t think you know how badly i’ve been wanting you, won.” you admit through breathy whines. “it was all for you.”

“fuck—don’t say that to me, i might cum.”

you lean closer, resting your forehead against his as you quicken the pace of your hips. it was tiring, but hearing that made you gain a burst of stamina.

jungwon groans loudly, trying to hold your hips still but you push against him. “did—did you not hear me?”

“please jungwon.”

it was pathetic how easily he gave into your pleas. it wasn’t an exaggeration when he says he would do anything for you. but when he hears that whiney voice paired with his name, it wasn’t hard to give up anything. so what if he cums in his pants like he’s never been touched before.

that’s how you made him feel.

“i-i missed you so much,” you whine against his lips, feeling his hips meet yours, his cock perfectly nested against your cunt despite the fabric of his sweatpants restricting you from completely feeling him.

“i know, i’m sorry, baby,” jungwon responds, voice breaking as he inches closer and closer. his stomach is tense, holding back his oncoming orgasm just for you. it was hard, he shouldn’t have smoked beforehand knowing how sensitive he gets. but god, this was everything he wanted and he did not want to stop. “i won’t do it again, i promise you.”

you slam your lips against his, eating up every groan and whimper he gives you as you rut against him desperately. and he lets you. jungwon lets you completely take over, he lets you get yourself off—dry humping him with pure need and desire.

his hips stutter and his stomach tenses up, “baby… please s-slow..” his cock is throbbing, begging for release.

“just let go…” you purr, grinding downwards, feeling his cock practically jump at the action.

and he does. he cums embarrassingly quickly just from your words.

jungwon holds you against him, burying his face in your chest as he cums against the fabric of his sweats. the throbbing never goes away and the sounds he lets out are no less than pathetic but neither of you care, both desperate for release.

your own hips stutter when you feel the warm liquid seep through, soaking your thighs and ass.

“won…” you softly cry out, fingers gripping his hair tightly. this wasn’t at all what you planned for the night, but you aren’t disappointed. even as your own orgasm washes over your body, all you can think about was getting back to his apartment for more.

his hips jolt in sensitivity, he pulls back and lifts your hips from his lap. “god, please stop…”

you watch as he throws his head back, eyes shut from the pleasure. a smile takes over your face when you see his chest rise and fall, watching as he tries to recompose himself.

“it’s not funny,” he lifts his head ever so slightly, squinting at you. “just wait… when we get back.”

“don’t over exert yourself, wonnie.”

your giggles only spur him on.

“you might be pretty but you’re a fucking brat.”

jungwon lifts his head and lets you fall back to your original position, wincing when you don’t even try to land softly on his crotch. you lean forward and kiss him once, then twice, traveling to his ear. “don’t talk to your girlfriend like that.” you whisper before nibbling on his earlobe.

“yeah?” goosebumps spread across his skin and he squeezes your ass in response, causing you to pull back and smile widely.

“yeah. especially when you were so mean to her by ignoring her like she didn’t exist for weeks.”

jungwon tilts your head. you weren’t wrong, but he knew why you kept bringing it up.

“then i guess i should take you home and make up for all that time missed, huh? as an apology?”

you tap your finger against your chin, humming as you pretend to be deep in thought. “hmm… i guess you could. just don’t cum in your pants before we get home again.”

he shakes his head, scoffing playfully. “seriously. you’re a brat.”

#enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #jungwon fanfic #jungwon smut #jungwon hard thoughts #jungwon x reader

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strang3lov3 · 2 days ago

Text

Love On You

“Done bein’ mad at me?” he asks, circling his finger around your clit. “Hm? Forgive me yet?”

“N-no,” you sigh, arching into his touch as Joel pushes his middle finger into your entrance.

Joel curls his finger, then inserts another. “Tell me how pissed you are,” he says. “How much you hate your dear old dad.”

TAGS - pwp one shot, smut, dad!joel, incest, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving, Joel eats you from behind), free use, dubcon, age gap, uncle tommy sprinkles, little bit of angst and hurt/comfort, jealousy, reader is an adult. this is icky and you've been warned. 4k words.

A/N - Daddy’s back, albeit a month fucking later than intended. Such is life, though. Thanks for all the love recently 🩷 have a safe rest of your week, guys.

The way his bed smells serves as a reminder of how much you miss him.

It’s funny how things work like that. Joel’s bed has always smelled like him. Doesn’t matter if he’s using a new laundry detergent, a new brand of bar soap, a spritz of cologne he saves for only the most special of occasions (daddy-daughter date night, of course), it’ll always smell like him. Earthy, musky, sweaty. The same thing you smell when you hug him and bury your face into his neck. The same thing you’ve always smelled.

Joel could say the same about you. It’s cliché, but it’s true: the top of your head does always smell like you. That concentrated, soft scent of your skin. His skin. If he’s really lucky, you’ll fall asleep on his chest like you did when you were little, back when you’d stand on your tiptoes and raise your arms up high as you begged him to walk with you on his shoulders. Joel will smooth the fabric of your shirt against your back with his wide, calloused palm, then squeeze you tight and kiss the top of your head. He’ll inhale deeply, thanking the lord for blessing him with the privilege, the honor, the gift of being your father.

Of being your old man, when you punch him in the arm and tease him about his sore back. Maybe it’d be less sore if he had the smarts to put you down when you got too big for piggy back rides.

Of being your daddy, when you want something. When you want him to pick you up your favorite candy from the gas station on his way home from work. Joel gets himself Reese’s. When you need forty bucks to pick up some stupid, kitschy purse you just have to have. Your old purse works just fine, kiddo. Daddy, when he’s pounding into you, and all you can do is whimper those two little syllables.

Of being your dad. Dad when you’re pissed at him. Daaaad when he tells his stupid jokes, and you’re biting down on the smile you inherited from him to deny him the satisfaction of hearing you laugh at them. Dad, dad, dad paired with the squeaking of your mattress springs as you hump your pillow, crying out in frustration when you can’t make yourself come as hard as he does.

You’re pissed at him now. He should be here. It’s 10:15 and said he’d be here, with a pizza and a two liter of Coke to split. Promised, even. You know what he’s gonna say. He’s so sorry, kiddo. There was an issue with an order, a miscommunication with a client. Uncle Tommy can’t do anything right. Doesn’t know why he keeps him around. Blood is thicker than water, or whatever bullshit they say.

You wonder if Joel has a girlfriend. That’d really piss you off. There was one time he brought a woman home, and you could hear him fucking her in his bed. The headboard gently slamming against the wall, all of the woman’s moans. Joel’s own grunting and groaning. It made you so angry and frustrated and upset and fucking jealous. You are Dad’s girl. Not her. Not anyone else. You masturbated to the sounds of their fucking that night, whimpering for Joel.

You chastise yourself for being angry with him. He’s been so busy lately, working extra hours to put you through college. Tuition increased again. Joel sighed, said something about it bleeding him dry. But he doesn’t mind. Dad says he wants to give you the life he was never afforded, that he wants better for his girl.

And that’s why he’s so strict, you know? He knows you may think it’s because he’s an asshole, trying to ruin your life with an oppressive eight o’clock curfew. Why he’s so strict about who you’re talking to, and the clothes you wear. Dad says he needs to know if you’ve got any boyfriends. He doesn’t want you “in a jam” as he so graciously puts it.

Last week a Fedex guy came to your door, package in hand. He was about your age, maybe a few years older. He had pretty green eyes, a mustache not unlike Joel’s but lighter in color. Stupid, grown out hair. Fucking hippie. Joel’s brows furrowed at the flirty smile you flashed at him as he passed you that little package. The Fedex guy knew what it was, you knew what it was, and Joel did not. All Joel saw was the way you shifted on your feet, how you tugged your shirt down a little. Your little giggle - a giggle Joel would like to reserve for himself only.

When he asked if you were seeing anyone, Joel cleared his throat and stood behind you at the door. “Oh, no,” he answered for you. “She ain’t datin’. Girl’s gotta focus on her education.” Joel put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing you a little too hard. It’s easy to hide jealousy and possessiveness behind fatherly concern. It’s innocuous.

“Dad,” you whispered.

Joel ignored you. “‘Sides,” he added, “Too young t’be datin’, aren’tcha?”

You paused before speaking, eyes flickering up to meet the delivery guy’s own. “Yes,” you mumbled.

Joel smiled at the man, “Take care, guy. Back to work,” and slammed the door shut. Not five minutes later you were pinned under Joel, his hand on your thigh as he repeatedly slammed into you. “I’ll make you - oh, fuck - I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it if you ever think about toyin’ with those other boys,” Joel growled in your ear. “You’re mine,” he said, punctuating the statement with a deliberately brutal thrust, hard enough to hurt you inside a little. “My fuckin’ girl.”

Your belly rumbles in hunger. Joel wasn’t home at six like he said he’d be, but he did leave you leftovers in the fridge just in case. You debated heating them up but instead reached into the freezer for some ice cream, and ate it with a spoon right out of the tub. What your dad doesn’t know won’t kill him. That’s what Uncle Tommy always says, anyway.

You used to eat ice cream with Joel like this, too. There were these special nights you’d share together, where you’d find Joel in the kitchen, eating spoonfuls of ice cream over the sink. Dad says calories don’t count that way. And likewise, Joel would find you doing the same thing when he’d wander downstairs for some water.

You were never in trouble for it. Joel would grab a spoon of his own and eat with you, sitting at the kitchen table as you talked about life. The Real Shit, as Joel calls it. So often, people fall into a routine. Eating the same food, asking the same questions. How was work, how was school, et cetera, et cetera. But during these late nights, with eyes burning from exhaustion, you and Joel would talk about the real shit. He’d be the dad and offer you his old man advice about the things you’ve been keeping from him, the things that’ve been bugging you lately.

“Got too much runnin’ around in that pretty head of yours,” he’d tell you, gently bending you over the kitchen table. He fits himself so nicely inside of you, only after carefully, considerately working you up. Working you open. Dad’s so slow, so gentle, soothing all of those worries and shushing your words. “Don’t think about nothin’. Jus’ be quiet,” he’d whisper. Let Dad take care of it. That’s what he’s there for, anyway.

Those special nights happen less and less as life ramps up. But that’s how it goes, right? Things can’t last forever. It gives you the same melancholic feeling like when you were a kid, and Joel would lay in bed with you until you fell asleep. Keeping the monsters away, he’d say with a wink. In your sleepy, dreamy haze you’d feel his lips against your forehead, the most loving and tender of kisses. You’d roll over to snuggle into his chest, but he’d already be gone. It’s part of life. You were getting too big for him to be able to still sleep in your bed. There’s just not enough room, baby.

While upset, you sigh, and hug tightly the pillow Joel sleeps on. You reach for the remote and take it off of his nightstand, then turn on his TV. Seinfeld’s on. Joel’s favorite.

Joel pulls into his driveway, amped from the drive home. The day went on longer than it should have by a few hours. Joel didn’t even get to take lunch, which pissed him off. He got reamed for things beyond his control, things that weren’t his fault. He bitched Tommy out when he had the chance. Joel sliced his fucking thumb open too, which was just what he needed. Of course. He’d forgotten to gas up the truck when he had the chance so he had to stop and do that before heading home to you. The cherry on top was the forty minute train he got stopped by.

Everything coming up fuck, another bad day. Joel’s been having more and more of these bad days lately.

He needs to cool off before he sees you. You two are one and the same, truth be told. You have got your father’s temper through and through. It was visible from day one - the tantrums you’d throw, little feet stomping up the stairs. That indignant pout, not unlike Joel’s. You’re calmer now, but a fucking master at making those so very Joel smartass comments under your breath. You learned from the best, didn’t you?

Joel taught you to blow off steam. “S’okay to be mad, honey, but you need’a get a hold of yourself.”

He could stand to take his own advice. Joel would be so much better off if he used you as much as he uses his fist. We all know how it goes, right? It’s quick, it’s easy. Reliable. But oh, how much better he’d feel if he regularly used you for the very thing he made you for. Sliding into your warm, wet cunt with the cock he fucked your mother with, filling you with his come. It helps that it keeps you in line, right? A hard fuck to show you who’s in charge here. Who’s father, who’s daughter. An orgasm to keep you satiated, calm.

Joel opens the door of his truck, grunting in anger when the door handle falls off, because of fucking course it does. Add that to the laundry list of shit wrong with the damn thing - oil change, slow leak in the passenger side front tire, an alignment wouldn’t hurt.

He takes a deep breath in and out, all that warm air and the scent of petrichor filing his lungs. It reminds him of better days with you, and it serves to calm him. Not a lot, but just a little. Your favorite flowers you’ve planted in those old pots painted and stamped with your handprints are blooming on the porch. You got mad at Joel when he plucked one and put it in your hair. Nose scrunched up and everything.

Joel enters the front door - unlocked, of course. When are you gonna remember, kid? He tracks a little dirt into the kitchen as he stops to drink a glass of water. While doing so, he opens the fridge and considers heating himself up some leftovers, if there are any.

…There are. Which means you didn’t eat, so you’re probably cranky. Fucking great.

Joel shuts the fridge and leaves his glass on the cheap ass pine table in his dining room. His work boots thudding with each heavy step he takes, making his way up the stairs. Joel peels off his damp shirt, and the cool breeze from the air conditioning tickles his sweaty neck. He is in desperate need of a shower and a beer to wash the day away, but first, he needs his baby girl.

You’re not in your bedroom. You’re in his, laying in the bed he made you in. Arms wrapped around his pillow. The bluish light from the TV flashes across your figure, highlighting every curve of yours that he loves. There’s a warm breeze coming from the window, gently blowing the curtains.

He taps on the open door twice, then swings it open the rest of the way. “Hey, kiddo.”

“You’re late,” you mumble, tone biting. Joel walks towards the window and shuts it, then sits down next to you, groaning as he brings his foot across his knee to untie his boot.

“Yeah, I know.” Joel drops the boot and does the same to the other, and unbuckles his old, worn, leather belt. “Close the damn window if you’re gonna have the AC on, dummy. Lettin’ all the cold air out.”

“Where were you, Dad?”

Joel sighs and pats your ass, covered in his comforter. “Work.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Joel stops and faces you, brows pinched in concern. “Where the hell else would I be?”

You shrug, purposely avoiding his gaze. Making your little face, bottom lip popped out. “Hey. You look at me when you’re talkin’ to me,” Joel warns. “Raised ya better’n that.”

You look over your shoulder, brows narrowed in anger and suspicion. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

The way you look at him, all defiant and filled with contempt, whether imagined or real. You’re trying to start something you can’t finish. Trying to play a game that you can’t win, a game that Joel will win at every time. It takes everything he has not to take the bait. He doesn’t want to fight. He answers your question with one of his own, “Y’really think I got time for another girl in my life?”

“Maybe.”

Joel sighs, running a hand through his dirtied hair before he speaks. “I can barely handle your troublemakin’ ass, sweetheart. Last thing I need is a girlfriend. Now quit fuckin’ grillin’ me,” he scolds, then sucks in his gut so he can unbutton his jeans. “Who’s the parent here?”

You don’t answer him immediately. So Joel leans over you, poking at your sides and tickling you. “Hm? Who’s your daddy? Who loves ya?”

You fight him. Try to, at least. Squirming away, struggling to swat away his teasing, tickling fingers as you giggle despite yourself. Joel ignores your complaints as he tears the comforter off of your body, then pats your ass. “Scooch, trouble. Make some room f’me.”

You can’t do so silently. Not without a vocalization of disapproval, upset that Joel’s disrupting your comfort. “Daaad,” you whine when he presses a quick kiss against your cheek, then unzips his pants and pushes them down his thighs, leaving them at his feet. Still looped into his jeans, Joel’s belt clatters against the bed frame as he crawls over your body.

“Oh, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again and again, fingers slipping under the gusset of your panties as he pulls them to the side. He smells like sweat and sawdust, just like he always does when he comes home. “M’the worst dad ever, huh?”

“Yes,” you snap. You’re not in the mood for it, for him. You’re still pissed that he was late coming home and showed up empty-handed. He said that he’d watch a scary movie with you. “You are.” You kick him in the thigh as you huff angrily.

That pisses him off. “Hey. Don’t you fuckin’ gimme that shit, kid,” he warns, putting a hand on the back of your neck as he pushes you into the pillow, squeezing you there the way a dog bites its young. “Behave yourself or you ain’t gonna like what’ll happen. We clear?”

Nothing.

“I asked ya a question. Are we. Clear?”

“Yes,” you concede. “I’m sorry.”

“M’your father, an’ I’ll love on ya if I wanna. You’re mine, you understand me?” You’re quiet as you nod. Joel loosens his grip on your neck and rubs you with his thumb. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispers. “I know you’re pissed that I’m late, an’ I get it. Ain’t fair. Jus’ let me make it up to you, alright?”

Joel kisses your cheek one last time, then kisses his way down your back. The tender way his lips touch your skin feels so incredible. It’s erotic and arousing, but also deeply soothing. His wide hands are warm against your skin, and his weight on your body makes you feel at home in a way nothing else does.

With your panties still pulled to the side, Joel nudges your thighs apart. “Actually, gimme a pillow, darlin’. Neck’s gonna be killin’ me.”

You reach for a pillow and toss it back. Joel lifts you up and slides it beneath your hips, then pats you when he’s ready for you to settle onto it, dragging his hands along your skin after. He palms your ass, squeezing and kneading all of that plush flesh before separating you with his thumbs. He traces you with two fingers, still dirty from a hard day’s work. You’re so slick, so soft. “Done bein’ mad at me?” he asks, circling his finger around your clit. “Hm? Forgive me yet?”

“N-no,” you sigh, arching into his touch as Joel pushes his middle finger into your entrance.

Joel curls his finger, then inserts another. “Tell me how pissed you are,” he says. “How much you hate your dear old dad.”

“I-I do,” you whimper, moaning loudly when he reaches his favorite spot inside you with his fingertips. “Hate you so much.”

“Uh huh. Heard it all before, kiddo.”

Joel pulls his fingers from you and replaces them with his tongue, burying it between your sensitive folds. Just like how he did seconds before, he traces your seam and your entrance with the tip of his tongue, then dips into you, groaning at the sweet taste.

He savors you, kissing and lapping at your cunt, tasting all of that sensitive flesh. All just for him. You can feel his mustache and beard tease your skin as he moves lower, tongue finding your clit. Joel circles it once, then twice, then laves over it sloppily. “Oh, Dad,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to tug at his graying hair. Remember when you’d hold his hair like that when he’d put you on his shoulders?

Joel hums as he eats you, sucking your clit between his lips. He can feel it swell and throb, and can feel your arousal dripping onto his nose. You’re such an eager girl, he thinks, as you writhe and push your ass back to grind against his mouth. Joel licks you for a moment or two longer, then pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He pushes his boxers down his thighs and his erection, hard as ever, springs up against his stomach. He spits into his hand and pumps his cock, then spreads your legs wider. Joel brackets your thighs with his own, keeping a hand on your waist while notching the blunt head of his cock inside your slick hole.

He waits a second before pushing into you, just to feel you arch and beg for it. Joel chuckles, “Easy, kiddo.” He slides into you in such a way that has him letting out a deep groan of relief, and he hangs his head once he bottoms out. “Doin’ okay, baby?”

“Mhm,” you sigh, settling into his pillow. Joel pushes a little hair out of your eyes, cock pulsing inside of you, then pulls out almost all of the way. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses, slowly thrusting in again. “The fuckin’....fuckin’ parts guy didn’t deliver,” Joel says with a grunt, punctuating the words with another thrust. “An’ Uncle Tommy fucked up the goddamn…oh, Christ. Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. My fuckin’ girl, I missed ya so much.”

You hum and moan, feeling the satisfying rhythm of Joel fucking in and out of you. The graying, wiry hair from his bush tickling the skin of your ass. His cock fits you perfectly, like you were made for it, for him. And really, weren’t you?

Joel tightens his grip on your waist, denting your skin with his fingernails. He keeps himself close to you, savoring that beautiful, special feeling of his bare skin against yours. And you do the same, loving the comforting pressure of his body on your own.

“Y’eat any dinner while I was gone?” Joel whispers against your ear, rocking his hips. “Hm?”

“I–yes, Dad.”

“Real food, not just snacks, right? Was there somethin’ green on your plate?” He kisses your temple.

“Mhm.”

“Uh huh. I saw the green beans in the fridge, hon.” Oh, your beautiful smile, mischievous as it is. The one he gave to you, along with that scrunch on the bridge of your nose. “Betcha remembered ice cream though, huh?”

“Of course,” you murmur, wiggling your fingers. Joel understands the cue and reaches for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours, so much smaller than his.

“Figures,” he replies softly. Joel stays quiet for a second, and the only sounds filling the room are his skin against yours, and your shared heavy breathing. “Up a second, kiddo,” he murmurs, pausing his movements. He lifts up and you follow, and then he slides his palm under your tummy, and touches your clit with three of his calloused fingertips. When he builds a pace again, you moan loudly with the added pleasure. “Learn anything new at school?”

Joel smiles at your lack of an answer. You’re prone beneath him, sighing in time with his every deep thrust. “C’mon, baby. M’not payin’ for college if you’re not learnin’ anything,” he says. “I’ll pull your ass out. Then ya can start helpin’ out with the mortgage, huh?”

“Fuck - I learned - I learned history, and…I can’t remember right now, Dad. Please…”

All that attitude, all that fight melting away as he fucks you apart. He knows how much you needed him. He needed you too, honey. Joel always did have a knack for consoling you, for charming you out of your tantrums and your moods. Maybe it’s less of a skill on his part, and more that you’re just a daddy’s girl through and through. His fucking girl.

“Oh, baby girl. No wonder you’re all bent outta shape, huh? Haven’t been lovin’ on ya enough, have I?” As he rolls his hips into you, he orbits his fingers around your clit, making sure to pull the hood back to make it as sensitive as he can. He fucks you harder and faster, all of his thick length splitting you open and reaching every spot inside you that only he can tend to. “What’m I gonna do with you?”

Love you. It’s all he can do, as your father. Just love you.

It’s funny the way your moans start to change, how they go from loud and rather rhythmic and musical in a way to quiet. Breathy and short. It’s a near silence and then - oh, there it is. You’re coming apart on his cock, soaking him with your arousal. Joel fucks you through it, whispering nothings into your ear the whole time, words only the two of you get to know. And once he’s pulled every last bit of pleasure from you that he could, Joel chases his own release. He pounds into you sloppily, biting his lip and grunting as he finishes, painting your insides with thick ropes of the very come that made you. How special is that?

After taking a beat, cock still throbbing inside of you, Joel pulls out and watches his spend spill from your pussy. He clears his throat, then speaks. “You’re still takin’ them pills I ordered for ya, right?”

You pause, cheeks heating up. “Oh, crap. I forgot to tonight, Dad.”

Joel says your name in a warning tone, then heads to your room and for your nightstand. Your stomach drops when he opens that drawer, afraid he’s gonna find your vibrator. Oh, fuck.

Joel returns to you, tiny pill in hand. “Open,” he tells you, dropping the pill onto your tongue when you open your mouth. He gives you his day old glass of water on his nightstand and watches you swallow. “Good girl.”

You smile, adjusting in bed. You do the same stretch as your father, and the same yawn, too.

Your tummy rumbles. “I’m starving, Dad,” you tell Joel.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good thing y’got leftover green beans in the fridge.”

If looks could kill, Joel thinks. He laughs at his own little joke, then bends over and pulls his phone out of his jeans, and dials the phone number of the pizza place he was going to pick up from.

More dad!joel here

If you enjoyed, please let me know 🩷 your words keep me motivated to write. Asks are obviously welcomed, but I’d also appreciate if you’d consider reblogging - I know there’s a lot of people hesitant to publicly engage with taboo kinks such as this and prefer to do so quietly, but it’s really nice when readers show their support. Strength in numbers and all that.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #Joel miller x reader smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #dad!joel #cw incest

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ghostboyravenight · 1 day ago

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I’m not gonna lie, the whole “what if a big, hairy trans man started using the women’s bathroom? what are TERFs gonna do then?” thing kinda pisses me off being used as some checkmate, because it insinuates that passing trans men would have any kind of power in that situation. If a passing trans man is forced to use the women’s bathroom, you know what will happen? Security will be called on him, he’ll be thrown out, and he’ll be forced to out himself as trans in order to avoid punishment, which will put an even bigger target on his back. He’s still going to be harassed. He’s still going to be forced into an uncomfortable and potentially dangerous situation, and he probably won’t avoid punishment anyway because the current laws in place are never going to favour any trans person’s defence over a cis person’s.

It also completely ignores trans men who aren’t “big and hairy” and don’t pass enough to be mistaken for a cis man. Non-passing trans men (or even men who look or sound effeminate enough to be suspected) who are forced to use the women’s bathrooms are still at a huge risk of harassment or even violence, especially young trans boys who are forced into their assigned bathrooms at school. Nex Benedict was literally murdered in a girl’s bathroom. Girls and women aren’t these inherently non-violent, peaceful and submissive beings (for one thing, that’s misogynistic). Trans men and boys get beaten up by them too, because most of us pre-T aren’t considered a threat, and we fucking die.

That’s not even to mention the trouble we already have in men’s bathrooms, because if we don’t pass, cis men will interrogate us on whether or not we’re “real men” and then sexually assault us if they discover we’re trans. Corrective rapes that trans men face is not something to be ignored, and I have trans male friends that it’s happened to who are lucky to be alive right now.

Bathroom laws will affect us just as much. The violence that trans women face is something that trans men can also relate to, and both need to be talked about without people categorising all trans men as “big, hairy, strong men able to beat up anyone who tries to threaten them” when that’s not the case like 90% of the time. Acting like passing trans men are just there to make TERFs look stupid, when TERFs are the ones who are violent towards us no matter how much we pass, is just diminishing our experiences.

#I’m genuinely so tired of making these posts #because I’m scared of being seen as making everything about trans men #but I can’t really help it when everything DOES affect us too #please remember that every anti-trans law effects trans men too #we can’t be fighting this silently and on our own #because if the trans community divides itself even further we literally have no chance #transandrophobia #anti-terf

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thepencilnerd · 2 days ago

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Edge of the Dark

pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!Reader summary: What starts as quiet pining after too many long shifts becomes something heavier, messier, softer—until the only place it all makes sense is in the dark. warnings: references to trauma and PTSD, mentions of deaths in hospital setting, emotionally charged scenes genre: slow burn, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/mostly comfort, soft intimacy, one (1) very touch-starved man, communication struggles, messy feelings, healing is not linear, implied but not explicit smut word count: ~13.5k (i apologize in advance ;-; pls check out ao3 if you prefer chapters) a/n: this started as a soft character exploration and very quickly became a mega-doc of deep intimacy, trauma-informed gentleness, and jack abbot being so touch-starved it hurts. dedicated to anyone who’s ever longed for someone who just gets it 💛 p.s. check out my other abbot fic if you're interested ^-^

You weren’t sure why you lingered.

Everyone had peeled off after a few beers in the park, laughter trailing behind them like fading campfire smoke. Someone had packed up the empties. Someone else made a joke about early rounds. There were half-hearted goodbyes and the sound of sneakers on gravel.

But two people hadn’t moved.

Jack Abbot was still sitting on the bench, legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted just enough that the sharp line of his jaw caught the low amber light from a distant streetlamp.

You stood a few feet away, hovering, unsure if he wanted to be alone or just didn’t know how to leave.

The countless night shifts you'd shared blurred like smeared ink, all sharp moments and dull exhaustion. You’d been colleagues long enough to know the shape of each other’s presence—Jack’s clipped tone when things were spiraling, your tendency to narrate while suturing. Passing conversations, brief exchanges in stolen moments of calm—that was the extent of it. You knew each other’s habits on shift, the shorthand of chaos, the rhythm of crisis. But outside the job, you were closer to strangers than friends. The Dr. Jack Abbot you knew began and ended in the ER.

It had always been in fragments. Glimpses across trauma rooms. A muttered "Nice work" after a tricky intubation. The occasional shared note on a chart. Maybe a nod in the break room if you happened to breathe at the same time. You knew each other's rhythms, but not the stories behind them. It was small talk in the eye of a hurricane—the kind that comes fast and leaves no room for anything deeper. The calm before the storm, never after.

“You okay?” Your voice came out soft, not wanting to startle him in case he was occupied with his thoughts.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just blinked, slow, eyes boring holes into the concrete path laid before him. "Didn’t want to go home yet." Then, after a beat, his gaze shifted to you. "You coming back in a few hours?"

You huffed a small laugh, more air than sound. "Probably. Not like I’ll get more than a couple hours of sleep anyway." The beer left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue as you took another sip.

His mouth curved—almost a smile, almost something more. "Yeah. That’s what I said to Robby."

You saw the tired warmth in his eyes. Not gone, just tucked away.

"Wasn't this supposed to be your day off?" you asked, tipping your head slightly. "You could take tomorrow off to comp."

He snorted under his breath. "I could. Probably won't."

"Of course not," you said, lips quirking. "That would be too easy."

"No sleep for the wicked," he muttered dryly, but there was no edge to it. Just familiarity settling between you like an old coat.

A quiet settled over the bench. Neither of you spoke. You breathed together, the kind of silence that asked nothing, demanded nothing. Just the hush of night stretching between two people with too much in their heads and not enough rest in their bones.

Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "Do you think squirrels ever get drunk from fermented berries?"

You blinked. "What?" It was impossible to hold back the frown of confusion that dashed across your face.

He shrugged, barely hiding a grin. "I read about it once. They get all wobbly and fall out of trees."

A laugh burst out of you—sudden, warm, real. "Dr. Abbot, are you drunk right now?"

"Little buzzed," he admitted, yet his body gave no indication that he was anything but sober. "But I stand by the question. Seems like something we should investigate. For science."

You laughed again, softer this time. The kind that lingered behind your teeth.

"Call me Jack."

When you looked up, you saw that he was still staring at you. That smile still tugged at the edge of his mouth. There was a flicker of something in his expression—a moment of uncertainty, then decision.

"You can just call me Jack," he repeated, voice quieter now. "We're off the clock."

A grin crept its way onto your face. "Jack." You said it slowly, like you were trying the word on for size. It felt strange in your mouth—new, unfamiliar—but right. The syllable rolled off your tongue and settled into the space between you like something warm.

He ducked his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with your smile.

The quiet returned, but this time it was lighter, looser. He leaned down to fasten his prosthetic back in place with practiced ease, then stood up to give his sore muscles another good stretch. When he looked over at you again, it was with a steadier kind of presence—solid, grounded.

"You want some company on the walk home?"

Warmth flooded your face. Maybe it was the alcohol hitting. Or the worry of being a burden. You hesitated, then gave him an apologetic look. "I mean—thank you, really—but you don’t have to. I live across the river, by Point State Park. It’s kind of out of the way."

Jack tipped his chin up, brows furrowing in thought. "Downtown? I'm on Fifth and Market Street. That’s like, what—two blocks over?"

"Seriously?" Jack Abbot lived a five-minute walk south from you?

The thought settled over you with a strange warmth. All this time, the space between your lives had been measured in blocks.

He nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets and slinging on his backpack, the fabric rustling faintly. "Yeah. No bother at all, it's on my way."

You both stood there a moment longer as the wind shifted, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic from Liberty Avenue and the low splash of water against the Mon Wharf. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, then fell silent.

"Weird we’ve never run into each other," you murmured, more to yourself than anything. But of course, he heard you.

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you, and something like a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Guess we weren’t looking," he said.

The rest of the walk was quiet, but not empty. Your footsteps echoed in unison against the cracked sidewalk, and somewhere between street lamps and concrete cracks, you stopped feeling like strangers. The dim lights left long shadows that pooled around your feet, soft and flickering. Neither of you seemed in a rush to break the silence.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the leftover buzz from the beers, or maybe it was something else entirely, but the dark didn’t feel heavy the way it sometimes did—especially after shifts like this. It was a kind of refuge. A quiet shelter for two people too used to holding their breath. It felt... safe. Like a shared language being spoken in a place you both understood.

A few night shifts passed. Things had quieted down after the mass casualty event—at least by ER standards—but the chaos never really left. Working emergency meant the moments of calm were usually just precursors to the next wave. You were supposed to be off by seven, but paperwork ran long, a consult ran over, a med student went rogue with an IO drill, and before you knew it, it was 9 am.

After unpinning your badge and stuffing it into your pocket, you pushed through the main hospital doors and winced against the pale morning light. Everything felt too sharp, too loud, and the backs of your eyes throbbed from hours of fluorescent lighting. Fatigue settled deep in your muscles, a familiar dull ache that pulsed with each step. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to your scrubs, mixed with the bitter trace of stale coffee.

You were busy rubbing your eyes, trying to relieve the soreness that bloomed behind them like a dull migraine, and didn’t see the figure standing just to the side of the door.

You walked straight into him—headfirst.

“Jesus—sorry,” you muttered, taking a step back.

And there he was: Jack Abbot, leaning against the bike rack just outside the lobby entrance. His eyes tracked the sliding doors like he’d been waiting for something—or someone. In one hand, he held a steaming paper cup. Not coffee, you realized when the scent hit you, but tea. And in the other, he had a second cup tucked against his ribs.

He looked up when he saw you, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. Just smiled, small and tired and real.

"Dr. Abbot." You blinked, caught completely off guard.

"Jack," he corrected gently, with a crooked smirk that didn’t quite cover the hint of nerves underneath. "Off the clock, remember?"

A soft scoff escaped you—more acknowledgment than answer. As you shifted your weight, the soreness settled into your legs. "Wait—why are you still here? Your caseload was pretty light today. Should’ve been out hours ago."

Jack shrugged, eyes steady on yours. "Had a few things to wrap up. Figured I’d wait around. Misery loves company."

You blinked again, slower this time. That quiet, steady warmth in your chest flared—not dramatic, just there. Present. Unspoken.

He extended the cup toward you like it was no big deal. You took it, the warmth of the paper seeping into your fingers, grounding you more than you expected.

"Didn’t know how you took it," Jack said. "Figured tea was safer than coffee at this hour."

You nodded, still adjusting to the strange intimacy of being thought about. "Good guess."

He glanced at his own cup, then added with a small smirk, "The barista recommended some new hipster blend—uh, something like... lavender cloudburst? Cloud... bloom? I don't know. It sounded ridiculous, but it smelled okay, so."

You snorted into your first sip. "Lavender cloudburst? That a seasonal storm warning or a tea?"

Jack laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly couldn’t tell you. I just nodded like I knew what I was doing."

And something about the way he said it—offhand, dry, and a little self-deprecating—made the morning feel a little softer. Like he wasn’t just waiting to see you. He was trying to figure out how to stay a little longer.

The first sip tasted like a warm hug. “It’s good,” you hummed. Jack would be remiss if he didn’t notice the way your cheeks flushed pink, or how you smiled to yourself.

So the two of you just started walking.

There was no plan. No particular destination in mind. Just the rhythmic scuff of your shoes on the pavement, the warm cups in hand, and the soft hum of a city waking up around you. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, just cautious—guarded, maybe, but not unwilling. As you passed by a row of restaurants, he made a quiet comment about the coffee shop that always burned their bagels. You mentioned the skeleton in OR storage someone dressed up in scrubs last Halloween, prompted by some graffiti on the brick wall of an alley. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Jack shoved one hand in his pocket, the other still cradling his now-empty cup. “I still think cloudburst sounds like a shampoo brand.”

You grinned, stealing a sideways glance at him. “I don’t know, I feel like it could also be a very niche indie band.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and breathy. “That tracks. ‘Cloudburst’s playing the Thunderbird next weekend.’”

“Opening for Citrus Lobotomy,” you deadpanned.

Jack nearly choked on his last sip of tea.

The moment passed like that—small, stupid jokes nestled between shared exhaustion and something else neither of you were quite ready to name. But in those fragments, in those glances and tentative laughs, there was a kind of knowing. Not everything had to be said outright. Some things could just exist—quietly, gently—between the spaces of who you were behind hospital doors and who you were when the work was finally done.

The next shift came hard and fast.

A critical trauma rolled in just past midnight—a middle-aged veteran, found unconscious, head trauma, unstable vitals, military tattoo still visible on his forearm beneath the dried blood. Jack was leading the case, and even from across the trauma bay, you could see it happen—the second he recognized the tattoo, something in him shut down.

He didn’t freeze. Didn’t panic. He just... went quiet. Tighter around the eyes. Sharper, more mechanical. As if he’d stepped out of his body and left the rest behind to finish the job.

The team moved like clockwork, but the rhythm never felt right. The patient coded again. Then again. Jack ordered another round of epi, demanded more blood—his voice tight, almost brittle. That sharp clench of his jaw said everything he didn’t. He wanted this one to make it. He needed to.

Even as the monitor flatlined, its sharp tone cutting through the noise like a blade, he kept going.

“Start another line,” he said. “Hang another unit. Push another dose.”

No one moved.

You stepped in, heart sinking. “Dr. Abbot… he’s gone.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look at you. “One more round. Just—try again.”

The team hesitated. Eyes darted to you.

You stepped closer, voice soft but firm. “Jack—” you said his name like a lifeline, not a reprimand. “I’m so sorry.”

That stopped him. Just like that, his breath caught. Shoulders sagged. The echo of the monitor still rang behind you, constant and cold.

He finally looked at the man on the table.

“Time of death, 02:12.”

His hands didn’t shake until they were empty.

Then he peeled off his gloves and threw them hard into the garbage can, the snap of latex punctuating the silence like a slap. Without a word, he turned and stormed out of the trauma bay, footsteps clipped and angry, leaving the others standing frozen in his wake.

It wasn’t until hours later—when the adrenaline faded and the grief crawled back in like smoke under a door—that you found him again.

He was on the roof.

Just standing there.

Like the sky could carry the weight no one else could hold.

As if standing beneath that wide, empty stretch might quiet the scream still lodged in his chest. He didn’t turn around when you stepped onto the roof, but his posture shifted almost imperceptibly. He recognized your footsteps.

"What are you doing up here?"

The words came from him, low and rough, and it surprised you more than it should have.

You paused, taking careful steps toward him. Slow enough not to startle, deliberate enough to be noticed. "I should be asking you that."

He let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh—or maybe just exhaustion given form. For a while, neither of you spoke. The wind pulled at your scrub top, cool and insistent, but not enough to chase you back inside.

“You ever have one of those cases that just—sticks?” he asked eventually, eyes still locked on the city below.

“Most of them,” you admitted quietly. “Some louder than others.”

Jack nodded, slow. “Yeah. Thought I was past that one.”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You knew better than to press. Just like he didn’t ask why you were really up there, either.

There was a pause. Not empty—just cautious.

“I get it,” you murmured. “Some things don’t stay buried. No matter how deep you try to shove them down.”

That earned a glance from him, fleeting but sharp. “Didn’t know you had things like that.”

You shrugged, keeping your gaze steady on the skyline. “That’s the point, right?”

Another breath. A half-step toward understanding. But the walls stayed up—for now. Just not as high as they’d been.

You glanced at him, his face half in shadow. "It’s not weak to let someone stand beside you. Doesn’t make the weight go away, but it’s easier to keep moving when you’re not the only one holding it."

His shoulders twitched, just slightly. Like something in him heard you—and wanted to believe it.

You nudged the toe of your shoe against a loose bit of gravel, sensing the way Jack had pulled back into himself. The lines of his shoulders had gone stiff again, his expression harder to read. So you leaned into what you knew—a little humor, a little distance cloaked in something lighter.

“If you jump on Robby’s shift, he’ll probably make you supervise the med students who can't do proper chest compressions.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But something close. Something that cracked the silence just enough to let the air in again. “God, I'd hate to be his patient."

Then, in one fluid motion, he swung a leg through the railing and stepped carefully onto solid ground beside you. The metal creaked beneath his weight, but he moved like he’d done it a hundred times before. That brief flicker of distance, of something fragile straining at the edges, passed between you both in silence.

Neither of you said anything more. You simply turned together, wordlessly, and started heading back inside.

A shift change here, a coffee break there—moments that lingered a little longer than they used to. Small talk slipped into quieter pauses that neither of you rushed to fill. Glances held for just a beat too long, then quickly looked away.

You noticed things. Not all at once. But enough.

Jack’s habit of reorganizing the cart after every code. The way he checked in on the new interns when he thought no one was watching. The moments he paused before signing out, like he wasn’t ready to meet daybreak.

And sometimes, you’d catch him watching you—not with intent, but with familiarity. As if the shape of you in a room had become something he expected. Something steady.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be.

Whatever it was, it was moving. Slowly. Quietly.

The kind of shift that only feels seismic once you look back at where you started.

One morning, after another long stretch of back-to-back shifts, the two of you walked out together without planning to. No words, no coordination. Just parallel exhaustion and matching paces.

The city was waking up—soft blue sky, the whir of early buses, the smell of something vaguely sweet coming from a bakery down the block.

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “You walking all the way?”

“Figured I’d try and get some sleep,” you said, then hesitated. “Actually… there’s a diner a few blocks from here. Nothing fancy. But their pancakes don’t suck.”

He glanced over, one brow raised. “Is that your way of saying you want breakfast?”

“I’m saying I’m hungry,” you replied, a touch too casual. “And you look like you could use something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long second, then nodded once.

“Alright,” he said. “Lead the way.”

And that was it.

No declarations. No turning point anyone else might notice. Just two people, shoulder to shoulder, walking in the same direction a little longer than they needed to.

The diner wasn’t much—formica tables, cracked vinyl booths, a waitress who refilled your bland coffee without asking. But it was warm, and quiet, and smelled like real butter.

You sat across from Jack in a booth near the window, elbows on the table, hands wrapped around mismatched mugs. He didn’t talk much at first, just stirred his coffee like he was waiting for it to tell him something.

Eventually, the silence gave way.

“I think I’ve eaten here twice this week,” you said, gesturing to the laminated menu. “Mostly because I don’t trust myself near a stove after night shift.”

Jack cracked a tired smile. “Last time I tried to make eggs, I nearly set off the sprinklers.”

“That would’ve been one hell of a consult excuse.”

He chuckled—quiet, genuine. The kind of laugh that felt rare on him. “Pretty sure the med students already think I live at the hospital. That would've just confirmed it.”

Conversation meandered from there. Things you both noticed. The weird habits of certain attendings. The one resident who used peanut butter as a mnemonic device. None of it deep, but all of it honest.

Somewhere between pancakes and too many refills, something eased.

Jack looked up mid-sip, met your eyes, and didn’t look away.

“You’re easy to sit with,” he said simply.

You didn’t answer right away.

Just smiled. “You are too.”

One thing about Jack was that he never shied away from eye contact. Maybe it was the military in him—or maybe it was just how he kept people honest. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and when it landed on you, it stayed.

You felt it then, like a spotlight cutting through the dim diner lighting. That intensity, paired with the softness of the moment, made your stomach dip. You ducked your head, suddenly interested in your coffee, and took a sip just to busy your hands.

Jack didn’t miss it. “Are you blushing?”

You scoffed. “It’s just warm in here.”

“Mmm,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Must be the pancakes.”

You coughed lightly, the sound awkward and deliberate, then reached for the safety of a subject less charged. “So,” you began, “what’s the worst advice you ever got from a senior resident?”

Jack blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. “That’s easy. ‘If the family looks confused, just talk faster.’”

You winced, grinning. “Oof. Classic.”

He leaned back in the booth. “What about you?”

“Oh, mine told me to bring donuts to chart review so the attending would go easy on me.”

Jack tilted his head. “Did it work?”

“Well,” you said, “the donuts got eaten. My SOAP note still got ripped apart. So, no.”

He chuckled. “Justice, then.”

He stirred his coffee once more, then set the spoon down with more care than necessary. His voice dropped, softer, but not fragile. Testing the waters.

"You ever think about leaving it? The ER, I mean."

The question caught you off guard—not because it was heavy, but because it was him asking. You blinked at him, surprised to see something flicker behind his eyes. Not restlessness exactly. Just... ache.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "When it gets too loud. When I catch myself counting the days instead of the people."

Jack nodded, but his gaze locked on you. Steady. Intense. Like he was memorizing something. It took everything out of you not to shy away.

"I used to think if I left, everything I’d seen would catch up to me all at once. Like the noise would follow me anyway."

You let that hang in the air between you. It wasn’t a confession. But it was close.

"Maybe it would. But maybe there’d be room to breathe, too..." you trailed off, breaking eye contact.

Jack didn’t respond, didn’t look away. Simply looked into you with the hopes of finding an answer for himself.

Eventually, the food was picked at more than eaten, the check paid, and the last of the coffee drained. When you finally stepped outside, the air hit cooler than expected—brisk against your skin, a contrast to the warmth left behind in the diner. The sky had brightened while you weren’t looking, soft light catching the edges of buildings, traffic picking up in a faint buzz. It was the kind of morning that made everything feel suspended—just a little bit longer—before the real world returned.

The walk back was quieter than before. Not tense, just full. Tired footsteps on uneven sidewalks. The distant chirp of birds. Your shoulders brushing once. Maybe twice.

When you finally reached your building, you paused on the steps. Jack lingered just behind you, hands in his jacket pockets, gaze drifting toward the street.

"Thanks for breakfast," you said.

He nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

A beat passed. Then two.

You could’ve invited him up. He could’ve asked if you wanted some tea. But neither of you took the step forward, opting rather to stand still.

Not yet.

“Get some sleep,” he said, voice low.

“You too.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off into the quiet.

Another hard shift. One of those nights that stuck to your skin, bitter and unshakable. You’d both lost a patient that day. Different codes, same outcome. Same weight. Same painful echo of loss that clung to the insides of your chest like smoke. No one cried. No one yelled. But it was there—the tension around Jack’s mouth, the clenching of his jaw; the way your hands wouldn’t stop flexing, nails digging into your palms to ground yourself. In the stillness. In the quiet. In everything that hurt.

You lingered near the bike racks, not really speaking. The space between you was thick, not tense—but full. Too full.

It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. The kind of hour where the streets felt hollow and fluorescent light still hummed behind your eyes. No one had moved to say goodbye.

You shifted your weight, glanced at him. Jack stood a few feet away, jaw tight, eyes somewhere distant.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I could make tea." Not loud. Not casual. Just—offered.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it. Maybe it was the way he was looking at the ground. Or the way the silence between you had started to feel like lead. Either way, the moment it left your mouth, something inside you winced.

He looked at you then. Really looked. And after a long pause, nodded. “Alright.”

So you walked the blocks together, shoulder to shoulder beneath the hum of a waking city. The stroll was quiet—neither of you said much after the offer. When you reached the front steps of your building, your fingers froze in front of the intercom box. Hovered there. Hesitated. You weren’t even sure why—he was just standing there, quiet and steady beside you—but still, something in your chest fluttered. Then you looked at him.

“The code’s 645,” you murmured, like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t just made your stomach flip.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded. The beeping of the box felt louder than it should’ve, too sharp against the quiet. But then the lock clicked, and the door swung open, and he followed you inside like he belonged there.

And then the two of you walked inside together.

Up the narrow staircase, your footsteps were slow, measured. The kind of tired that lived in your bones. He kept close but didn’t crowd, hand brushing the rail, eyes skimming the hallway like he didn’t quite know where to look.

When you opened the door to unit 104, you suddenly remembered what your place looked like—barebones, mostly. Lived-in, but not curated. A pair of shoes kicked off by the entryway, two mismatched mugs and a bowl in the sink, a pile of jackets strewn over the chair you'd found in a yard sale.

The floors creaked as he stepped inside. You winced, suddenly self-conscious.

"Sorry about the mess..." you muttered. You didn’t know what you expected—a judgment, maybe. A raised eyebrow. Something.

Instead, Jack looked around once, taking it in slowly. Then nodded.

“It fits.”

Something in his tone—low, sure, completely unfazed, like it was exactly what he'd imagined—made your stomach flip again. You exhaled quietly, tension easing in your shoulders.

"Make yourself at home."

Jack nodded again, then bent to untie his trainers. He stepped out of them carefully, placed them neatly by the door, and gave the space one more quiet scan before making his way to the living room.

The couch creaked softly as he sat, hands resting loosely on his knees, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay upright or lean back. From the kitchen, you stole a glance—watching him settle in, or at least try to. You didn’t want to bombard him with questions or hover like a bad host, but the quiet stretched long, and something in you itched to fill it.

You busied yourself with boiling water, fussing with mugs, tea bags, sugar that wasn’t there. Trying to make it feel like something warm was waiting in the silence. Trying to give him space, even as a dozen things bubbled just beneath your skin.

“Chamomile okay?” you finally asked, the words light but uncertain.

Jack didn’t look up. But he nodded. “Yeah. That’s good.” You turned back to the counter, heart thudding louder than the kettle.

Meanwhile, Jack sat in near silence, but his eyes moved slowly around the room. Not searching. Just... seeing.

There were paintings on the walls—mostly landscapes, one abstract piece with colors he couldn’t name. Based on the array of prints to fingerpainted masterpieces, he guessed you'd painted some of them, but they all felt chosen. Anchored. Real.

A trailing pothos hung from a shelf above the radiator, green and overgrown, even though the pot looked like it had seen better days. It was lush despite the odds—thriving in a quiet, accidental kind of way.

Outside on the balcony ledge, he spotted a few tiny trinkets: a mushroom clay figure with a lopsided smile, a second plant—shorter, spikier, the kind that probably didn’t need much water but still looked stubbornly alive. A moss green glazed pot, clearly handmade. All memories, maybe. All pieces of you he’d never seen before. Pieces of someone he was only beginning to know. He took them in slowly, carefully. Not wanting to miss a single thing.

The sound of footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts. Two mugs clinking gently. You stepped into the living room and offered him one without fanfare, just a quiet sort of steadiness that made the space feel warmer. He took the tea with a small nod, thanking you. You didn’t sit beside him. You settled on the loveseat diagonal from the couch—close, but not too close. Enough to see him without watching. Enough space to let him breathe.

He noticed.

Your fingers curled around your mug. The steam gave you something to look at. Jack’s expression didn’t shift much, but you knew he could read you like an open book. Probably already had.

“You’ve got a lovely place,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking to a print on the wall—one slightly crooked, like it had been bumped and never fixed. “Exactly how I imagined, honestly.”

You arched a brow, skeptical. “Messy and uneven?”

Jack let out a quiet laugh. “I was going to say warm. But yeah, sure. Bonus points for the haunted radiator.”

The way he said it—calm, a little awkward, like he was trying to make you feel comfortable—landed somewhere between a compliment and a peace offering.

He took another sip of tea. “It just… feels like you.”

The words startled something in you. You didn’t know what to say—not right away. Your smile came small, a little crooked, the kind you didn’t have to fake but weren’t sure how to hold for long. “Thank you,” you said softly, fingers tightening around your mug like it might keep you grounded. The heat had gone tepid, but the gesture still lingered.

Jack looked like he might say something else, then didn’t. His fingers tapped once, twice, against the side of his mug before he exhaled through his nose—a small, thoughtful sound.

“My therapist once told me that vulnerability’s like walking into a room naked and hoping someone brought a blanket,” he said, dryly. “I told him I’d rather stay in the hallway.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, surprised. “Mine said it was like standing on a beach during high tide. Sooner or later, the water reaches you—whether you're ready or not.”

Jack’s mouth quirked, amused. “That’s poetic.”

You shrugged, sipping your tea. “She’s a big fan of metaphors. And tide charts, apparently.”

He smiled into his mug. “Makes sense. You’re the kind of person who would still be standing there when it comes in.”

You tilted your head. “And you?”

He considered that. “Probably pacing the rocks. Waiting for someone to say it’s okay to sit down.”

A quiet stretched between you, but this one felt earned—less about what wasn’t said and more about what had been.

An hour passed like that. Not all silence, not all speech. Just the easy drift of soft conversation and shared space. Small talk filled the cracks when it needed to—his comment about the plant that seemed to be plotting something in the corner, your half-hearted explanation for the random stack of books next to the radiator. Every now and then, something deeper would peek through the surface.

“Ever think about just… disappearing?” you asked once, offhanded and a little too real.

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. But then I’d miss pancakes. And Mexican food.”

You laughed, and he smiled like he hadn’t meant to say something so honest.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough. A rhythm, slow and shy. Words passed like notes through a crack in the door—careful, but curious. Neither of you rushed it. Neither of you left.

And then the storm hit.

The rain droplets started slow, just a whisper on the window. But it built fast—wind shaking the glass, thunder cracking overhead like a warning. You turned toward it, heart sinking a little. Jack did too, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Jesus," you murmured, already reaching for your phone. As if by divine timing, the emergency alert confirmed it: flash flood advisory until late evening. Admin had passed coverage onto the day shift. Robby wouldn't be happy about that. You made a mental note to make fun of him about it tomorrow. "Doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon..."

You glanced at Jack, who was still holding his mug like he wasn’t sure if he should move.

“You're welcome to stay—if you want,” you quickly clarified, trying to sound casual. “Only if you want to. Until it clears.”

His eyes flicked toward the window again, then to you. “You sure?”

“I mean, unless you want to risk get struck by lightning or swept into a storm drain.”

That earned the smallest laugh. “Tempting.”

You smiled, nervous. “Spare towel and blankets are in the linen closet. Couch pulls out. I think. Haven’t tried.”

Jack nodded slowly, setting his mug down. “I’m not picky.”

You busied yourself with clearing a spot, the nervous kind of motion that said you cared too much and didn’t know where to put it.

Jack watched you for a moment longer than he should’ve, then started helping—quiet, careful, hands brushing yours once as he reached for the extra pillow.

Neither of you commented on it. But your face burned.

And when the storm didn’t stop, neither of you rushed it.

Instead, the hours slipped by, slow and soft. At some point, Jack asked if he could shower—voice low, like he didn’t want to intrude. You pointed him toward the bathroom and handed him a spare towel, trying not to overthink the fact that his fingers grazed yours when he took it.

While he was in there, you busied yourself with making something passable for dinner. Rice. Egg drop soup. A couple frozen dumplings your mother had sent you dressed up with scallions and sesame oil. When Jack returned, hair damp, sleeves pushed up, you nearly dropped the plate. It wasn’t fair—how effortlessly good he looked like that. A little disheveled, a little too comfortable in a stranger’s home, and yet somehow perfectly at ease in your space. It was just a flash of thought—sharp, traitorous, warm—and then you buried it fast, turning back to the stovetop like it hadn’t happened at all.

You were still hovering by the stove, trying not to let the dumplings stick when you heard his footsteps. When he stepped beside you without a word and reached for a second plate, something in your brain short-circuited.

"Smells good," he said simply, voice low—and he somehow still smelled faintly of cologne, softened by the unmistakable citrus-floral mix of your body wash. It wasn’t fair. The scent tugged at something in your chest you didn’t want to name.

You blinked rapidly, buffering. "Thanks. Uh—it’s not much. Just... whatever I had."

He glanced at the pan, then to you. “You always downplay a five-course meal like this?”

Your mouth opened to protest, but then he smiled—quiet and warm and maybe a little teasing.

It took effort not to stare. Not to say something stupid about how stupidly good he looked. You shoved the thought down, hard, and went back to plating the food.

He helped without asking, falling into step beside you like he’d always been there. And when you both sat down at the low table, he smiled at the spread like it meant more than it should’ve.

Neither of you talked much while eating. But the air between you felt settled. Comfortable.

At some point between the second bite and the last spoonful of rice, Jack glanced up from his bowl and said, "This is good. Really good. I haven’t had a homemade meal in... a long time."

You were pleasantly surprised. And relieved. "Oh. Thanks. I’m just glad it turned out edible."

He shook his head slowly, eyes still on you. "If this were my last meal, I think I’d die happy."

Your face flushed instantly. It was stupid, really, the way a single line—soft, almost offhand—landed like that. You ducked your head, smiling into your bowl, trying to play it off.

Jack tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, amused. "Was that a blush?"

You scoffed. "It's warm in here."

“Mmm,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced. But he let it go.

Still, the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

You cleared your throat. "You're welcome anytime you'd like, by the way. For food. Or tea. Or... just to not be alone."

That earned a look from him—surprised, quiet, but soft in a way that made your chest ache.

And you didn’t dare look at him for a full minute after that.

When you stood to rinse your dishes, Jack took your bowl from your hands before you could protest and turned toward the sink. You opened your mouth but he was already running water, already rinsing with careful, practiced motions. So you just stood there in the soft hush of your kitchen, warmed by tea and stormlight, trying not to let your heart do anything foolish.

By the time the dishes were rinsed and left on the drying rack, the storm had only worsened—sheets of rain chasing themselves down the windows, thunder rolling deep and constant.

You found yourselves in the living room again, this time without urgency, without pretense—just quiet familiarity laced with something softer. And so, without discussing it, without making it a thing, you handed him the extra blanket and turned off all but one lamp.

Neither of you moved toward sleep just yet.

You were sitting by the balcony window, knees pulled up, mug long since emptied, staring out at the storm as it lashed the glass in sheets. The sound had become something rhythmic, almost meditative. Still, your arms were bare, and the goosebumps that peppered your forearms betrayed the chill creeping in.

Jack didn’t say anything—just stood quietly from the couch and returned with the throw blanket from your armrest. Without a word, he draped it over your shoulders.

You startled slightly, looking up at him. But he didn’t comment. Just gave you a small nod, then sat down beside you on the floor, his back against the corner of the balcony doorframe, gaze following yours out into the storm. The blanket settled around both of you like a quiet pact.

After a while, Jack’s voice cut through it, barely louder than the storm. “You afraid of the dark?”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just at the rain trailing down the window. “Used to be,” you said. “Not so much anymore. You?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“I used to think the dark was hiding me,” he said once. Voice quiet, like he was talking to the floor, or maybe the memory of a version of himself he didn’t recognize anymore. “But I think it’s just the only place I don’t have to pretend. Where I don’t have to act like I’m whole.”

Your heart cracked. Not from pity, but from the aching intimacy of honesty.

Then he looked at you—really looked at you. Eyes steady, searching, too much all at once. You forgot how to breathe for a second. "My therapist thinks I find comfort in the darkness."

There was something about the way he fit into the storm, the way the shadows curved around him without asking for anything back. You wondered if it was always like this for him—calmer in the chaos, more himself in the dark. Maybe that was the tradeoff.

Some people thrived in the day. Others feared being blinded by the light.

Jack, you were starting to realize, functioned best where things broke open. In the adrenaline. In the noise. Not because he liked it, necessarily—but because he knew it. He understood its language. The stillness of normalcy? That was harder. Quieter in a way that didn’t feel safe. Unstructured. Unknown.

A genius in crisis. A ghost in calm.

But you saw it.

And you said, softly, "Maybe the dark doesn’t ask us to be anything. That’s why it feels like home sometimes. You don’t have to be good. Or okay. Or whole. You just get to be." That made him look at you again—slow, like he didn’t want to miss it. Maybe no one had ever said it that way before.

The air felt different after that—still heavy, still quiet, but warmer somehow. Jack broke it with a low breath, barely a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So... do all your philosophical monologues come with tea and thunder, or did I just get the deluxe package?"

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing by degrees. "Only the Abbot special."

He bumped your knee gently with his. "Lucky me."

You didn’t say anything else, just leaned back against the wall beside him.

Eventually, you both got up. Brushed teeth side by side, a little awkward, a little shy. You both stood in front of the couch, staring at it like it had personally wronged you. You reached for the handle. Jack braced the backrest. Nothing moved.

"This can’t be that complicated," you muttered.

"Two MDs, one brain cell," Jack deadpanned, and you snorted.

It took a few grunts, an accidental elbow, and a very questionable click—but eventually, the thing unfolded.

He took the couch. You turned off the last lamp.

"Goodnight," you murmured in the dark.

"Goodnight," he echoed, softer.

And for once, the quiet didn’t press. It held.

Weeks passed. Jack came over a handful of times. He accompanied you home after work, shoulders brushing as you walked the familiar path back in comfortable quiet. You learned the rhythm of him in your space. The way he moved through your kitchen like he didn’t want to disturb it. The way he always put his shoes by the door, lined up neatly like they belonged there.

Then one day, it changed. He texted you, right before your shift ended: You free after? My place this time.

You stared at the screen longer than necessary. Then typed back: Yeah. I’d like that.

He met you outside the hospital that night, both of you bone-tired from a brutal shift, scrub jackets zipped high against the wind. You hadn’t been to Jack’s place before. Weren’t even sure what you expected. Your nerves had started bubbling to the surface the moment you saw him—automatic, familiar. Like your brain was bracing for rejection and disappointment before he even said a word.

You tried to keep it casual, but old habits died hard. Vulnerability always felt like standing on the edge of something steep, and your first instinct was to retreat. To make sure no one thought you needed anything at all. The second you saw him, the words spilled out in a rush—fast, nervous, unfiltered.

"Jack, you don’t have to...make this a thing. You don’t owe me anything just because you’ve been crashing at my place. I didn’t mean for it to feel like you had to invite me back or—"

He cut you off before you could spiral further.

“Hey.” Just that—firm but quiet. A grounding thread. His hands settled on your arms, near your elbows, steadying you with a grip that was firm but careful—like he knew exactly how to hold someone without hurting them. His fingers were warm, his palms calloused in places that told stories he’d never say out loud. His forearms, bare beneath rolled sleeves, flexed with restrained strength. And God, you hated that it made your brain short-circuit for a second.

Of course Jack Abbot would comfort you and make you feral in the same breath.

Then he looked at you—really looked. “I invited you because I wanted you there. Not because I owe you. Not because I’m keeping score. Not because I'm expecting anything from you.”

The wind pulled at your sleeves. The heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it.

Jack softened. Offered the faintest smile. “I want you here. But only if you want to be.”

You let out a breath. “Okay,” you said. Soft. Certain, even through the nerves. You smiled, more to yourself than to him. Jack’s gaze lingered on that smile—quietly, like he was memorizing it. His shoulders loosened, just barely, like your answer had unlocked something he hadn’t realized he was holding onto.

Be vulnerable, you told yourself. Open up. Allow yourself to have this.

True to his word, it really was just two blocks from your place. His building was newer, more modern. Clean lines, soft lighting, the kind of entryway that labeled itself clearly as an apartment complex. Yours, by comparison, screamed haunted brick building with a temperamental boiler system and a very committed resident poltergeist.

You were still standing beside him when he keyed open the front door, the keypad beeping softly under his fingers.

"5050," he said.

You tipped your head, confused. "Sorry?"

He looked at you briefly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud but didn’t take it back either. “Door code.”

Something in your chest fluttered. It echoed the first night you’d given him yours—unthinking, unfiltered, just a quiet offering. This felt the same. An unspoken invitation. You’re welcome here. Any time you want. Any time you need.

"Thanks, Jack." You could see a flicker of something behind his eyes.

The elevator up was quiet.

Jack watched the floor numbers tick by like he was counting in his head. You stared at your reflection in the brushed metal ceiling, the fluorescent lighting doing no one any favors. Totally not worried about the death trap you were currently in. Definitely not calculating which corner you'd curl into if the whole thing dropped.

When the doors opened, the hallway was mercifully empty, carpeted, quiet. You followed him down to the end, your steps softened by the hush of the building. Unit J24.

He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside so you could walk in first.

You did—and paused.

It was... barren. Not in a sterile way, but in the sense that it looked like he’d just moved in a few days ago and hadn’t had the energy—or maybe the need—to settle. The walls were bare and painted a dark blue-grey. A matching couch and a dim floor lamp in the living room. A fridge in the kitchen humming like it was trying to fill the silence. No art. No rugs. Not a photo or magnet in sight.

And yet—somehow—it felt entirely Jack. Sparse. Quiet. Intentional. A place built for someone who didn’t like to linger but was trying to learn how. You stepped in further, slower now. A kind of reverence in your movement, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

Because even in the stillness, even in the emptiness—he’d let you in.

Jack took off his shoes and opened up a closet by the door. You mirrored his motions, suddenly aware of every move you made like a spotlight landed on you.

"Make yourself at home," he said, voice casual but low.

You walked over to the couch and sat down, your movements slow, careful. Even the cushions felt new—firm, unsunken, like no one had ever really used them. It squeaked a little beneath you, unfamiliar in its resistance.

You ran your hand lightly over the fabric, then looked around again, taking everything in. "Did you paint the walls?"

Jack gave a short huff of a laugh from the kitchen. “Had to fight tooth and nail with my landlord to get that approved. Said it was too dark. Too dramatic.”

He reappeared in the doorway with two mugs in hand. “Guess I told on myself.” He handed you the lighter green one, taking the black chipped one for himself.

You took it carefully, fingers brushing his for a moment. “Thanks.”

The warmth seeped into your palms immediately, grounding. The scent rising from the cup was oddly familiar—floral, slightly citrusy, like something soft wrapped in memory. You took a cautious sip. Your brows lifted. “Wait… is this the Lavender cloudburst... cloudbloom?”

Jack gave you a sheepish glance, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is. I picked up a bag couple of days ago. Figured if I was going to be vulnerable and dramatic, I might as well commit to the theme.”

You snorted. He smiled into his own cup, quiet.

What he didn’t say: that he’d stared at the bag in the store longer than any sane person should, wondering if buying tea with you in mind meant anything. That he bought it a while back, hoping one day he'd get to share it with you. Wondering if letting himself hope was already a mistake. But saying it felt too big. Too much.

Jack’s eyes drifted to you—not the tea, not the room, but you. The way your shoulders were ever-so-slightly raised, tension tucked beneath the soft lines of your posture. The way your eyes moved around the room, drinking in every corner, every shadow, like you were searching for something you couldn’t name.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched.

And maybe you felt it—that quiet kind of watching. The kind that wasn’t about staring, but about seeing. Really seeing.

You took another sip, slower this time. The warmth helped. So did the silence.

Small talk came easier than it had before. Not loud, not hurried. Just quiet questions and softer replies. The kind of conversation that made space instead of filling it.

Jack tilted his head slightly. “You always look at rooms like you’re cataloguing them.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” He smiled softly into his mug. “Like you’re trying to figure out what’s missing.”

You considered that for a second. “Maybe I am.”

A pause, then—“And?”

Your gaze swept the room one last time, then landed back on him. “Nothing. This apartment feels like you.”

You expected him to nod or laugh it off, maybe deflect with a joke. But instead, he just looked at you—still, soft, like your words had pressed into some quiet corner of him he didn’t know was waiting. The moment lingered.

And he gave the slightest nod, the kind that said he heard you—really heard you—even if he didn’t quite know how to respond. The ice between you didn’t crack so much as it thawed, slow and patient, like neither of you were in a rush to get to spring. But it was melting, all the same.

Jack set his mug down on the coffee table, fingertips lingering against the ceramic a second longer than necessary. “I don’t usually do this,” he said finally. “The… letting people in thing.”

His honesty caught you off guard—so sudden, so unguarded, it tugged something loose in your chest. You nodded, heart caught somewhere behind your ribs. “I know.”

He gave you a sideways glance, prompting you to continue. You sipped your tea, eyes fixed on the rim of your cup. “I see how carefully you move through the world.”

“Thank you,” you added after a beat—genuine, quiet.

He didn’t say anything back, and the two of you left it at that.

Silence again, but it felt different now. Less like distance. More like the space between two people inching closer. Jack leaned back slightly, stretching one leg out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. “You scare me a little,” he admitted.

That got a chuckle out of you.

“Not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Just… in the way it feels when something actually matters.”

You set your mug down too, hands suddenly unsure of what to do. “You scare me too.”

Jack stared at you then—longer than he probably meant to. You felt it immediately, the heat rising in your chest under the weight of it, his gaze almost reverent, almost like he wanted to say something else but didn’t trust it to come out right.

So you cleared your throat and tried to steer the tension elsewhere. “Not as much as you scare the med students,” you quipped, lips twitching into a crooked smile.

Jack huffed out a low laugh, the edge of his mouth pulling up. “I sure as hell hope not.”

You let the moment linger for a beat longer, then glanced at the clock over his shoulder. “I should probably get back to my place,” you said gently. “Catch a couple hours of sleep before the next shift.”

Jack didn’t protest. Didn’t push. But something in his eyes softened—brief, quiet. “Thanks for the tea,” you added, standing slowly, reluctant but steady. “And for… this.”

He nodded once. “Anytime.” The way the word fell from his lips nearly made you buckle, its sincerity and weight almost begging you to stay. "Let me walk you back."

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “You don’t have to, I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jack was already reaching for his jacket, eyes steady on you. “You’re never a bother.” His voice was quiet, but certain.

You stood there for a moment, hesitating, the edge of your nervousness still humming faintly beneath your skin. Jack grabbed his keys, adjusted his jacket, and the two of you headed downstairs. The cool air greeted you with a soft nip. Neither of you spoke at first. The afternoon light was soft and golden, stretching long shadows across the pavement. Your footsteps synced without effort, an easy rhythm between you. Shoulders brushed once. Then again. But neither of you moved away.

Not much was said on the walk back. But it didn’t need to be. When your building came into view, Jack slowed just a little, as if to make the last stretch last longer.

“See you in a few hours?” The question came out hopeful but was the only one you were ever certain about when it came to Jack.

He gave a small nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The ER was humming, a low-level chaos simmering just below the surface. Pages overhead, fluorescent lights too bright, the constant shuffle of stretchers and nurses and med students trying not to get in the way.

You and Jack found yourselves working a case together. A bad one. Blunt trauma, no pulse, field intubation, half a dozen procedures already started before the gurney even made it past curtain three. But the two of you moved in sync.

Same breath. Same rhythm. You knew where he was going before he got there. He didn’t have to ask for what he needed—you were already handing it to him.

Shen and Ellis exchanged a look from across the room, like they’d noticed something neither of you had said out loud.

“You two always like this?” Ellis asked under his breath as he passed by.

Jack didn’t look up. “Like what?”

Ellis just raised a brow and kept walking.

The case stabilized. Barely. But the moment stayed with you. In the rhythm. In the way your hands brushed when you reached for the same gauze. In the silence afterward that didn’t feel like distance. Just... breath.

You didn’t say anything when Jack handed you a fresh pair of gloves with one hand and bumped your elbow with the other.

But you smiled.

Days bled into nights and nights into shifts, but something about the rhythm stuck. Not just in the trauma bay, but outside of it too. You didn’t plan it. Neither did he. But one night—after a particularly brutal Friday shift that bled well past weekend sunrise, all adrenaline and sharp edges—you both found yourselves back at your place in the evening.

You didn’t talk much. You didn’t need to.

Jack sank onto the couch with a low sigh, exhaustion settling into his bones. You brought him a blanket without asking, set a cup of tea beside him with a familiarity neither of you acknowledged aloud.

That night, he stayed. Not because he was too tired to leave. But because he didn’t want to. Because something about the quiet between you felt safer than anything waiting for him outside.

You were both sitting on the couch, talking—soft, slow, tired talk that came easier than it used to. The kind of conversation that filled the space without demanding anything. At some point, your head had tipped, resting against his shoulder mid-sentence, eyes fluttering closed with the weight of the day. Jack didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe too deep, afraid to disturb the way your warmth settled so naturally into his side.

Jack stayed beside you, feeling the soft rhythm of your breath rising and falling. His prosthetic was off, his guard lowered, and in that moment, he looked more like himself than he ever did in daylight. A part of him ached—subtle, quiet, but insistent. He hadn't realized how much he missed this. Not just touch, but presence. Yours. The kind of proximity that didn’t demand anything. The kind he didn’t have to earn.

You shifted slightly in your sleep, your arm brushing his knee. Jack froze. Then, carefully—almost reverently—he reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it gently over your shoulders. His fingers lingered at the edge, just for a second. Just long enough to feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric. Just long enough to remind himself this was real.

And then he leaned back, settled in again beside you.

Close. But not too close.

Present.

The morning light broke through the blinds.

You stirred.

His voice was gravel-soft. "Hey."

You blinked sleep from your eyes. Sat up. Found him still there, legs stretched out, back to the wall.

“You stayed,” you said.

He nodded.

Then, quietly, like it mattered more than anything:

“Didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You smiled. Just a little.

He smiled back. Tired. Honest.

The first time you stayed at Jack's place was memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Everything was fine—quiet, even—until late evening. Jack had a spare room, insisted you take it. You didn’t argue. The bed was firm, the sheets clean, the door left cracked open just a little.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You only remember the panic. The way it clutched at your chest like a vice, your lungs refusing to cooperate, your limbs kicking, flailing against an invisible force. You were screaming, you think. Crying, definitely. The dream was too much. Too close. The kind that reached down your throat and stayed.

Then—hands. Shaking your shoulders. Jack’s voice.

“Hey. Hey—wake up. It’s not real. You’re okay.”

You blinked awake, heart slamming against your ribs. Jack was already on the bed with you, hair a mess, eyes wide and terrified—but only for you. His hands were still on your arms, steady but gentle. Grounding.

Then one hand rose to cradle your cheek, cool fingers brushing the flushed heat of your skin. Your face burned hot beneath the sweat and panic, and his touch was steady, careful, as if anchoring you back to the room. He brushed your hair out of your face, strands damp and stuck to your forehead, and tucked them back behind your ear. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. Just the quiet care of someone trying to reach you without pushing too far.

You tried to speak but couldn’t. Just choked on a sob.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

And you believed him.

Then, without hesitation, Jack brought you into his arms—tucked you against his chest and held you tightly, like you might disappear with the breeze. There was nothing hesitant about it, no second-guessing. Just the instinctive kind of closeness that came from someone who knew what it meant to need and be needed. He held you like a lifeline, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm across your back, steadying you both.

Eventually, your breathing slowed. The shaking stopped. Jack stayed close, his hand brushing yours, his body warm and steady like an anchor. He didn’t leave that night. Didn’t go back to his room. Just pulled the blanket over both of you and stayed, watching the slow return of calm to your chest like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered eventually, voice hoarse from the crying.

Jack’s gaze didn’t waver. He reached out, cupping your cheek again with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said firmly. Not unkind—never unkind. Just certain, like the truth of it had been carved into him long before this moment.

Jack and Robby greeted each other on the roof, half-drained thermoses in hand. Jack looked tired, but not in the usual way. Something about the edges of him felt… softened. Less on-edge. Lighter, one might say. Robby noticed.

“You’ve been less of a bastard lately,” he said around a mouthful of protein bar.

Jack raised a brow. “That a compliment?”

Robby grinned. “An observation. Maybe both.”

Jack shook his head, amused. But Robby kept watching him. Tipped his chin slightly. “You seem happier, brother. In a weird, not-you kind of way.”

Jack huffed a breath through his nose. Didn’t respond right away.

Then, Robby’s voice dropped just enough. “You find someone?”

Jack’s grip tightened slightly around his cup. He looked down at the liquid swirling at the bottom. He didn’t smile, not fully. But his silence said enough.

Robby nodded once, then looked away. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Thought so.”

"I didn’t say anything."

Robby snorted. “You didn’t have to. You’ve got that look.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “What look?”

“The kind that says you finally let yourself come up for air.”

Jack stared at him for a second, then looked down at his cup again, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. Robby elbowed him lightly.

“Do I know her?” he asked, voice easy, teasing.

Jack gave a one-shouldered shrug, noncommittal. “Maybe.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Is it Shen?”

Jack scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Robby laughed, loud and satisfied. “Had to check.” Then, after a beat, he said more quietly, “I’m glad, you know. That you found someone.”

Jack looked up, brows drawn. Robby shrugged, this time more sincere than teasing. “Don’t let go of it. Whatever it is. People like us... we don’t get that kind of thing often.”

Jack let the words hang in the air a moment, then gave a half-scoff, half-smile. “You getting sentimental on me, old man?”

Robby rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

But Jack’s smile faded into something gentler. Quieter. “I haven’t felt this... human in a while.”

Robby didn’t say anything to that. Just nodded, then bumped Jack’s shoulder with his own. Then he stretched his arms overhead, cracking his back with a groan. “Alright, lovebird. Let’s go pretend we’re functioning adults again.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but the smile lingered.

They turned back toward the stairwell, the sky above them soft with early light.

It all unraveled around hour 10.

A belligerent trauma case brought in after being struck by a drunk driver. Jack’s shoulders tensed when he saw the dog tags. Everyone knew vets were the ones that got to him the most. His jaw was set tight the whole time, his voice sharp, movements clipped. You’d worked with him long enough to see when he started slipping into autopilot: efficient, precise, but cold. Closed off.

He ordered a test you'd already confirmed had been done. When you gently reminded him, Jack didn’t even look at you—just waved you off with a sharp, impatient flick of his wrist. Then, louder—sharper—he snapped at Ellis. "Move faster, for fuck's sake."

His voice had that clipped edge to it now, the kind that made people tense. Made the room feel smaller. Ellis blinked but didn’t respond, just picked up the pace, brows furrowed. Shen gave you a quiet glance over the patient’s shoulder, something that looked almost like sympathy. Both of them looked to you after that—uncertain, searching for a signal or some kind of anchor. You saw it in their eyes: the silent question. What’s going on with Jack?

When you reached across the gurney to adjust the central line tubing, Jack barked, "Back off."

You froze. “Dr. Abbot,” you said, soft but firm. “It’s already in.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a split second, they looked wild—distant, haunted. “Then why are you still reaching for it?” he said, low and biting.

The air went still. Ellis looked up from the med tray, blinking. Shen awkwardly shifted his weight, silently assuring you that you'd done nothing wrong. The nurse closest to Jack turned her focus sharply to the vitals monitor.

You excused yourself and stepped out. Said nothing.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did. But he didn’t look back.

The patient coded minutes later.

And though the team moved in perfect sync—compressions, meds, lines—Jack was silent afterward, hands flexing at his sides, eyes on the floor.

You didn’t speak when the shift ended.

A few nights later, he was at your door.

You opened it only halfway, unsure what to expect. The narrow gap between the door and the frame felt like the only armor you had—an effort to shelter yourself physically from the hurt you couldn’t name.

Jack stood there, exhausted. Worn thin. Still in scrubs, jacket over one shoulder. His face was hollowed out, cheeks drawn tight, and his eyes—god, his eyes—were wide and tired in that distinct, glassy way. Like he wasn’t sure if you’d close the door or let him stay. Like he already expected you would slam it in his face and say you never wanted to see him again.

“I shouldn’t have—” he started, then stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. “I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed, but the words wouldn't come out. You were still upset. Still stewing. Not at the apology—never that. But at how quickly things between you could tilt. At how much it had hurt in the moment, to be dismissed like that. And how much it mattered that it was him.

His voice was quiet, but steady. “You were right. I wasn’t hearing you. And you didn’t deserve any of that.”

There was a beat of silence.

"I panicked,” he said, like it surprised even him. “Not just today. The patient—he reminded me of people I served with. The ones who didn’t make it back. The ones who did and never got better. I saw him and... I just lost it. Couldn’t separate the past from right now. And then I looked at you and—” he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Being this close to something good... it scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to mess this up."

Your heart thudded, painful and full.

“Then talk to me,” you said, voice thick with exhaustion. The familiar ache began to flood your throat. “Tell me how you feel. Something. Anything. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, Jack. I have my own shit to deal with, and I get it if you’re not ready to talk about it yet, but—”

Your hand came up to your face, pressing against your forehead. “Maybe we should just talk tomorrow,” you muttered, already taking a step back to close the door. It was a clear attempt at avoidance, and Jack saw right through it.

“I think about you more than I should,” he said, voice low and rough. He stepped closer. Breath shallow. His eyes searched yours—frantic, pleading, like he was trying to gather the courage to jump off something high. “When I’m running on fumes. When I’m trying not to feel anything. And then I see you and it all rushes back in like I’ve been underwater too long."

At this, you pulled the door open slightly to show that you were willing to at least listen. Jack was looking at the ground—something completely unlike him. He always met people’s eyes, always held his gaze steady. But not now. Now, he looked like he might fold in on himself if you so much as breathed wrong. He exhaled a short breath, relieved but not off the hook just yet.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered. “But I know what I feel when I’m around you. And it’s the only thing that’s made me feel like myself in a long time.”

He hesitated, just for a second, searching your face like he was waiting for permission. For rejection. For anything at all. You reached out first—tentative, your fingers lifting to his cheek. Jack froze at the contact, like his body had forgotten what it meant to be touched so gently. It was instinct, habit. But then he exhaled and leaned into your hand, eyes fluttering shut, like he couldn’t bear the weight of being seen and touched at once.

You studied him for a long moment, taking him in—how hard he was trying, how raw he looked under the dim light. Your thumb brushed beneath his eye, brushing softly along the curve of his cheekbone. When you pulled your hand away, Jack caught it gently and brought it back, pressing your palm against his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut like it hurt to be touched, like it cracked something open he wasn’t ready to see. Then—slowly—he leaned into it, like he didn’t know how to ask for comfort but couldn’t bring himself to pull away from it either.

Your breath caught. He was still holding your hand to his face like it anchored him to the ground.

You shifted slightly, unsure what to say. But you didn’t move away.

His hand slid down to catch yours fully, fingers interlacing with yours.

“I’m not good at this,” he said finally, voice rough and eyes locked onto you. “But I want to try. With you.”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but what came out was a jumble of word salad instead.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m not—I'm not the kind of person who’s built for this. I fuck things up. I shut down. I push people away. And you…” Your voice cracked. You turned your face slightly, not pulling away, but not quite steady either. “You deserve better than—”

Jack pulled you into a bruising hug, arms wrapping tightly around you like he could hold the pain in place. One hand rose to cradle the back of your head, pulling you into his chest.

You were shaking. Tears, uninvited, welled in your eyes and slipped down before you could stop them.

“Fuck perfect,” he whispered softly against your temple. “I need real. I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand still resting against the side of your head. His gaze was glassy but steady, breathing shallow like the weight of what he’d just said was still settling in his chest.

You blinked through your tears, mouth parted, searching his face for hesitation—but there was none.

He leaned in again, slower this time.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It started hesitant—like he was afraid to get it wrong. Or he didn’t know if you’d still be there once he crossed that line. But when your hand gripped the front of his jacket, pulling him in closer, it changed. The kiss deepened, slow but certain. His hands framed your face. One of your hands curled into the fabric at his waist, the other resting against his chest, feeling the quickened beat beneath your palm.

You stumbled backward as you pulled him inside, refusing to let go, your mouth still pressed to his like contact alone might keep you from unraveling. Jack followed without question, stepping inside as the door clicked shut on its own. He barely had time to register the space before your back hit the door with a soft thud, his mouth still moving against yours. You reached blindly to twist the lock, and when you did, he made a low sound—relief or hunger, you couldn’t tell.

He kicked off his shoes without looking, quick and efficient, like some part of him needed to shed the outside world as fast as possible just to be here, just to feel this. You jumped. He caught you. Your legs wrapped around his waist like muscle memory, hands threading through his hair, and Jack carried you down the hall like you weighed nothing. He didn't have to ask which door. He knew.

And when he laid you down on the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careless.

It was everything that had been building—finally, finally let loose.

It was all nerves and heat and breathlessness—everything held back finally finding its release.

When you pulled away just a little, foreheads touching, neither of you said anything at first. But Jack’s hands didn’t leave your waist. He just breathed—one breath, then another—before he whispered, “Are you sure?”

You frowned.

“This,” he clarified, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. If you’re not okay. If this is too much.”

Your hand came up again, brushing his cheek. “I’m sure.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, finally meeting them, and he asked softly, “Are you?”

You nodded, steadier this time. “Yes. Are you?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure about a damn thing in my life.”

And when you kissed him again, it wasn’t heat that came first—but a sense of comfort. Feeling safe.

Then came the warmth. The kind that started deep in your belly and coursed in your body and through your fingertips. Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingertips skating across skin like you were trying to memorize every inch. Jack's breath hitched, and he kissed you harder—desperate, aching. His hands were everywhere: your waist, your back, your jaw, grounding you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Clothes came off in pieces, scattered in the dark. Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, painting soft stripes across the bed through the blinds. It was the first time you saw all of him—truly saw him. The curve of his back, the line of his shoulders and muscles, the scars that marked the map of his body. You’d switched spots somewhere between kisses and breathless moans—Jack now lying on the bed, you straddling his hips, hovering just above him.

You reached out without thinking, fingertips ghosting over one of the thicker ones that carved down his side. Jack stilled. When you looked up at him, his eyes on yours—soft, wary, like he didn’t quite know how to breathe through the moment.

So you made your way down, gently, and kissed the scar. Then another. And another. Reverent. Wordless. He watched you the whole time, eyes glinting in the dim light, like he couldn't believe you were real.

When your lips met a sensitive spot by his hip, Jack’s breath caught. His hand found yours again, grounding him, keeping him here. Your name on his lips wasn’t just want—it was pure devotion. Every touch was careful, every kiss threaded with something deeper than just desire. You weren’t just wanted. You were known.

He worshipped you with his hands, his mouth, his body—slow, thorough, patient. The kind of touch that asked for nothing but offered everything. His palms mapped your skin like he’d been waiting to learn it, reverent in every pass, every pause. His lips lingered over every place you sighed, every place you arched, until you forgot where his body ended and yours began. It was messy and sacred and quiet and burning all at once—like he didn’t just want you, he needed you.

And you let him. You met him there—every movement, every breath—like your bodies already knew the rhythm. When it built, when it crested, it wasn’t just release. It was recognition. A return. Home.

After the air cooled and the adrenaline had faded, he didn’t pull away. His hand stayed at your back, palm warm and steady where it pressed gently against your spine. You shifted only slightly, your leg draped over his, and your forehead found the crook of his neck. He smelled like your sheets and skin and the barest trace of sweat and his cologne.

He exhaled into the hush of the room, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. His fingers traced lazy, absent-minded lines along your side, like he was still trying to memorize you even now.

You were both quiet, not because there was nothing to say, but because for once, there was nothing you needed to.

He kissed your lips—soft, lingering—then trailed down to your neck, his nose brushing your skin as he breathed you in. He paused, lips resting at the hollow of your throat. Then he kissed the top of your head. Just once.

And that was enough.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow. You stared at him, letting yourself really look—at the way the moonlight softened his features, at how peaceful he looked with his eyes half-lidded and his chest rising and falling against yours. Jack couldn’t seem to help himself. His fingers played with yours—tracing the length of each one like they were new, like they were a language he was still learning. He toyed with the edge of your palm, pressed his thumb against your knuckle, curled his pinky with yours. A man starved for contact who had finally found somewhere to rest.

When he finally looked up, you met him with a smile.

"What now?" you asked softly, voice quiet in the hush between you. It wasn’t fear, not quite. Just a small seed of worry still gnawing at your ribs.

Jack studied your face like he already knew what you meant. He let out a soft breath. His hand moved carefully, brushing a stray hair from your face before cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

"Now," he said, "I keep showing up. I keep choosing this. You. Every day."

Your lips pressed together in a shy smile, trying to hold back the sudden sting behind your eyes. You shook your head slowly, swallowing the emotion that threatened to rise.

He tilted his head a little, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Are you sick of me yet?"

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Not even close."

His fingers tightened gently around yours.

"Good," Jack murmured. "Because I’m not letting you go."

And just like that, the quiet turned soft. For once, hope felt like something you could hold.

You fell asleep with his arm draped over your waist, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. His breaths were deep and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed your own. Neither of you had nightmares that night. No thrashing. No waking in a cold sweat. Just quiet. Any time you shifted, he instinctively pulled you closer. You drifted together into sleep, breaths falling in sync—slow, steady, safe.

And for the first time, the dark didn’t feel so heavy.

<3 - <3 - <3 - <3

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt imagine #the pitt x reader #jack abbot #the pitt spoilers #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #dr. abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot x reader #dr abbott #jack abbott #dr. abbott

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greenlings · 2 days ago

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love maomao being like maybe the reason that i never understood social interactions is because i wasn't comforted enough as a child. when, little does she know, she's part of the trio of most autistic-coded protagonists the winter anime seasons have ever seen

#the other two being frieren and laios touden obviously #this is technically a s1 joke and the quote is from s2 but. i digress. its just insanely funny to me that she's one of the easiest protags #to read as autistic #between her struggling with social cues #the way she thinks/views the world #and also just. [gestures at the special interest in all things poisons]#an autism diagnosis wouldnt fix her because she doesnt need to be fixed but MAN would it make things make sense #(this isnt even counting her bio parents and how much THEY can be read as autistic too)#maomao #the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #knh #kusuriya no hitorigoto

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butyoudidthis4what · 1 day ago

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No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip and smile at him.

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion.

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

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

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

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

Jack spins around.

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

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

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

“Jack-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

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

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

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

#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot fanfiction #jack abbot x you #the pitt fanfic #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbott #jack abbott fanfic #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott x you #dr jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott x you #dr jack abbot x you #jack abbott imagine

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justevelynnnn · 2 days ago

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Don’t fight it

Pairing: Viltrumite!fem reader x Mark Grayson

Summary: You’re a secret viltramite on earth. After Nolan abandoned his post and couldn’t complete his one mission you stepped in, trying to convince Mark, but you couldn’t convince him to join the right side so now you two have to fight. But what happens when you fight your boyfriend and the adrenaline rush leads to something other than fighting?

Warnings: Smut 🔞, Fighting, swearing, reader is a female, reader gets her nose broke

A/N: I wrote and edited this in a day😭 I just had the idea pop in my head and I just had to get it out.

“Mark.”

“NO.” Your boyfriend runs a hand through his hair. “God…literally fuck you.”

It was a hot day. You stood there with your arms crossed, starting to sweat through your tank top now. The heat was making this even more irritating. It had been about a week since Nolan left and it was right before his fake funeral. You decided to confront Mark outside his house…maybe try to convince him yourself to join the cause. Nolan clearly was a failure at that, oh well, but now it was your turn.

“Mark, stop that. You know I love you. You love me. This is for a good cause!”

“Shut the fuck up, seriously. First, my dad….now YOU?”

He steps towards you so you step back a bit. You don’t want to fight him. You’ve known him for years. He’s never yelled at you, got aggressive…anything. You’re not too shocked by the reaction though..sure, the timing could’ve been better, but now has to be the time. Nolan is a dirty fucking traitor who ran away because he KNEW you were coming for him for not doing what he was supposed to. And if not you then the others.

It was his idea after all. To get Mark to fall in love with you and slowly convince him to help take over the planet. His words to be exact actually was he got distracted with Debbie, had a child and became attached…and obviously so; but you ended up falling in love with Mark too. Not part of the plan. It was embarrassing to admit really but it is what it is. You cared for him, but god, why couldn’t he just open his stupid eyes? The Viltrumites just want to help. It’s the humans fault if they get killed trying to resist. Right?

“Listen to me… We just want to help. Surely, Nolan explained that to you, right?” You say reaching a hand out but Mark promptly slaps it away.

“So, WHAT?! You guys just want to kill people.” He spat, face reddening and his chest rising and falling quickly.

“No one wants to kill anyone. But..”

“BUT NOTHING.”

“Mark-” you’re cut off from him shoving you harshly. So harsh that you stumble back a bit.

You instinctively get into a fighting stance, but no…no you don’t want to fight him. Anything, but that please…

“What? What? Huh?! You’re gonna beat me to a pulp too?! Push me through a moving subway too!?”

“Please, stop Mark. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

Another harsh shove. It’d be one thing if you were a regular human girl, but you assumed him knowing what you are now changed things. He started to float in the air. No suit, just the clothes he showed up in. A white tee and gray sweat shorts.

You stare into his eyes almost pleading, slightly confused by what he’s not understanding. If he cared so much about these….people, then why not allow the Viltrumites to step in and help this race get stronger?

You only arrived here from Viltrum about 10 years ago. You didn’t age much since then but you still appeared middle school aged. After you were found and adopted by some random couple you were soon enrolled into Mark’s middle school. That’s how you met him and eventually how your “parents” met Nolan and Debbie.

You could tell instantly this was Omni man. He’d been here for years so they sent you to see what was up. Mark was almost a splitting image of him and you immediately put two and two together even at your young age. Saying he was embarrassed was probably an understatement when you revealed yourself to him one day when you were “13”.

Nothing was the same since that day.

Nothing.

You genuinely did not want to hurt Mark, but the way his fists were balled up and his teeth were gritted,….

“Mark-”, you started once again.

“Shut. Up.” His scarred lip curled into an intense frown now. This was it. It was too late to convince him to stop. He continued with, “I’m not going to let ANYONE conquer my planet. I don’t care about viltrumite anything! I don’t care if you guys are trying to “help”.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say? It was clear he wasn’t going to be convinced anytime soon. You sighed and balled your own fists.

“I guess every couple fights at least once, huh?” You sighed. It was really more to yourself, but you almost forgot Mark had just as good ears as you.

Immediately, “What!? You think this is funny?!”

You didn’t get to respond as he soon launched towards you, landing a punch to your gut. You struggle and gasped as it was unexpected. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark or anything. You knew that. It wasn’t Mark’s style to kill, especially when it came to anyone he cared about.

But, did he really just do that? Oh, Mark…

And so it begins. You spring into the air pulling him by the shirt. You were unexpectedly more angry than you thought. If only you could get him to actually fucking listen for once. And something about him saying this was his planet….ugh. He doesn’t understand how weak and useless these people are to space.

You flung him to the ground once you were high enough. He had fiercely thrashed and clawed against you while in the air, tearing your shirt a bit in the process but never striking you again. He still cared. Maybe he didn’t want to fight either.

He landed with a loud thud with a huge puff of air immediately followed.

“We don’t have to do this.” You yelled once more. “Don’t fight this…”

No response. You couldn’t see him through the smoke that came from the landing as it hadn’t cleared completely yet but you knew he wasn’t dead.

Then, a yell as he again rose from the smoke and attacked you once more. He’s throwing punches you can easily dodge, grunting and yelling like he’s giving it all when you know he’s not. He’s weak but not…this weak.

You block his punches, dodge, land a couple of your own… you were a skilled fighter of course, but Mark despite hardly training was just as good.

The air was thick with fury and rage as you guys are just spinning and fighting in the air now. One punch landed you right in the face with a sick cracking noise from your nose following soon after. Ouch.

He broke your nose…

He actually broke your nose.

You both briefly stop for a moment. A hand instinctively raising to your nose to see blood leaking and covering your hand. Your eyes flicker to Mark as you see him hesitate. He doesn’t move, but behind that still an angry expression was a hint of concern. You smiled through the pain which only forced the confusion to show more. You push him back to the ground once more once you realized he was caught off guard enough.

You landed next to him in the street as he sprung up once more and you two started fighting and wrestling once more. You knocked him over a couple of more times, getting swift jabs in on his sides, but he keep getting up just as quick. Blood from your nose splattered everywhere landing on the ground, on yourself and Mark as you keep throwing punches and even some kicks. You tackled him and pushed him through his living room window (thank god Debbie wasn’t home to see this) and you landed with him in his lap, your hands pressed on his chest.

“You ready to listen?” You panted. Blood still dripping from your nose on his chest. You ignored the pain catching your breath hoping he’d stop. He’s pretty bruised up now, wasn’t this enough?

He didn’t respond but he just stared into your eyes catching his own breath. You almost started to admire how he looked underneath you until he quickly started to push you off of him, succeeding and quickly reeling his hand back. You blocked it just in time standing and started throwing your own punches his way repeatedly.

You two knocked into furniture violently. He backed into the cabinets causing Debbie’s glasses to fall and loudly shatter behind, and around him with some shards flying and slicing you. You tripped over a potted plant at one point trying to dodge a punch and once you landed on the ground he was immediately straddling you now.

You’d push him off if he wasn’t so pretty and literally your boyfriend who you weren’t supposed to fucking love in the first place. His hair stuck to his face as it was covered and dripping with sweat, a black eye was slowly forming which you felt a bit guilty for and his lip was now cut again. He panted once more as his hands wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to choke you but…enough. Enough to turn that adrenaline into something else.

A moment passed again. The universe must be saying something for you both to end up in this position over and over. And Mark must be saying something because you see him getting hard through his shorts. You guessed his adrenaline was going somewhere else too.

And, Jesus, did he look hot all sweaty and angry above you like this. Your sweet silly Mark, now suddenly the complete opposite.

You struggled a bit, almost still wanting to fight until he muttered darkly, “What? It’s like you said, don’t fight it…”

You watched as the anger in his eyes slowly turned into lust. Dangerous lust. Watching as he bit his lip, and muscles flexing as he tightened his grip ever so slightly. You let a moan slip and it was over.

He leaned down immediately to kiss you. His lips were still soft just like before but now with that irony taste of blood. Something about him was just so addicting. The way he growled as you reached to grope him through his pants, the way his grip tightened more so now you did struggle to breathe… the way his tongue fought yours violently like he was trying to eat you. Like he wanted to taste your final breath.

When he let go you gasped for air. You weren’t weak so no time soon when you were going to signal him to let go but a part of you also enjoyed the thrill. He only let go to fling off his shirt and yank his pants down his thighs. You almost froze eyeing his physique especially glistening like this with his sweat.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” He says harshly staring you down while simultaneously stroking himself. His tone and behavior slightly caught you off guard as you froze, and he snapped you out of it quickly by grabbing your face with one hand fiercely and barking, “Now.”

You start pulling your tank off your head as he pulled your shorts off, soon following your panties.

“Why does your underwater have the fucking viltrumite symbol on it?” He snickered eying the damp fabric. He proceeded to wave it in your face but all you could see was his muscles flexing in his arms, veins popping. Adrenaline was still rushing through your own body, but you could tell the same was for Mark.

“Some of us actually appreciate our heritage.” You spit back smirking. You wished deep down you wore something more attractive though.

“All of you are so weird.” He said spitting directly on your cunt. You flinched and fought back a moan as he promptly started to slowly finger you right after.

“You can barely fight, what makes you think you can fuck?” You try to say it with confidence, still slightly passed at him but more at yourself for allowwimg this to happen. Instead it comes out airy, filled with need because he’s fingering you with two fingers now with his thumb pressing your clit.

“Says the virgin.” He laughed dryly.

Now you’re more pissed. You told him that as a secret. Who does he think he is?

“What makes you thin-”, you start but you’re cut off by him roughly kissing you once more, and at some point he bites your lip, drawing blood. He licks it before you do.

He muttered a “shut up” as he kissed down your neck quickly and impatiently. At some point he stopped fingering you, and you almost whined at the loss. He pulled away to lick his soaked fingers clean with his tongue, moaning as he stared into your soul. You almost take this chance to his him again, which you actually do, but he stops you and swiftly flipped you over so you’re on all fours now.

A calloused hand pushes your face down before you try to get up, and another hand pressed down on your back forcing your arch a bit more.

“Don’t fight it.~” He says almost mockingly. You groan feeling him as he lined his tip against your entrance.

“Stop….saying that. If you’d just listen for once-”

“Nope.” He says that as he pushed his full length into you. The stretch forced a long lengthy moan out of you. It hurt so good.

Mark wasted no time moving either, groaning himself as he thrusted slowly. It was almost like he was savoring how your walls felt around him. It took you a minute to get used to his size, especially being inexperienced.

“Fuckk.”, He groaned deeply.

His hands grip each side of your hips as he steadied himself. Sweat dripped onto your back side now as he hovered above you. You felt your ass ripple each time his hips met it and his hands tighten as you playfully squeezed him. Hearing his breath hitch each time gave you a thrill once more.

Until he started pounding you harder and deliberately aiming for your sweet spot. You didn’t think he’d find it so fucking quick but oh he did. It wasn’t long before you were seeing stars. At this point you’d knew you wouldn’t last long at all in this position.

Then, Mark flipped you over once more, pushing your thighs by your head and forcing you into a mating press. Strangely, you felt very exposed suddenly as he stared at you like you were a piece of meat. You reached to attack him once more until he harshly grabbed your wrist, brows furrowed and a growl escaping his throat once more before he started fucking you again.

“I’m not gonna stop until you say you won’t take over Earth.” He spat slightly whimpering.

“Guess we’re gonna—fuck—be here awhile, h-huh?” You smiled up at him.

He didn’t respond. He just fucked you harder now. Angrier. One hand was around your throat with another on your hip holding you in place. It was almost like he had done this before.

This lasted awhile. Only the slick, sloppy sounds of skin meeting and desperate noises filled the damaged living room. You were lucky you two ended up on a rug of all places. Your thighs were slick and covered his lower half with juices. Blood still ran a bit from your nose down your face, your bitten lip now swollen.

At some point he was fucking you so good your hands reached around his back and just scratched. He whined but kept going, and going, and going. It was almost like he was pissed. His hand tightened again so you could barely breathe and you were getting closer.

And him rubbing your swollen clit wasn’t helping. Your mind was spiraling and your limbs felt like putty. He leaned by your ear, messy damp hair falling on your shoulders as he kept muttering sick, lewd things into your ear about how he was going to fill you up until you beg him to stop. How soon you two have your own viltrumite child. How you felt so damn good around him, so tight and warm….

All of it simply sent you over the edge as you shook violently. You never felt this much pleasure in your life. Never. You almost couldn’t see with how good this orgasm was. You sounded like a broken record as you came around him, scratching his back once more. He kissed you again, damn near eating all your moans and whines.

You didn’t come down from your high for 5 minutes and all the while Mark still fucked you.

“Ready to join my side?” He said simply, thrusting slowly chasing his own orgasm. You were getting overstimulated and kept quivering...but viltrumites do not back down from missions so easily so…

“Never.”

“Okay, suit yourself.” He chuckled as he picked up the pace once more. He proceeded to pick up your discarded underwear and shove it in your mouth to “keep you quiet”.

Deep down you knew there was truly no convincing him. And deeper down you didn’t care.

#mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible #invincible smut #viltrumite reader #invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #mark grayson x reader smut

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 3 days ago

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Pt2 of dp x dc au where Danny is the 99th attempt to clone Kon by Tim. Danny is an overprotective 2 year old who hates Ra's Al Gul with a passion.

[Pt1: here]

Tim is more than ready to leave the LoA and stop having to dance around Ra's. He doesn't feel safe, but he needed the resources. Dick made getting them any other way impossible, with him telling the whole hero community he's crazy and needs help and shit. Tim is more than pissed about it, but he can't help but be amused by the outcome.

Sure, Ra's is trying to wife him, and that's awful and terrifying and all, but watching Ra's try to win over a 2 year old who despises his very existence is hilarious. Aedan, or Danny as the toddler is insisting to be called, goes out of his way to be petty to Ra's and clings to Tim any time the man enters the room. Danny has torn or spilled things on paperwork and clothing, left things just out of sight to trip Ra's, put foods in unexpected places as the man steps or sits in it, purposely and maliciously coloured on and destroyed things he found out were Ra's and Ra's alone, and so much more. Tim is kind of proud of the chaos.

But Tim also has to shove down the anxiety that Ra's might have actually did something to Danny while on his missions. Danny was left on base because it was too dangerous to bring him. He tries to get back as fast as safely possible, just in case, though. Danny hasn't said anything yet on WHY he despises Ra's, but Tim is keeping an eye out.

All in all though, Tim has no remorse as he packs up and leaves with Danny in toe, blowing up every base he knows about and draining their accounts on his way out. He leaves Danny with Tam during his final showdown with Ra's, making sure Dick is in the area to catch him. He's not leaving his baby early.

"So I have everything I need to prove Bruce is alive and how to save him. I'm NOT crazy." Tim tells Dick when he wakes up after his fight with a pissed off Ra's, before remembering Danny and chuckling, "Actually, I'm a little crazy. Not about the Bruce thing, or what I did to prove it, but I did do something else insane."

"I believe you... about the Bruce thing." Dick eyes him in concern. "What did you do?"

"I maaaay have cloned Kon."

"You WHAT?" Steph looks absolutely flabbergasted. All his family members do actually, including Alfred.

"Yeah, so, I had a little bit of a mental breakdown." Tim stares at his hands, picking at the nails. "I was really missing Kon and spiraled and now I have a son... surprise.."

There's so much sputtering before Steph slams her hands on the medical bed, silencing everyone and getting Tim to look at her. She's flung her Spoiler mask off and leaning way too close.

"You have a son?? How old is he?? When can we meet him?? What's his name??"

"Er.. his name is Aedan Drake, he insists on being called Danny currently. He's about 2. And you'll be meeting him as soon as I can call Tam. I didn't want either of them near when Ra's came for me." Tim leans away from her. "Especially because Danny seems to hate the guy and puts himself between us at any chance he gets."

"That's concerning" Dick mumbles.

"Yeah.." Tim blinks hard. "I'm not even sure why Danny hates him. I have no idea if Ra's did something to him while I was otherwise engaged. It terrifies me not to know, but I only have the word of a creep and a 2 year old to go off of."

No one seems to know what to say to that. They all silently agree to keep an eye out for any signs Ra's did something to Danny.

"Can you pass me my phone?"

"Sure, Timmy." Dick hands over the phone. "Who do you think is going to be his favourite aunt or uncle?"

"Fuck if I know, the kid is completely different from Kon when it comes to interests. I love it, but it makes guessing what he'll like interesting. Currently, he's obsessed with space and ghost stuff. He likes watching space documentaries over cartoons." Tim chuckles while locating Tam's number.

Steph laughs. "Of course your kid is as weird as you!"

He sticks his tongue at her, and she does it right back. The call connects.

"Tim?"

"Hey, Tam! Not dead yet!" He grins at her groan. "I'm at the manor. Tell Danny to be careful of my ribs before you bring him over."

"Can do. Be there in 20. Danny? Do you want to say hi to your daddy?" Is all the warning Tim gets before his son screeches.

"HI, DADDY!" He can't hold in his laughter. The siblings closest to him look amused, clearly having heard the yelling.

"Hi, Danny! Tam giving you candy?"

"Nooo" Danny is a terrible liar. Tam says something. "See you soon, daddy."

Tam takes the phone before Tim can reply. "He didn't want to sleep before he saw you. I expect he'll crash after seeing your okay, candy or no candy."

"It's fine, Tam. I don't care so long as it doesn't become a regular thing. Now, drive safe."

"See you soon." And the call ends.

Dick sniffles. "My little Timmy is growing up!"

Steph points dramatically at him. "You're a teen dad!!"

"I mean, I'm a teen vigilante and a teen CEO. Being a teen dad is the most normal thing I currently am." Tim says, raising an eyebrow at her. "Beside, you technically were too. Only difference is I'm just keeping the baby I made... Er.. I mean that in the least insulting way possible. I respect your decision, just respect mine."

"Okay, but you virgin Mary-ed your baby. I, at least, got laid for mine."

Tim flushes. "Dude!"

"I'm sure we can still find you someone our age into dilfs and get your cherry popped." Steph grins at him.

"Steph! Shut up about my sex life!" Tim throws a pillow at her and struggles out of bed. "I hate you so much right now."

"Master Tim, please take the crutches if you're planning to leave the med bay." Alfred calls out, and Tim grumbles, but complies. Detouring to the locker room and throwing on a sweater and some sweatpants that's been sitting in his locker for a year. They smell a little musty, but they're clean and cover the bandages. Hopefully his son won't freak out too bad. Losing his spleen traumatized the poor kid.

He heads upstairs to wait near the front door. Dick, Damian, and Steph following behind him like the worse ducklings he could think of. Dick, at least, grabs a chair so Tim can sit while they wait.

"Master Tim, does Master Danny have any allergies? And what are his food preferences?" Alfred asks as he passes out post patrol drinks. Tim doesn't accept his, he doesn't want it to be in the way when Danny comes flying in. Literally. Danny figured out how to float about a month ago, and his feet have barely touched the floor since.

"He's got the same weaknesses as all the other kryptonians. He's not a picky eater and doesn't seem to be allergic to anything food wise, but he hates toast." He smiles at the looks his siblings send him. "Don't ask me why. He just hates toast. Veggies, no problem, but toast? Toast leads to temper tantrums."

Steph cackles loudly at that while a confused Dick chuckles.

"I shall keep that in mind." Alfred sounds amused.

"I've gained massive respect for Ma and Pa Kent. Superpowered toddler tantrums are rough when you're just a human." Tim knows he has a dopey look on his face, but couldn't care less. "Danny's such a sweet kid, though. He gets so distraught if he accidentally hits me and does everything in his childish power to apologize and "make up" for it when he does."

Tim frowns. "Which is another reason I'm worried Ra's did something. Danny would hit, kick, and bite the man anytime he got in range. It seems out of character and more personal than just not wanting to share his dad."

"That is concerning." Dick shares his worried frown. They wipe the looks off their faces when there's a knock on the door. Steph dances over and opens it.

"Hell-"

"DADDY!" A tiny blur darts around her and skids to a stop in front of Tim. He can hear his siblings melt as this tiny child holds up his arms. "Up!"

"Just remember to be careful with my ribs, sweetheart. They got hurt." Tim says while scooping his son up. "You ran right past your aunt and uncles, think you can say hi to them?"

Danny looks at his siblings, seemingly debating if he vibes with them, before waving a tiny hand. "Hi.."

Steph and Dick being overly dramatic and acting like they just suffered a heart attack from cuteness, spooks the poor kid. Danny hides his face in Tim's shoulder. Damian edges closer, blocking Dick and Steph's view. He makes sure to lean down to be more at Danny's eye level.

"Hello, Aedan. I am Damian Al Gul Wayne. I hear you dislike my grandfather. A valid response to meeting the man." Danny peaks at him, and the teen gives him a small smile. "Ignore Stephanie and Richard, they can be a lot, but they mean well."

"Baby Bat!" Dick sounds like close to happy tears.

"Demon Brat! That's the nicest thing you've ever said about me!" The grin is audible in Steph's voice.

"They are, unfortunately, also idiots." Damian says sagely.

"There it is." Tim chuckles, running a hand through Danny's soft feathery hair. Danny looks between Tim and Damian, there's a calculating look on his face, clearly deciding if he should give this "Al Gul" a chance. "It's fine, Danny. He's very different than his grandfather. If you ask him nicely, I'm sure he'll introduce you to his pets."

"Pets?" Danny blinks and turns to fully look at Damian.

"Indeed. I currently have a cat, a dog, a cow, and a turkey." Danny literally vibrates at the news.

"Can I meet them?"

"I'd be more than happy to introduce you tomorrow." Tim has never seen Damian look so soft. "You and your father should get a good night's rest. You'll have more energy to play that way."

Danny pouts, but agrees. "Okay."

"Thanks for babysitting, Tam." Tim calls out to the woman watching everything unfold with amusement.

"No problem. He was an angel, even while sugar high." She grins. "I'd be more than willing to do it again sometime. I'm going to head out now. Bye, Danny!"

"Bye!!" Danny floats a little to wave wildly at her as she leaves. Damian keeps his surprise off his face and not moving in the way of the tot's goodbyes.

"Aedan, may I carry you?" Damian asks once Danny is settled back in Tim's lap. "Your father unfortunately needs to use crutches to get to his room."

Tim is amused by the calculating look sliding back onto Danny's face. He can only imagine the kid's internal debate; let Damian pick him up and the Drakes can retire and cuddle in Tim's room or stay right where he is. It never ceases to amuse Tim on how Danny can ping pong between normal toddler behavior and being ridiculously serious. He blames himself for forgetting to adjust the knowledge download when making him. The kid knows about more things than he should, and it's made him more jaded than a 2 year old should be.

"Okay... on'y cause it's bedtime." Danny informs Damian while holding his arms out. Damian gently picks him up.

"Of course." Tim can't believe how cute his murderous little brother is being. Guess he can add small children to the things that make the teen loosen up.

Tim struggles a little getting up the stairs, but he gets there. Damian waits patiently with a worried Danny at the top. Tim is positive that only reason he isn't being teased is because his siblings don't want his protective baby to dislike them. It's funny, but actually really nice. He's really tired of his family's culture of making fun of any weakness. Danny's cute baby face and hatred for bullying is really going to change this place, Tim just knows it.

Dick carries Danny's baby bag upstairs after them. Tim can feel Dick wanting to coo, but holding it in because Danny keeps eyeing him warily. Just adding to Tim's amusement.

Once in Tim's room, and after good nights are exchanged, Tim and Danny get ready for bed. Tim cleans himself up by taking a bird bath in the sink, not fully willing to commit to a shower just yet. He mostly just doesn't want to change his bandages. He also wants to cuddle his son, who's patiently waiting on the bed with his wolf plushy. He named it Wulf, which was a hilariously Kon thing to do. Tim nearly died from cuteness when Danny told him the plushy's name.

Tim lays down and tucks Danny to his chest. "I love you, kiddo."

"I 'ove you, too, Daddy." Danny mumbles before conking out. Tim can't help his smile. He dozes off to Danny's tiny snores.

Tim wakes up to Danny wiggling around. The tot waking up, but not wanting to. A glance towards his alarm clock, 10:30. They've actually slept in. Nice.

"Morning, Danny."

"M'ning." Danny mumbles directly before unintentionally smacking Tim in the face with Wulf. Tim huffs a laugh and sits up, his spin cracking as he stretches.

"You hungry?"

Danny flops over, grumpy to be awake. "Yeah."

Tim grins and scoops Danny up. "Let's eat breakfast in pajamas!"

Danny looks surprised. Tim insisted they be dressed in light armor the whole time they were on the LoA, so the suggestion must seem insane to him. He scrunches up his face. "It's safe here?"

"This is probably one of the safest places for us to be." Tim kisses Danny's forehead. "I'll admit, it hasn't always been that way for me in particular, but we're working on it, and I trust them to not stab me in the back... You're allowed to be as petty as you want if you find them dissatisfactory."

"Like wif Rawthy?" Tim takes a deep pleasure in Danny's deliberate mispronouncing of Ra's name. Danny knows how and can say it properly. He just chooses not to. Tim loves it.

"Exactly." Danny is now completely awake and buzzing to cause chaos. It's adorable.

"Yay!" Tim starts carrying Danny to the kitchen, completely abandoning the crutches he was told to use.

"Just remember to play nice first. You don't want to accidentally bully someone who doesn't deserve it."

"Fine.." Danny pouts. Tim kisses his cheek.

"Thank you, sweetie."

"Master Tim. Where are your crutches?" Alfred jump scares the Drakes.

"O-oh! Hi, Alfred, I was just taking Danny to the kitchen for breakfast!" Alfred raises an eyebrow and Tim pouts. "And I didn't feel like using them."

"Oh yeah!" Danny remembers that Tim was using crutches now and is wiggling to be set down. "You're hurt, Daddy! Put me down!"

"Okay, okay, starlight!" Tim chuckles, setting the boy gently on his feet. "Better?"

"No!" Danny drags him to the kitchen's small breakfast table. "You'll never heal! Sit down! We'll get your crontches!"

"Crutches, Danny. And how about we have breakfast first. The crutches aren't going anywhere." Tim smiles at his son. "You can even ask Alfred what my wound care should be after we eat. He can explain everything and you can hold me to it."

"Indeed." Alfred sounds amused, possibly not thinking this 2 year old will hold them both to it, but Danny will.

"O'ay" Danny then blinks. "What's fo breakfast?"

It's all pretty peaceful. Tim just enjoying a lazy morning with his son. As soon as Danny is done eating, he drags Alfred away to get the crutches and explain Tim's wound care to him. Tim can only watch on in helpless amusement.

"He's adorable." Dick grins as he enters the room and sits across from Tim.

"Yeah." Tim is still smiling at the doorway Danny and Alfred left from, but it takes a sad tilt. "Losing my spleen really traumatized him. He polices my unhealthy habits and does his best to get me to take care of my injuries when he's sure they won't be used against us."

"YOU LOST YOUR WHAT??"

"It's been a crazy year."

"Tim, Timmy, my caffeine addicted little brother, I'm going to need more information than that!" Dick is stressed, but Tim is still feeling a little petty, so he answers nothing.

"I forgot my meds, actually. I usually shove them in a pocket after dressing, but I didn't get dressed... oops." Tim shrugs. "It got Danny to feel safer with being here, since I'm not insisting on light armor or anything like on base."

"Tim! I have questions!" Dick is flailing.

"Daddy!" Danny flies into the room (literally) and is shoving his pillow divider case into his hands. "You forgot!"

"Thank you, Danny. I was just realizing that and was planning to grab them after you got my crutches." Tim runs a hand through Danny's hair before dry swallowing his medication. Alfred slides into the room with the crutches.

"It warms my heart to see a youth so dedicated to keeping track of other's health." Danny turns and beams at Alfred.

"I like helping!"

"That's very admirable, Master Danny."

Danny frowns a little. "I'm too little to help a lot yet."

"Any help is more help than before." Tim cuts in, giving a lopsided grin. "Besides, your dad is atrocious at self care. You got to help your dear ol' dad. I'd simply die without you."

"You're not old." Danny mumbles, blushing at how thick Tim is laying it on. Tim noticed early on that Danny needs to feel needed or helpful, or he'll spiral and get depressed. He's not sure why Danny is like that. Tim's 90% sure it's not something Tim downloaded into his brain or said to Danny, meaning it could be something he picked up from Tim's own behavior, or possibly someone at the LoA manipulated into him, or is just something Danny naturally had. Tim has no idea on the why, but makes a point to let Danny help him, even when he really doesn't need the help. He wants his baby happy, and does try to talk to Danny about not having to help. But, ya know, pot, kettle, and all that. Tim knows his own need to be useful is just as bad.

He should find them therapists for it now that he's thinking about it. Last thing he wants is Danny to end up like him. Tim has done some insane and stupid shit to help and/or please people.

"My joints disagree." Tim jokes.

"I feel that." Dick chuckles. "Good morning, Danny!"

"Good morning..." Danny says shyly, floating into Tim's lap.

"Do you have any plans for the day?" Dick asks.

"Dam'n's pets?" Danny looks hopeful.

"Ah, he's looking forward to introducing you." Dick aims his 100 watt smile at Danny, who doesn't seem to know what to think of the man.

"Indeed I am." Damian choses that moment to enter the room. "Hello, Aedan."

"Hi!!" Danny carefully gets off of Tim's lap so he can zoom to his uncle. "What is their names??"

Tim grabs the crutches Alfred left nearby. He spends the rest of the day dodging Dick's questions, watching Danny be delighted by Damian and his pets, and passing on the information on Bruce. It's a very nice, peaceful day.

So, of course, it can't stay that way. It's Duke meeting Danny that unintentionally disrupts the peace.

"Hello, Danny. I'm Duke Thomas. I'm a meta like you." Duke greets Danny cheerfully, but Tim can't help but notice Duke doesn't take his sunglasses off.

"Hi!!" Danny floats about a foot off the floor. "What powers do you have??"

"I have photokinesis." Duke makes a tiny rainbow in his hands. Danny oos and aaas over Duke's explanations before he totting over to Damian to play with Alfred the cat. Duke stares after Danny for a minute before turning to Tim, who's getting more and more worried.

"Duke?"

"Do you know Danny glows?"

"He what?" Tim's ribs hurt from how hard he jolts.

"Okay, okay, was pretty sure I was the only one who could see it." Duke mumbles before finally pushing his sunglasses up and making eye contact with Tim. "He glows the same way Jason does during a pit rage episode. Danny's glow is more stable and constant and a brighter shade of green, but it's definitely the same thing."

Tim can feel himself shaking in barely concealed rage. "That motherfucker. I should have completely destroyed everything he loved."

"Who?" Duke asks warily.

"Ra's. He had to have done something to Danny. There's no reason Danny should be glowing like that." Tim takes a calming breath, not wanting Danny to see him angry.

"I'm sorry." Duke offers his sympathy.

"Not as sorry as Ra's is going to be."

"Are we planning a murder over here?" Jason jokes as he enters the room through the door next to Tim and Duke and sees Tim's face.

"Debating the pros and cons of it currently." Tim takes another deep breath.

"Oh, shit, for real?" Jason looks shocked.

"Danny glows similarly to you." Duke explains. "Meaning Ra's definitely did something to him behind Tim's back."

"Ooooh! Yeah, okay, that's very murder worthy." Tim smiles a little at that, feeling validated.

"Thanks, Jason."

"No problem, I'll help. I got beef with both Ra's and Talia, so I can take all the blame if Goldie or Demon Brat ask." Jason offers. "Before that, introduce me at the kid. Dick has been insufferable all day. Squealing and sending pictures and shit."

Tim chuckles. "Yeah, I do that. Hey, Danny! Can I borrow you for a second?"

Danny pats Alfred the cat one last time before trots over.

"Danny, this is your Uncle Jason."

"Hel-"

"Why do you smell green?" Danny cuts Jason's greeting off. He's staring hard at his uncle.

"Smell green?" Jason head tilts and squats down to be closer to eye level with the kid. There's still a foot of difference between the two, but it's the thought that counts. "What do you mean?

"You smell green." Danny frowns, thinking hard on how to get them to understand what he means. "Like Rawthy. And the weird lake thingies."

"Rawthy?" Jason and Duke both look confused.

"That's his name for Ra's. Danny gives the people he doesn't like awful nicknames to mess with them." Tim smirks at the looks his siblings give him. "He's fully aware of what he's doing, and I see no reason to stop him."

"Oh! He's petty!" Jason grins. "Just like his dad!"

Danny beams at Jason, clearly proud of himself.

Jason preceeds to give the simplest and kid safe version they've ever heard of his story. "To answer your question, I got really hurt by a bad man, and so your uncle Damian's mother dropped me in the green lake to heal me, but the green got stuck."

Danny seems to think about what he was told before holding his hands up to Jason. "Hug?"

"Sure, kid." Jason scoops Danny up into his arms and stands. Jason seems to stiffen as Danny melts. "Huh?"

"What up?" Tim asks, eyeing Duke in a way that demands the picture Duke just took be sent Tim. He wants that picture. Duke smiles and nods.

"Your kid just calmed the Pit." Jason gives Tim a stunted blink. "It's completely silent."

"Huh??"

"Dude, I don't know!" Jason hugs a snuggly Danny closer to him. "I'm pretty sure I could argue with Bruce about his stupid rules and keep a level head right now. I'm hugging your kid anytime I see him if this is the vibe I get each time."

"Only if he agrees to it." Tim flounders with this new info. "I'm still trying to teach him boundaries and consent."

"He's definitely tied to the pit in some way." Duke says, texting rapidly. "It's unfortunate that we won't be able to locate and murder Ra's before Bruce is rescued."

"I should have taken my chance." Tim grumbles.

Damian walks over, eyeing Jason and Danny. "Something happen?"

"Apparently, Jason smells like green, like Ra's and the "green lake", and can calm Jason's pit." Tim explains. Damian looks pissed at the first part, understanding it means Danny was exposed to the Pits, but he looks like he's not sure how to take the second part. Which, mood.

Danny starts wiggling. "Down, please."

"Oh! Sure, little man." Jason gently puts Danny down. Danny slides up to Damian.

"Can I still play with kitty Alfred?"

"Let's go see. He might be done hanging out and we must respect that." Damian takes Danny's hand and leads him back to Alfred the cat. The remaining siblings watch them for a minute.

"He's sweet." Duke turns a smile towards Tim.

"Like sugar." Tim has his own fond smile. "I don't regret making him at all. Best mental breakdown decision I've ever made."

"You terrify me sometimes, Timbers."

"Only sometimes?" Duke jokes, but Tim can see there's some truth to Duke's joke. There's a wariness in his eyes. But Tim just shrugs, not offended in the slightest. He knows he's a bit much, and Duke is the newest to his brand of crazy.

Tim does end up giving Jason and Duke more concrete answers to his year away, unlike when Dick was asking earlier. Mostly because Tim and Jason started to bond before they both left Gotham and can commiserate, and he tells Duke because he's there and it's funny to watch his reactions to what Tim and Jason are saying. It reminds Tim that he's watched his sweet 2 year old troll the hell out of ninjas and Ra's.

The rest of the night is tame. It becomes apparent that Danny prefers the "calmer" family members. He shies away from anyone being rambunctious, so mostly Steph and Dick. Everyone else is just abandoned for a new person if they start yelling or shouting. Tim thinks it's probably because he's not used to Steph or Dick's energy, having not met anyone like them before, and his ears are sensitive. Tim starts looking for noise canceling headphones for him at that realization. He didn't notice because the LoA bases were always quiet, outside of the training grounds, so it wasn't an issue before.

Danny still polices Tim's wound care, much to everyone's amusement. He memorized everything Alfred the human told him about Tim's injuries and takes it very seriously.

It's a fun night, all things considered.

907 notes · View notes

jaeyuniversal · 2 days ago

Text

you broke me first - l.hs

pairing: virgin!lee heeseung x experienced fem!reader

synopsis: you and heeseung are the school’s golden pair — popular, admired, and constantly shipped. the only problem? you can’t stand him. from competing on exams to gym class, you’re always neck and neck, and no one gets under your skin like he does. but while you see a rival, he sees the love of his life. when you overhear a hushed conversation that breaks you, will heeseung be able to win you back?

featuring: all of enha, winter from aespa, yuqi from (g)i-dle, and keeho from p1h

genre: angst... slow burn, some fluff, kissing, skinship, SMUTTTT, college au, first love trope?? sorta? one sided enemies to lovers

playlist: you broke me first by tate mcrae & what was i made for — billie eilish

warnings: smut so mdni (18+), alcohol consumption, vandalizing property, Sexual Tension, everyone is around the same age (21-23), lowercase intended <3

(smut warnings under cut!)

wc: 13.271k

a/n: first fic is here! plsplspls leave feedback as anything helps!! was listening to you broke me first and got inspo for a kinda angsty fic pls bare with me :3 anyways! enjoy the read <3<3

smut content: mention of toys (but no use), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (not for you), dry humping, switch! hee and reader, riding, mating press, too much kissing, masturbation (m.), breeding kink, slight dacryphilia, oral (m. & f.), deepthroating, belly bulge, creampie, size kinkish, big dick! hee, not much aftercare but it's like fluffy, y/n has a “reputation” that she gets around, VIRGIN HEESEUNG (but no one knows…) i think thats it? lmk if i missed anything ◡̈

not proofread!

lee. fucking. heeseung. you hate him. you can't stand him. he always knows what to say just to piss you off. you might be wondering, "why don't you just try to avoid him?" the issue is... you do. you try with ALL your power but to no avail, he's in the same friend group as you.

your friends, knowing you hate him, decided to combine friend groups to see if you and him could mend things. spoiler alert: it failed miserably.

you felt safe in your small circle with keeho (the man you deemed to be your biological older brother — you aren't related), yuqi (your junior high best friend), and winter (your literal wife).

you guys were well known around the entire city of seoul for being the "it group" — always partying, hooking up, and somehow still acing every class (while nursing massive hangovers).

however, heeseung's friend group consisted of the golden boys in decelis university: park jongseong (known as jay, he hates his given name), sim jaeyun (known as the australian transfer student, jake), park sunghoon (the insanely hot figure skater), kim sunoo (the bubbliest person you've ever met), yang jungwon (the boy with feline features, however you've made a special note to never piss him off cause he has a black belt), and nishimura riki (known as ni-ki because he wanted to be different).

you loved riki. he was like your younger brother — chaotic, blunt, and always three steps ahead of everyone. you’d even joked once that if you had to suffer heeseung’s presence, at least you got riki out of it.

unfortunately, riki had the worst habit of instigating chaos.

“truth or dare?” he asked one friday night, grinning like he already had your life planned out. everyone was crammed into jay’s ridiculously large basement, music low, snacks half eaten, and bodies sprawled on beanbags and plush carpet.

you should’ve said “truth.” you knew you should’ve. but you weren’t a coward.

“dare,” you answered, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

the group erupted in ooooh's in perfect synchronicity.

riki’s grin only widened. “i dare you to sit on heeseung’s lap for five minutes.”

you almost lunged across the room.

“riki,” you hissed, “you are so dead.”

he just wiggled his brows suggestively. “i’m a baby. you wouldn’t hurt me.”

the worst part? he was right.

you looked over at heeseung, who was watching you like a cat watching a cornered mouse — lazy smirk, fingers casually drumming against his knee. “scared, sweetheart?”

“i’ll kill you in your sleep,” you said sweetly as you stalked over and dropped yourself into his lap like he was made of cardboard and air.

he oofed, not because you were heavy, but because he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.

“wow,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you smell like citrus and bad decisions.”

you resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

five minutes. you just had to survive five minutes.

but then his hands casually settled on your waist, and you felt it — the spark. the electric, traitorous, goddamn spark that told you this was a very, very bad idea.

because maybe, just maybe, your hatred wasn’t as pure as you thought- no. what are you thinking??? you immediately shook the feeling that was buzzing inside you and blamed it on the alcohol swimming in your blood.

you definitely. hated heeseung. yup, yeah, you really did.

heeseung on the other hand? he was just praying to every god he could think of that you couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were getting.

because he was panicking. full blown, internal screaming, oh-no-she’s-sitting-on-me-and-she’s-warm kind of panicking. he hadn't expected you to actually follow through on your usual threats, much less practically straddle him in front of your mutual friends.

but now? now he was just trying to not pass out from the sheer force of your perfume and presence and the weight of years of unresolved tension that sat heavier than you ever could.

"you're sweating," you said flatly, side eyeing him with that expression that usually meant murder or mockery — or both. "you good?"

"totally," he croaked. "i always nearly die when beautiful people threaten me. it's, like, my thing."

you blinked once. twice.

"did you just call me beautiful?"

"i said what i said," he muttered, then immediately regretted everything.

your brows lifted in slow, dangerous amusement. "you feeling okay, heeseung? you hitting on me while i’m threatening you?”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

and there it was again. the spark. like a lighter flicked too close to your frayed nerves.

you looked away, choosing to focus on literally anything else, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you, almost daring you to acknowledge it.

“how much longer do i have to sit on this assholes lap?” you questioned under your breath, reminding yourself, reminding him, that this was temporary.

"4 minutes!" jake sang back as his accented voice rang in your ears. fuck, it's only been one minute? you thought to yourself... until he spoke.

“i could ruin us in three,” he whispered, warm breath tickling your ear. he was so close you could practically feel his labored breathing against your back. you craned your neck to the side so you could look him in the eyes, "what did you just say???" heeseung was at a loss for words — his brain only drawing blanks.

did he say what he thought he said in his head out loud? impossible. he's hidden it so well, no one in your guys' shared friend group had even suspected his overbearing attraction towards you.

so heeseung did the only thing he could think of. he gulped.

just as your gaze dropped to his adams apple, sunghoon cleared his throat, reducing the fiery tension between you two to reduce to a simmer. "time's up" he stated. and just like that, the warmth you once shared was gone.

as the game progressed, the most interesting things to occur were jake kissing sunghoon on the cheek, riki vandalizing an old alley way that never saw the sun, and winter lady-and-the-tramping a twizzler with keeho.

you and heeseung never dared to even spare a glance in each other's direction for the rest of the night.

───

you laid awake, staring at the ceiling in jay's basement while trying to get comfy on the leather couch that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. you couldn't sleep. and the reason? none other than your self-proclaimed arch nemesis: lee heeseung.

your friend groups slept on different floors to prevent you and heeseung arguing and waking up the entire house. you slowly got up, attempting and (barely) succeeding to not step on a sleeping figure sprawled on the floor.

as you walk up the stairs from the basement, you hear two people whisper shouting at each other.

you glance at the time displayed on your phone.

a measly 3:16 am stared brightly at you. who's awake at this hour?? as you step closer to the hushed voices, you think you can make out the unmistakeable deepness of riki's voice and heeseung's annoying(ly hot) whispers, tinged with sleep.

"why the fuck would you dare HER of all people to sit on MY lap????" heeseung shouts quietly, clearly frustrated. riki bursts into a fit of giggles. "dude, don't tell me you feel something for her, don't you guys like hate each other?" he says between snide little chuckles.

heeseung freezes. there's no way riki really caught on to what he was supposed to never let slip through the cracks... right?! so he musters up all the dignity he has left and defensively grunts a series of defenses "nowhywouldieverseeherlikethatsheisn'tmytypeandithinkshe'sgross"

riki blankly stares back at heeseung's panicking eyes, "okayyy," he drags the word out, "you don't need to put her down like that, she's like my older sister, dude" riki spits back.

your lips twitch in a small smile, just for a second. just long enough for riki to catch your eyes peeking behind the corner. he nods once, subtle and solid. always in your corner.

but the comfort dies as soon as heeseung opens his mouth.

"i could never love someone like her."

and the world stops.

he says it so casually. almost like it’s a joke. like it's just another throwaway comment tossed between drinks and half-meant insults. but it lands with the weight of something cruelly true — or at least, something you believe he means.

you feel the breath hitch in your throat. just once.

riki's gaze is drawn to your frozen frame. and that's when everything freezes. heeseung whips around to see you standing there. eyes blown and glossy.

riki shifts, but he doesn’t move to try and console you — he knows better. knows this is something that'll bruise. something you need time to process, alone.

you bite back tears. “right,” you say, quietly. “of course.”

heeseung’s expression flickers — confusion, regret, something else — but you’ve already masked the pain. emotion draining from your face like you’ve trained for it. like it’s a sport. like if you stop moving, the hurt will catch up.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says, a little too late, a little too soft.

you readjust your posture, fixing your shirt.

“you meant it exactly like that,” you reply, and it’s not even bitter. it’s worse. numb.

riki’s there before heeseung can say anything else. standing between you like a wall. like a shield.

“walk away,” he tells you gently, and you do.

because if you stay, you might ask him why not. and you’re not sure your heart could take the answer.

riki turns back to heeseung, flames he's never seen before burning in the younger boys irises that are normally filled with mischief and teasing glints. but all of a sudden none of that is there anymore. it's pure, unfiltered anger. raw emotion.

heeseung wants him to yell at him. say something, anything. but nothing comes. riki just walks upstairs like he doesn't even know who heeseung is anymore.

and maybe he doesn't.

───

the next morning, when heeseung wakes up, it's almost peaceful. until rain begins to tip tap on the roof and everything comes crashing down. his chest is tight and immediately swells with regret. so much he thinks it'll spill out of him just like the rain outside.

he needs to talk to you. make sure you're okay. but he knows he's the last person you want to see right now. still, he has to try

as he descends down the stairs, he doesn't smell the usual feast jay would prepare them: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and cereal for jake since he claims, "it doesn't hurt his tummy," (his words).

he actually doesn't see jake. nor sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, jay, winter, yuqi, or keeho.

after last nights events, he expected not to see riki as he was probably with you.

how did he go from having the girl of his dreams sitting on his lap, to making her hate him even more?

it's simple, really: he fucked up.

he moves through the house like a ghost — rooms too quiet, air too still. no laughter, no music playing off someone’s phone. just him and the rain.

the basement still has the blanket you’d curled up with last night. your mug — half full. he picks it up, and it’s cold. like him.

he tries to call riki. no answer.

he tries to call you.

it goes straight to voicemail.

he types out a text. deletes it. tries again.

“i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n”

he stares at it. sends it.

and immediately regrets it. because what if you never answer?

as he packs up all his belongings, ready for the uncomfortable drive home, someone enters the house.

heeseung's heart rate picks up. what if it's you? he bolts down the stairs and is ultimately disappointed when he's met with a very disapproving jay.

they stand across from one another, staring into each others eyes.

heeseung's the first to break. he collapses on the bar stool at the counter and drops his head into his hands like it weighs a ton.

jay just sighs and sits down next to his friend.

"is she okay?" heeseung mumbles, his face buried in his hands.

jay’s jaw tightens. "why do you care?" he snaps. "you sure as hell didn’t last night when you said you could never love someone like her."

the words hit hard — harder than jay intended — and heeseung shatters.

the sobs break out of him like a dam giving way, loud and raw. tears stream down his face, and the sound of it makes jay flinch, caught off guard by how real the pain is. how broken heeseung suddenly looks.

still, jay moves without thinking, reaching out and rubbing slow circles on his friend’s back. it doesn’t fix anything, but it softens the edges of the moment.

they sit there in silence, the storm outside echoing the one inside, as heeseung cries himself hoarse.

by the time he’s able to breathe steadily again, nearly an hour has passed. his eyes are red, his voice barely there. he lifts his head and meets jay’s gaze; tired looking into just as tired.

neither of them says much. there’s no need.

finally, jay sighs and stands. “go grab your stuff,” he says quietly. “you’re in no shape to drive. i’ll take you home.”

heeseung doesn’t argue.

because for once, he knows jay’s right.

───

your phone dings.

dni: i didn't mean what i said. i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n

you stare at your phone. gaze void of emotion. you've cried out everything you could muster.

you don't even know why heeseung's words echo in your head.

were you really that intolerable to be around? surely you weren't. all of heeseung's friends enjoyed hanging out with you and same with your little group.

so why did hearing your supposed enemy say he could never love someone like you hurt so bad?

you suppose you need to distract yourself from thinking that heeseung's words have any sort of impact on you. and that's when your door swings open. riki, yuqi, winter, keeho, sunghoon, jake, sunoo, and jungwon walk into your apartment with food, video games, board games, coloring books, skincare — everything you needed at the moment.

a break.

a break from your spiraling thoughts and endless questions you didn't want answered.

there's a knock at the door, jay comes in after he dropped heeseung off, with a freshly made cake, red velvet. your favorite.

you don’t move at first.

the warmth of your friends floods the apartment — laughter, chatter, the familiar rustle of takeout bags and the buzz of game controllers syncing. but it feels distant, like you’re underwater, watching from behind a thick pane of glass.

yuqi wraps her arms around you from behind, cheek resting on your shoulder. “we got your favorite pork buns,” she says softly.

you nod. you don’t trust your voice.

riki’s the one who notices your phone still clutched in your hand. screen glowing. that message. his message.

he doesn’t say anything, but he takes the phone from you gently, pressing the lock button, letting the screen fade to black. and you’re grateful. because if you kept staring at it, you might’ve started crying again, and you didn’t think you had anything left in you.

“movie?” sunghoon offers, holding up a stack of dvd's none of you ever returned to the library.

“coloring?” sunoo chirps, already spreading out gel pens across your coffee table.

“face masks?” winter insists, already tearing them open.

you let them distract you. you let them love you in the only way they know how — loudly, messily, unconditionally.

there’s a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when keeho makes a stupid joke and jungwon snorts soda out of his nose, that you laugh. actually laugh.

and then it hits you like whiplash — how easily heeseung could’ve been here. how almost close you came to letting yourself believe there was something soft behind his smirks and eye rolls. how you’d dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the tension between you wasn’t just one-sided delusion.

but then he said it. “i could never love someone like her.”

and even with the people you love surrounding you, something in your chest hurts. like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

later, after everyone’s settled into pillows and half-finished coloring pages, riki sits beside you. he doesn’t speak for a long time.

then, quietly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

and that’s when your lip trembles. just slightly.

“i don’t know why it hurts this much,” you whisper. “i knew he hated me. i knew. so why do i feel so broken?"

“he didn’t have to say it like that,” riki replies, voice firm. “he didn’t have to break something just because he couldn’t admit he wanted to hold it.”

you nod, finally letting a single tear trail down your cheek. riki wipes it away before it can fall too far.

he squeezes your hand.

“he messed up,” he says. “that’s on him. not you.”

you hold onto that — his words, their presence, the comfort of being chosen and cared for.

and for the first time since last night, you breathe. not easily. not painlessly. but it’s a start.

───

heeseung didn't know how hard it would be to try and get any information about you.

how you were doing, if you were okay. anything

your mutual friends? after hearing how massive he fucked up, they sided with you.

sure, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon would text him and hang out with him occasionally, but they wouldn't utter a word about you. most of the time heeseung saw them, it would be for awkward movie nights or when they would game together when none of them could sleep.

when he was alone, his mind ached, his chest twisted in pain, but mostly... his body ached.

he tried to stop it, he knew it was wrong.

but when you sat on his lap, something in him shifted.

sure he knew you were pretty (breathtakingly stunning), but he never imagined something he thought about constantly would ever become reality.

he thought back to those 5 minutes. the tension. surely it couldn't have just been made up in his head, right?

the way your entire body tensed when his hands rested on your hips. normally he wouldn't have touched you, but you were shifting and he needed to stop his growing problem before you noticed.

and thankfully it worked.

however, he was already hard as a brick.

his breath hitched as he remembered the look in your eyes — uncertain, but not scared. curious, maybe? or was he projecting again?

he swallowed hard, his hands now clenched at his sides like if he let them loose, they’d betray him again.

five minutes. that’s all it was. but it looped in his head like a damn broken record.

you hadn’t said a word. but your thighs had tensed. and when he shifted, trying to regain his composure, you hadn't moved away — not immediately, anyway.

maybe it meant nothing. maybe you hadn’t even noticed the way his breath had gone shallow or the way he was holding back like his life depended on it.

but god, his body remembered.

he shifted in his bed now, alone, frustrated, angry at himself. this wasn’t who he was supposed to be. he wasn’t supposed to want this — to want you — not like this. not in silence, not in secrecy, not in pain.

but the damage was already done.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop anymore.

as he stared at his chase atlantic posters, he thought to himself. any guy would get hard when a pretty girl sits on his lap, right? surely it isn't just because he's a pathetic virgin who's had to lie to his entire friend group about how he "gets around."

soon enough, his thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly increasing ache between his legs.

his hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the tent in his shorts. his breathing was shallow, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as if he were caught in some fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he hated how much he needed this.

how much he needed you.

with a low, strangled groan, he finally gave in, palming himself over the thin fabric. the relief was immediate, but it wasn’t enough — it never was. not when the ache ran deeper than just skin. not when every nerve in his body was screaming for more.

he slipped his hand beneath his waistband, hissing through clenched teeth as his fingers wrapped around his thick length, already twitching with need. he was so hard it hurt, painfully stiff and dripping at the tip, slicking his palm almost instantly.

your name burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it back.

he couldn’t say it. shouldn’t say it.

but in his head, it echoed over and over again. your laugh. your voice. the way you looked at him — or didn’t. the way you moved. god, he remembered everything. he was haunted by it.

he shut his eyes tight and let his hand move — slow at first, starting at his base and dragging his fingers up each vein decorating the sides. his patience wore out quicker than he'd ever admit, starting to move up his length, then down with just enough pressure to make his thighs twitch. he bit his lip, hard, trying to hold in the sounds. but as the memory of you shifting in his lap played behind his eyelids like a cruel fantasy, a soft whimper escaped.

he was losing it.

desperation clawed at him with every stroke, every flex of his hand. his hips lifted off the mattress as his muscles tensed. he imagined your fingers replacing his, your body hovering over his, your breath against his neck.

“please,” he gasped into the dark — not even sure what he was begging for. forgiveness? permission? you?

he pumped harder now, faster, chasing that high like it would save him. his other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white. he was right on the edge, falling apart with nothing but the echo of your presence and the throb of need coiled deep in his belly.

“i need — fuck, i need you,” he moaned, broken and breathless. his body was hot, slick with sweat, twitching under his own touch.

he could feel it. the band threatening to snap at any moment.

he swirled his fingers around his tip, hitting that spot that made his vision go white. he was close.

all it took to unravel him was an image of you, mouth replacing his hand. trying to fit as much of him into your mouth while he just laid there and took it.

eventually the thought was too much, his seed spilled over his stomach in thick, messy ropes, his fist slowing only when the aftershocks wracked his frame like a wave of guilt and pleasure colliding all at once.

he laid there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and sticky.

and then it hit him.

he still wasn’t satisfied.

because it wasn’t your touch. it wasn’t your voice, your kiss, your heat. it was just his hand and a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

and no matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he used the memory of you…

it was never going to be enough.

───

you’ve held it together for as long as you could — smiled through movie nights, laughed at keeho’s stupid impressions, even ate something other than ramen yesterday. but it’s all surface level. the moment you're alone again, the cracks split wide open.

there you are, sitting on your couch, drowning in your thoughts.

the faint glow of the streetlamp filters through the windows, further highlighting the text message staring back at you

“i didn’t mean it.”

it replays in your head over and over like a broken record until your vision starts to blur. tears flood your waterline but you make no effort to stop them.

you don’t sob. you just sit there, hurting so quietly it’s almost peaceful.

until it isn’t.

your lip trembles slightly, then it all comes pouring out.

“why? why did you say that? what the fuck. did i do to deserve those words?”

riki hears your quiet words from the bathroom. he comes rushing out, empathy and sadness twirling in his eyes.

“hey, hey, hey, talk to me y/n. yell at me if you need to, yeah?” he says. voice barely above a whisper. all you can choke out is a tiny “no, none of this is your fault.”

riki sits next to you, holding you, trying to piece you back together as if he were the one who broke you.

disrupting the mellow silence lingering in your apartment, there’s a knock at the door.

not wanting the worst case scenario, you answering the door to heeseung, riki gets up and makes his way to where the sound came from.

to both of your dismay, a tired heeseung stands in the doorway.

his hair is messy, dark bags under his usually teasing eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

he freezes when he sees you. your puffy eyes, shaking hands, the way you curl in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

riki steps in front of you, but you give him the signal to back down. you and heeseung can handle this alone. what’s another argument anyways?

as riki walks away, heeseung starts slowly “yn…”

you look at him. and no matter how hard you could have tried, nothing could have stopped you from snapping at him.

“why are you here?” “i had to see you. i had to say–” “you already said enough, heeseung.”

god. the way you say his name. all he’s thought about since you last saw each other was you saying his name. and now, he doesn’t wanna hear it ever again.

he opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“do you know what it felt like to hear you say i wasn’t lovable? that someone like me could never be enough for you?”

as if you could read his mind, you shake your head, dismissing whatever he was about to spit out.

with every last ounce of energy you can gather, you scream. “you don’t get to feel sorry now. you made your choice the other night. i knew we had a mutual hatred, or at least some twisted distaste, but i never even thought about saying something like that to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just stands there, frozen. then you hear it. soft sniffles. ragged breathing. sobs.

he breaks.

because this is the first time he gets it. really, truly understands what he did. what he said. what it cost you.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice cracked and barely audible. “truly. what i said last week… i didn’t mean it. even thinking it broke me.”

you stare at him for a long, quiet second. and then you say it — flat, but shaking.

“you broke me first, heeseung.”

his breath catches. your words land like a punch to the gut, because they’re the truth. maybe the first truth spoken between you in a long time.

heeseung, who’s always so calm. so composed. the one who rolls his eyes at everything and makes everything feel like a joke. he’s crumbling in front of you now. not fighting. not defending. just falling apart.

and then it hits you. maybe he’s always been like this.

watching you. listening. never the first to strike, only ever the one to react. maybe he was never the villain in this story.

your breath hitches. maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you don’t know why the realization crashes down now. maybe it’s the sound of his sobs. maybe it’s the way the silence has more weight than anything he’s ever said. but something inside you shifts.

and for the first time, you see him — not as the enemy. but as the boy who let you hate him, because he didn’t know how to ask for anything else.

you replay every argument like a tape stuck on rewind. you were always the one who started it.

the snide comments. the sideways glances. the venom you dressed up as jokes.

heeseung never really fought back. he always matched your energy, sure, but he never escalated it. never crossed a line. not until that night.

your chest tightens. you realize you don’t even remember what the first fight was about. some hallway bump? a misunderstood glance? maybe it was never about anything. maybe it was just you, projecting every piece of your brokenness onto the only person who saw through it and stayed.

god, had he always stayed?

you remember in elementary school, how he used to bring you extra snacks when you forgot lunch. how he gave you his hoodie that one time you were shivering during morning assembly, even after you’d spent the entire week roasting him in front of your friends.

you remember the way his gaze always lingered—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was always checking. watching over you without saying a word.

and now here he is. slumped into his knees. back pressed against the wall, crying over you.

you were so busy building walls with your bitterness that you didn’t notice it was slowly breaking him.

the quiet way he tried to reach over them.

you sink to the floor across from him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of everything between you.

for a long moment, you don’t speak. neither does he. you just breathe in the silence together — like it’s the only language you both understand.

“i didn’t know how to stop hating you,” you whisper, voice catching. “because if i stopped… i think i would’ve started needing you.”

heeseung lifts his head. eyes red, lashes wet.

“i already did,” he says. “i never stopped.”

your heart fractures in a way that doesn’t feel sharp, just tired. heavy.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you admit.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

you nod. once. then you help him get up. both your legs feel numb, but you walk him towards the door. your hand rests on the handle, taking a second to look up at him. really look at him, and you’re tempted to say something.

but instead, you give him the quietest thing you can offer: a small, broken sort of smile. not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.

then, he steps out into the night. and just like that, the quietness of everything settling in takes over. no more lies. just the truth.

as you’re deep in thought, riki walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate — extra marshmallows, your favorite.

-ˏˋ⋆ 3 years ago ⋆ˊˎ-

it’s a chilly summer night. you and riki are sprawled out on the roof of his parents' house, the shingles warm beneath your backs from the day’s lingering sun. crickets hum below. the stars blink overhead, careless and constant.

you shift slightly, seeking warmth, and without a word, riki lifts his arm. you curl into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers tucked into the sleeve of his hoodie. his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

“do you think we’ll ever feel like this again?” you murmur. “peaceful. like nothing’s wrong.”

he hums low in his chest. “you mean without chaos or boys who don’t deserve you?”

you let out a breath, half a laugh. “exactly.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels thick with unspoken things.

riki’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “i think… the people who make you feel heavy, like you're constantly questioning yourself, that’s not love, y/n. that’s something else.”

you turn your face slightly to look up at him. he’s gazing at the stars like he’s afraid of admitting he craves the one thing he’s always sworn to never care about.

“love should never hurt,” he says, quieter this time. “not the kind that stays.”

you don’t say anything right away. you’re too busy memorizing the way the night folds around his words. the way he’s always been a comfort for you, the one to pick you up when you’re falling.

and in that moment, you believe him. you really do.

you nod once. “then i hope… when it’s my turn, it feels like this. safe.”

riki swallows. “me too.”

-ˏˋ⋆ present time ⋆ˊˎ-

and now, back in your bedroom, the silence left in heeseung’s absence is deafening.

your gaze flicks toward the window, rain still threading down the glass like tear tracks. your mind lingers on that rooftop — the stars, the safety, the version of you who still believed in soft things.

before all the hook-ups, parties, and one-sided confessions.

you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and whisper. either to riki or yourself, you don’t know.

“you said love should never hurt. i think heeseung missed that memo.”

and god, how you wish you could go back to that night — before the spiral, before the ache.

before the boy who made you feel like an afterthought.

before you let yourself fall over someone you thought you didn’t care about.

riki leaves after making sure you’re alright, mumbling something about dance practice.

and again, it’s just you. in the quiet.

then, almost without thinking, you rip a blank piece of paper out of your journal.

you don’t plan it. it’s just instinct — fingers gripping your pen, waiting for permission your heart hasn’t quite given. but then you start writing.

dear heeseung,

i hated you before i knew how badly i could want you. maybe that’s where it all went wrong. because at some point, i stopped seeing you as the boy who annoyed me and started seeing you as someone i wanted to understand. as someone i wanted to look at me and see me. and for a while, i thought maybe you did. i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. i thought i was stupid for hating you. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole. because even when i told myself i hated you, there was always that small, traitorous part of me that wondered: what if he doesn’t hate me back? what if it’s more? but it wasn’t. and now i can’t unhear it. you probably didn’t even mean it — not in the way it came out. maybe it was fear, or pressure, or ego. but it doesn’t matter, does it? words don’t get erased just because we didn’t mean them. they echo. and yours… yours are still echoing inside me like a song i can’t shut off. i don’t think i’m mad at you anymore. i think i’m mad at myself. for letting you get close. for not guarding the parts of me i only let out in small doses. for thinking i was different to you. i wish you hadn’t said it. but mostly, i wish it hadn’t mattered so much to me that you did. – y/n

you take out an envelope, neatly fold the paper and stuff it inside, writing a neat ‘heeseung’ on the front of it.

some truths aren’t meant to be sent. some confessions are only meant for the rain to witness.

and tonight, that’s enough.

───

the second the door shuts behind him, the silence hits like a punch to the ribs.

heeseung stands there for a second too long, staring at the wood grain of your door like it might open again. like maybe you’ll come running after him. like maybe that small, broken smile you gave him wasn’t the end.

but it doesn’t open.

and it was the end.

he starts walking. he doesn’t even remember moving his feet, just that suddenly he’s outside, and the rain greets him like an old friend. cold, sharp, unforgiving. it soaks through his hoodie in seconds, but he doesn’t flinch.

he deserves it. every drop. every chill. every echo of your voice in his head.

“not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.”

god, what did he do?

how did he take someone who was literally sitting in his lap, trusting him with the fragile thread of something real — and turn that into this? this mess of silence and space and words he can’t take back?

“i could never love someone like her.”

he had said it so carelessly. so cruelly. trying to deflect the attention off himself in front of your friends, like a coward. like a boy who still thinks protecting his ego is worth more than protecting a heart.

especially your heart.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, unsure if it’s tears or rain. it’s probably both.

he thinks back to your eyes right before he left. the way you looked at him like he was someone you used to know. like whatever thread was between you had finally snapped.

and the worst part?

he couldn’t even beg you to stay.

because he knows — he knows — he doesn’t deserve it.

he walks home in silence, the city around him buzzing and breathing like it doesn’t care at all about the wreckage inside his chest. his phone buzzes a few times in his pocket, probably jay or jungwon checking if he made it back safely.

but none of it matters.

because there’s only one person he wants to hear from.

and you’ve already said everything you needed to say. in the way you didn’t ask him to stay. in the way you didn’t cry. in the way you simply closed the door.

so when heeseung finally steps into his apartment, soaked to the bone, trembling from more than just the cold, he collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, and whispers:

“i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t mean it.”

but there’s no one left to listen.

not tonight.

───

heeseung isn’t the center of your world anymore.

not in the way he used to be.

in the weeks that follow, your friends become your anchor. riki never leaves your side. winter brings over matcha lattes and blankets. sunoo paints your nails while jake tells bad jokes. you laugh again. slowly, but surely.

you start writing more letters.

some are angry. some are soft. some are nothing more than wordless scratches of ink on paper.

but one night, you write a letter that feels different.

you don’t even realize what you’re saying until it’s already down:

i wanted you. for a long time. maybe even when i said i hated you. maybe that was the only way i knew how to say it without crumbling. i masked want with rage. affection with sarcasm. love with loathing. you made it easier to run. but i wanted to stay. god, i wanted to stay.

you fold that letter gently. tuck it into your drawer. it doesn’t matter if he reads it. not now.

because healing isn’t about him.

it’s about you.

and you’re getting there.

lately, the weekends have felt lighter. your apartment has become a familiar gathering place again, only now, it’s just the people who stayed. who showed up. who chose you. heeseung hasn’t come around in weeks, and no one really talks about it. not in a cruel way, just in the quiet, understanding way that friendships shift when someone slips out of the picture.

you used to dread saturday nights, used to flinch every time the group chat lit up with plans. used to wonder if he’d show up, if you’d have to spend the night pretending not to notice the weight of his silence, the way your laughter dulled around him. but somewhere along the way, those nights started to feel easier. not because you stopped missing him — but because you started remembering how to miss him without hurting yourself in the process.

your living room is alive with warmth and laughter. the scent of popcorn and mango smoothies drifts through the air. blankets are piled high on the couch, soft pillows strewn across the floor where riki is dramatically throwing himself down after losing yet another round of mario kart to sunghoon, who’s grinning like he just won the olympics.

“cheater,” riki groans, pointing an accusing finger without lifting his head.

“just admit i’m better,” sunghoon replies smugly, stretching his legs across the coffee table like he owns the place.

in the corner, winter and yuqi are dancing barefoot to a chaotic mix of early 2000s pop and indie throwbacks — somehow still synced up to choreography you’d all made up back in sophomore year. their laughter is contagious, unfiltered and bright, and it tugs a smile onto your face before you even realize it.

keeho is halfway through teaching jungwon and sunoo a tiktok dance in the kitchen doorway, voice loud and arms flailing with exaggerated energy. they’re laughing too hard to get the moves right, collapsing into each other every time they mess up. jake, unfazed by the chaos, is blending something suspiciously green in the kitchen, wearing a headband that reads “chef vibes only.”

you’re curled up on the loveseat, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a half-finished smoothie in your hands. and for once, you’re not scanning the room for him. you’re not wondering what he’d say or how he’d look at you or if tonight would be the night he pulled you aside and finally said something real.

you’re just… here. and it’s enough.

someone throws a pillow at your head, probably riki, based on the cackling, and you lunge to retaliate, laughing as the pillow war erupts across the living room. it’s messy, loud, ridiculous. and it’s yours. this little world you’re rebuilding, one laugh, one night, one breath at a time.

there’s still a part of you that misses him. maybe there always will be. but tonight, that part is small. quiet.

outnumbered by joy.

meanwhile, heeseung is alone in his apartment.

the place is dim. quiet. it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. he's been staring at his phone for an hour now, hoping for a text that doesn’t come.

he thinks about the group chat. the silence from everyone. he thinks about the night he ruined everything. and how, somehow, he still wants to fix it.

he knows an apology isn’t enough. not this time.

he needs to show you, all of you, that he’s not the same guy who let his fear speak louder than his heart.

he just doesn’t know how yet.

but he will. he has to.

because he doesn’t just want forgiveness.

he wants to deserve it.

───

somewhere in the chaos, one of your unsent letters goes missing.

riki finds it by accident. tucked under a cushion, edges worn. he doesn't mean to read it, but your handwriting draws him in, and before he knows it, he's holding your heartbreak in his hands.

he doesn't say a word. just slips it into his pocket and walks away.

a day later, heeseung finds the letter folded on the seat of his car.

he doesn’t recognize the paper at first. but the second he sees your handwriting, his heart drops.

his hands shake as he unfolds it. the silence around him is so loud, he can hear his pulse in his ears.

and then he reads it.

every word. every line. every raw, aching truth you never meant for him to see.

i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole.

heeseung sits there, completely still. letter trembling in his grip.

"fuck," he whispers. "fuck."

he shows up to the next group hangout like his life depends on it.

he doesn’t talk to anyone. not really. not until you walk in.

you freeze when you see him. part of you wants to turn around and leave.

but he doesn’t let you.

he stands. crosses the room.

"can we talk?" he asks, voice low, not demanding, but pleading.

you don’t say anything.

"please. just five minutes. if you still hate me after, i’ll leave you alone. forever."

there’s a long pause.

you nod.

he takes you outside, away from the noise, into the quiet night.

"i read it," he says.

you blink. "read what?"

he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

your stomach drops.

"i wasn’t supposed to see it, i know. but... i’m glad i did."

"heeseung—"

"no. let me say this. please."

his eyes are desperate. glassy. his words shaky.

"i lied. that night. i said that because i was scared. because i felt too much, too fast, and didn’t know what to do with it. i thought if i pushed you away, i could kill whatever it was before it killed me."

he takes a step closer.

"but you weren’t just someone i hated. not really. you were someone i couldn’t stop thinking about. you were the highlight of every party, every night, every moment. i was an idiot. but i never stopped wanting you."

your throat is tight.

"you broke me," you whisper.

he nods.

"i know. and i’ll spend every second proving to you that i’m sorry. not with words — with time. with actions. with everything you’ll let me give."

there’s silence.

then you take a breath.

"you’ve got a lot to prove, lee heeseung."

he gives the smallest, hopeful smile.

"then let me start now."

and he does.

not with fireworks. not with promises he can’t keep. but with the small things. the consistent things.

the next morning, there’s a text from him. simple.

“did you sleep okay?”

you stare at it for a while before replying.

“yeah. you?”

“not really. kept thinking about you.”

you don’t answer that. but your heart stirs anyway.

a few days later, he’s waiting outside your class with a drink in his hand, the one he used to make fun of you for ordering (“that’s basically sugar and foam, y/n”), but now buys without hesitation. he doesn’t try to walk you home. doesn’t push. just hands you the drink, offers a soft “you looked tired,” and walks away before you can respond.

he lets you come to him.

at the next hangout, he doesn’t hover. doesn’t sulk. he helps jake in the kitchen, jokes with jungwon, lets the others tease him without biting back. when you walk in, his eyes find you — but he doesn’t pull you aside. just offers a quiet, careful smile. like he’s waiting. like he’s learning how to stay.

one night, you’re struggling with your laundry, balancing way too many bags and a basket of unfolded clothes, and he appears without a word, grabbing half the load from your arms. you glare at him, but you don’t tell him to stop.

he walks with you to the laundry room, helps you separate colors, folds your towels when you’re too tired to finish. “i owe you way more than this,” he says softly. you don’t look at him. “yeah,” you murmur. “you do.”

he doesn’t reply. just keeps folding.

you start to notice it more after that. the way he lingers behind after group dinners to help clean. the way he listens, really listens, when you talk, even if it’s just about the books you’re reading or the music you’ve been into lately. the way he starts learning your rhythms again, not to manipulate them, but to respect them.

one night, you find a note slipped into your bag.

“this isn’t about getting you back. it’s about being someone who deserves to stand beside you. i don’t expect anything from you. just… thanks for letting me try.”

you don’t know what to do with that. but you keep the note anyway.

and maybe the biggest moment doesn’t feel big at all. it’s late. you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, overwhelmed with everything—assignments, memories, feelings you’ve tried to ignore—and he shows up.

he doesn’t say anything. just sits beside you. close, but not too close. his shoulder brushes yours. your hand trembles. and without looking at you, he says, “you don’t have to talk. just let me sit here.”

and you do.

because he’s not trying to fix you. he’s just showing up. and maybe that’s what love looks like now.

quiet. patient. real.

you don’t forgive him all at once.

but some nights, it’s harder to pretend you don’t want to.

like the night it rains, and you forget your umbrella. you’re standing under the campus archway, clutching your books to your chest, half-considering just running for it, when a quiet voice says, “hey.”

you turn. heeseung’s holding out his umbrella, expression unreadable, hair already wet from the walk over.

“you’ll get soaked,” you mumble, surprised. “i don’t mind,” he says. “but you hate the rain.”

you want to tell him to leave. want to remind him that knowing those things doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

but instead, you step under the umbrella. shoulder to shoulder. hearts too close. you don’t say a word the whole walk home. but you remember how he always matched his pace to yours. he still does.

───

there’s another time. movie night.

everyone’s over again, sprawled across the living room. you end up between yuqi and jungwon on the couch, but at some point, someone moves, and when you shift, you realize you’re next to him. again.

the movie plays. people whisper and pass snacks and argue over the plot twist. but all you feel is the space between your knee and his. the ghost of warmth where your arms nearly brush.

you don’t move away. neither does he.

and at one point, you laugh at a stupid scene. without thinking, you glance at him, wanting to see if he found it funny too. he’s already looking at you. and for a second, everything stills.

you look away first. but your heart doesn't stop racing for a long, long time.

───

the third moment is softest of all.

it’s late. everyone’s left. you’re cleaning up alone, stacking plates in the kitchen.

you don’t hear him come back until he’s beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“thought i’d help,” he says gently. you nod. don’t speak.

you’re both quiet for a while, working in sync. something about it feels… familiar. domestic. like home.

then, as you’re drying the last cup, you glance over. he’s watching you, and there’s something in his eyes. something tender. careful. full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“i miss you,” he says softly.

your breath catches.

you set the cup down.

“heeseung–”

“i’m not asking for anything,” he interrupts, voice thick. “just… i miss you. and i wanted you to know.”

you swallow hard. there’s so much you could say. but instead, you whisper, “i know.”

he nods once. and then he leaves. because he meant it — he wasn’t asking for anything. but that’s the moment you know: you don’t hate him anymore. you never did.

───

it happens a week later.

a rooftop. stars overhead. winter’s birthday, most of your friends are tipsy on alcohol, sugar and too many karaoke songs. you haven’t had a drop of alcohol, wanting to truly feel everything.

heeseung finds you leaning against the railing, eyes on the sky.

“hey,” he says. you nod and let him stand beside you.

the silence isn’t awkward anymore. it’s soft. steady.

“can i ask you something?” he says, barely audible.

you hum.

“do you still feel it?” he asks. “whatever it was… whatever we had.”

you don’t answer for a long time.

and then, quietly… “i never really stopped.”

he turns. slowly.

your eyes meet. and in them is every apology he’s ever whispered with his actions. every moment he gave you space. every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.

you reach for him first.

your hand brushes his. his fingers curl around yours like a prayer.

and then, finally, he kisses you.

soft. aching. full of every unspoken word, every almost, every could’ve been. this isn’t the kind of kiss that demands anything. it’s a promise. a beginning.

you pull back first, just enough to whisper, “i don’t wanna do this while you’re intoxicated, i don’t want you to regret it.”

he stares at you before mumbling into your lips.

“y/n, i haven’t had a drink, but it feels like i’m drunk when i kiss you.”

your heart stops and everything fades into the background. “don’t break me again.” you plead, face inches away from his.

he presses his forehead to yours.

“never again,” he breathes.

and this time, you believe him.

as he reconnects your lips, his hands tremble slightly where they find purchase on your waist. the night air is cool, but your skin is burning—flushed, alive, and aching in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, like he’s still not sure this is real.

“we don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “just say the word.”

but you don’t want him to stop. not tonight. not after everything.

so you slide your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tug him closer until your lips brush his again.

“take me home, heeseung.”

and he does.

his apartment is quiet when you get inside, the chaos of the earlier party gone, the night still humming with something electric. you barely have time to kick your shoes off before his mouth finds yours again. hungrier now, more desperate. like all the restraint he’s shown is unraveling, thread by thread.

his hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your jaw. like he’s relearning you. memorizing the weight of you against him.

you tug his jacket off, fingers fumbling with the zipper, and he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your neck.

“still impatient,” he teases.

“still hot when you shut up,” you shoot back, and he groans.

you barely make it to the couch.

he sits first, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct, like he’s needed this for months. your knees straddle him, bodies pressed chest to chest, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

he tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and it’s filthy. slow. wet. your hips roll against his without thinking, and the noise he makes, low and guttural, goes straight to your core.

“fuck,” he groans. forehead against your collarbone. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you arch into him, tug his shirt over his head, and he follows suit, fingers slipping under the hem of yours, eyes flicking up for permission. you nod, and he peels it off slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something precious.

his hands trail over your skin like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to deserve you.

and then his mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, trailing down until you’re gasping his name, your back arching as he presses kisses across your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like it hurts.

as you reach for his belt wanting to make him feel good, he puts his hand over yours. “there’s something i need to tell you.. before we take anything further.” he says like he doesn’t even want you to know.

“what is it, hee?”

god. that nickname.

it’s what all his close friends call him, however when you say it. he wants to lay the world at your feet.

“i’m.. uh– a vir-virgin…” he mumbles. you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention.

you laugh.

heeseung leans back into the couch, hoping, praying, wishing it to swallow him whole.

as you observe heeseung, you realize he must be serious. “you’re a virgin? but you– you always used to talk about your hook-ups and how every week it was like you had someone new hanging off your arm??? what do you mean you’re a virgin?”

he whimpers. he fucking whimpers. “i’m not proud of it, okay? i always came really close to hooking up with girls but i um. i couldn’t you know.. get it… up.”

you sit there quietly, giving him time to compose himself and continue.

“everytime i tried to lose my virginity, i couldn’t get hard unless i thought she was you,” he speaks, not gaining enough courage to look you in the eyes.

you stare at heeseung for a moment, trying to process what he just said. the weight of it settles between you like a delicate secret, and suddenly the playful teasing tone you’d had before feels completely inappropriate.

you can see it in his doe eyes — how embarrassed he is, how much he wants to crawl out of his own skin. the corners of his lips are tugged in a tight line, as if holding in every emotion that threatens to spill out. but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. it’s soft, gentle, but laced with a teasing warmth.

“you’re a virgin?” you ask, letting the words linger a little longer than they should, pretending to be surprised as if he hadn’t just told you, twice.

heeseung’s face reddens, and you see him shrink further into the couch. you could almost feel his desire to hide, to escape. but you don’t let him. instead, you move closer, shifting between his legs, and place your hand on his thigh. a gentle, reassuring pressure.

“god, heeseung,” you tease softly, your lips curling into a smile that isn’t cruel, but playful. “how could you keep that from me? you’ve been all… big talk and ‘i get all the girls,’ and here you are, this nervous little thing, blushing at the thought of being with me?”

his eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you lean in just enough to press your lips to his ear. you feel him tense under the touch, and the subtle shiver runs through his body, telling you everything you need to know. he’s not as confident as he makes it seem.

“you should’ve told me sooner, you know,” you whisper, your voice low, just enough to make his breath hitch. “i would’ve been patient. we could’ve taken it slow.”

heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping the fabric of the couch like he’s holding onto some semblance of control. you smile knowingly, watching the struggle on his face. but it’s not discomfort — it’s desire. you can feel it in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his body reacts to the gentleness in your touch.

“i… i don’t want you to think less of me,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it anyway. “it’s just… with you, it’s always felt different.”

you gently trace your fingers up his chest, watching as his breath quickens. you’re giving him space to breathe, to process, and then you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“stop worrying about that,” you say quietly, your lips just barely touching his. “i don’t think less of you. if anything, you’re hotter right now than ever before.”

the vulnerability in his eyes shifts. he’s still nervous, but the weight is lifting. and for the first time in a while, you see him start to believe that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

then, you shift your focus, teasing him once more with a playful grin. “but you know, heeseung… i could help you with that. we could take this slow, maybe help you get comfortable with what it feels like to be with me. you trust me, don’t you?”

he nods, slowly, not trusting his voice. he’s ready. maybe more than he thought.

and you take that as your cue. you kiss him again, deeper this time, letting the heat between you grow. his body responds to you almost immediately. hands shifting from nervous to eager, pulling you closer as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, your hands trailing down to his belt. this time, you don’t hesitate. you undo it slowly, giving him time to react, but he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans back into the couch, peeling his shirt off, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

heeseung’s eyes search yours one more time, a silent question in them. you nod gently, giving him permission to be vulnerable, to trust you fully.

and when your hands pull his pants down, you can feel the heat of him, see the evidence of his desire. you take your time, enjoying the way he reacts to each touch, savoring the way he trembles under your hands.

you start by rubbing over his bulge when your eyes widen.

he just stares back at you, not blinking, but incredibly nervous. “is– is something wrong?” he stutters out.

“wrong? no, heeseung. you’re huge.”

he blushes and hides his face in his hands. his veiny hands. you’ll definitely need to put those to use later.

you softly drag his hands away from his face and tell him to never hide from you. you think he’s beautiful like this.

after he calms down, you look back into his eyes that resemble a deer, and he nods. signaling you to continue.

you finally trail your eyes down to his raging hard on, you can almost see it pulse.

his breath quickens the longer you take to begin touching him.

you start by teasing his swollen tip, arousal evident in the stain on his gray boxers. he sighs heavily, tipping his head back.

as you rub your hand down to his base, you get a feel for how thick he truly is.

he’s hard. aching. even at the slightest touch, his eyebrows furrow and he holds back soft groans.

you rip your hand off his clothed bulge. “if you want me to continue, you need to let me hear you, baby.”

that was his breaking point, he quickly nods his head yes looking at you with pleading eyes, “can you please touch me? it hurts.”

not wanting to tease him any longer, you rip his boxers off his thighs and his throbbing length slaps against his lower abdomen reaching just above his belly button. precum smears on his abs and you get the urge to lick it off.

so you do.

you gently move his dick away from his toned stomach, swiping your wet muscle along his abs, sucking to leave light marks.

the noises he makes are downright pornographic, and you think you’ll never be able to hear them enough.

moving your attention back to the hardness in your grasp, you begin to lick up his shaft, tracing each vein with the tip of your tongue. his head is still tipped back, frustrating you a bit because you want his attention on you.

so… in one swift motion, you take him down your throat until his tip hits the back. his head shoots up and he moans. loud.

heeseung is in heaven. the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock, he never wants you to pull off of him. he gently pulls your hair into a ponytail, hands shaking when you start moving.

his apartment is filled with filthy noises: wet, loud, and obscene.

he can hear and feel your gag reflexes kicking in but you don’t budge. you continue to move up and down, not wanting to stop until he cums.

his tipping point was you taking him even further down your throat, nose brushing his pelvis. he thought you were going to take a break for air but you didn't.

you stay.

swallowing around him.

the pressure in your jaw is almost unbearable but when you feel his thighs shaking, you know he’s close. and you need to ruin him.

hollowing your cheeks, you take him a bit deeper, hands coming up to play with his heavy balls. he can’t hold back anymore. the sensation of you taking his whole cock down your tiny throat and the stimulation of his balls in your hands. he groans.

desperate. low. deep

and spills down your throat. warm, wet, and sticky ropes, pour out of his tip. taking up all the space you had left, some spilling out from the corners of your mouth.

you swallow all that you can, then pull off from his dick.

heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. heeseung threw an arm over his eyes, chest heaving, trying to regain control of his senses.

meanwhile, you haven’t stopped clenching your thighs together.

you didn’t even notice you were staring until he clears his throat. he just looks so gorgeous all fucked out.

“wow. did you– swallow.. it?” he asks through pants.

you answer him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “yeah, because it was you”

he moans, again. and that’s when you notice he’s still hard, still aching.

as you move to straddle his lap, he grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist. “not here, i want our first time to be special” he says softly, with a kiss to your temple.

he carries you to his bedroom on wobbly legs and gently lays you down on his bed, hovering on top of you. he plants wet kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, collarbones, until he reaches your covered chest.

looking at you with big, lust filled eyes, he waits for your green light. you nod and he fumbles with your shirt then bra clasp, eventually tearing the fabric away.

“you’re stunning,” he says completely awestruck by your half-naked form.

as he continues staring, he licks his lips, slowly lowering his head wrapping his soft lips around one of your perky buds.

you instinctively arch into his touch, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as his other hand gently kneads your other boob. soft gasps and whines slip from your lips as you try to grind up in search of any friction where you need it most.

he senses your desperate pleas and starts moving his body to slot between your legs, face in front of your clothed core. you wiggle your hips trying to convince him to speed up and touch you where you need it the most.

“can i…?” he practically begs, “yeah” you sigh as you relax into his plush sheets. he drags your sweats down your soft legs planting kisses along the inside of your thighs, all the way down to your calves. he makes his way to your panty clad pussy, pressing a soft kiss to your bundle of nerves aching for him.

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

he looks so good between your thighs, you want this image ingrained into your brain forever.

he brings his thumb up to press on the wet spot that’s formed on your panties, groaning, “fuck, you’re so wet.”

“all for you.”

he replays those words in his head and his patience snaps. tearing your underwear in half, he wastes no time. tongue lapping and the wetness between your legs, like he’s been deprived of any liquid all his life.

you’ve never met someone this desperate to eat you out. or anyone for that matter.

he mumbles against your core, “guide me, please, wan’ you t’feel good, mmh.”

your hands take place in his silky soft roots, gently tugging on the strands.

through whimpers, you tell him to focus on your clit, and surprisingly (for a virgin), he finds it fairly quickly.

he briefly sucks on the nub, flicking it with his tongue to soothe it. “fuck, hee” you moan out into the space of his bedroom.

he groans against your pussy, carefully bringing up his fingers so he can push his tongue into your awaiting hole. the moment he starts fucking you with his tongue, you arch your back and grind into his face, needing more.

he heard his friends talking about “prep” and “stretching girls out,” so he wonders if you need to be stretched out to take him. you said he was huge, did you mean it? he has no idea, he’s a pathetic virgin who has only shoved his dick into his right hand. not even a pocket pussy or fleshlight.

to your dismay, he pulls away for a brief second asking if he should use his fingers. “please, i need you to stretch me out, i can’t– take you without prep,” you rush out feeling your high not far away.

“shit, okay baby,” he mutters back before bringing his middle finger up to spread your juices around.

your hips jerk up when he focuses on your clit, surprised by the stimulation.

slowly, he pushes his finger in, getting used to the warm sensation of your walls.

you clench around his thick digit, feeling fuller than when you finger yourself. as he pumps it in and out, you tell him to add another one and he does.

moaning in relief, you arch into his touch as his tongue finds its way back to your sensitive clit.

between him lapping like a dog and the feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, you feel a familiar band in your stomach building up.

your moans increase and heeseung feels dizzy, taking in all that you give.

he curves his fingers all while sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing you to tip over the edge and that band in your stomach to snap.

you come crashing down, chanting his name like a mantra as heeseung helps you ride out your high.

as you lift your head and meet his gaze, he looks more fucked out than you do. hooded eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, gaze consumed with lust. you pull him by the collar of his shirt until your lips collide in a mess of tongues and teeth.

your makeout session unfortunately doesn’t last long as heeseung starts whining into your lips.

that’s when you realize his cock found your bent knee, not so subtly grinding against it, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“feeling needy, are we?” you tease, earning a playful roll of the eyes from heeseung.

pulling back, you drink in his bare torso– he’s always been muscular as he was very popular with the ladies (until he got into bed with them).

dragging your hand up his chiseled abs, his stomach tenses and his dick twitches.

you found his second biggest weakness, besides you. his abs.

deciding to end the teasing there, since you’re also becoming increasingly impatient, you flip him over so you land on top of him with a quiet, “oof.”

as you settle your bare core on his rock solid cock, you start grinding, placing your hands on his chest for support.

he can’t hold back the guttural groans spilling from his mouth. not believing you’re really on top of him right now. this isn’t just one of his wet dreams.

he thought this couldn’t get any better, but when he struggles to get out a weak ask for a condom, you just respond with “no, i’m– on pill. need to feel you. all of you.”

and to that, he moans, not believing his ears.

it’s his first time. and he’s about to have sex with YOU. raw. he thinks he’s dreaming. there’s no way you’re real.

you gently angle his dick towards your awaiting hole, sinking down until his fat tip is inside you.

instantly, you both sigh in relief, starting to feel the pressure ease up.

if you feel a stretch at his tip entering you, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fit all of him inside you. he’s the biggest you’ve seen and he doesn’t even know it.

your attention is drawn back to the man consuming your brain when he whines. “m-more, please.” he’s becoming needier the longer you stay at just his tip but you don’t know how to tell him you’ve never taken a size like him before.

“hee-heeseung i need a sec, you’re– fuck. so thick,” you say between moans.

his grip on your hips tightens, a silent way of telling you to take your time.

when you finally deem yourself ready, you sink lower, wanting to speed it up, bracing the stretch to come.

you feel him pulsing inside you and that’s all you need to sink all the way down, him bottoming out inside you.

it’s his first time feeling anything other than his hand wrapped around him, and he whimpers, loud. it’s overstimulating in the best way possible and before he knows it you move up to his tip and bounce back down. his dick twitches and you feel it. every vein, every pulse, every movement, even his heavy breathing.

heeseung, not in control of his movements, bucks his hips up, making another non-existent inch to fit inside your stretched out core.

you moan soft and loud, eyes rolling back, as the pain turned into pleasure. bouncing faster on his girthy cock, you uncontrollably clench around him, causing heeseung’s grip to tighten. you know it’ll bruise tomorrow, but at the moment, he feels too good for you to care.

the room smells of sex, and the only sounds that can be heard are skin clapping and your shared noises.

heeseung must notice your legs becoming tired because before you know it, you’re flat on your back with heeseung on top of you, cock never slipping out from your pussy.

his large hands grab each of your thighs, pressing them to your chest.

his pace is slow at first, testing the waters, getting a feel for a rhythm.

as his hands stay pressed to your thighs, he slowly drags out and pushes all of his dick inside you.

you feel him deeper in this position, a bulge forming in your lower belly.

when he notices, his eyes stay glued there.

you wonder what he’s looking at but the moment you look down, you’re met with his hand pressing slightly on the bulge causing the loudest moan to leave your lips.

he signals you to hold your thighs as one of his hands holds himself up and the other focuses on how he can feel his dick inside your guts with every thrust.

his pace suddenly quickens when you clench hard around him, making his hips stutter briefly.

endless praises leave his pretty lips, telling you how good you feel, how hot you look laid underneath him, taking whatever he gives you.

feeling a familiar, yet new sensation building rapidly, you try to warn him that you’re close but somehow, he already knows. “i know baby, let go whenever you want.” he mutters back, feeling just as close to his high.

“fuck– where do you want it?” he rushes out, not wanting to cum inside you if that isn’t what you want.

but apparently, all the gods are smiling down on him as you release your thighs from the grip you had on them and wrap your legs around his waist. “inside,” you moan.

and at that, he cums. hard. ropes of his hot, gooey, cum spill inside you. tipping you over the edge.

with a loud groan, clear liquid comes rushing out from you, spraying all over his sheets and lower abdomen. soaking his dick.

heeseung moans. again. raw and unfiltered at the fact that you just squirted all over him (he’s seen enough porn and heard too many stories from your shared friend group to know what squirting is).

as you come down from your high, heeseung is somehow still cumming. it spills out of you, creating an even stickier mess on his bed. but he doesn’t care.

not when you’re beneath him, chest rising rapidly, trying to catch your breath.

heeseung’s cock is still lodged inside you, holding half of his cum inside you, not wanting it to go to waste.

as he collapses on top of you, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, holding your trembling body close to his.

you were the first to speak, “i didn’t even know i could do that,” talking about how you squirted all over him. “guess we both had firsts today,” he softly chuckles.

his breath is warm against your skin, his arm tightening just a little around your waist as if anchoring himself in the moment. you don’t respond right away, too caught up in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat, the lingering warmth between you, the way his fingers begin tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes against your spine.

“i didn’t expect it to be like this,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

“like what?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to shatter the calm.

you shift slightly to face him, resting your head more comfortably on his chest. “soft. safe.”

Hheeseung lets out a breath that sounds like relief and something deeper, something reverent. “yeah,” he whispers. “me neither.”

for a while, neither of you say anything. he pulls the blanket higher over both of you, his other hand brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it makes your eyes sting. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he means it.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still rough from earlier, but softer now, like the edge of him has been smoothed by your touch.

you nod, then glance up at him. “are you?”

heeseung meets your gaze, and something in his expression shifts. vulnerability bleeding through the cracks he used to hide behind. “i am now.”

your heart squeezes.

he licks his lips, nervous. “i’ve been so stupid with you. all this time, i kept pushing and pulling, thinking maybe if i kept it messy, it’d be easier to walk away if i had to.” he pauses, his voice thinning. “but tonight just… made me realize i don’t want to walk away.”

your breath catches. “heeseung…”

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, eyes searching yours. “not the sex, not the closeness. i want you. the fights, the tension, the way you drive me crazy and still somehow make me want to be better just by being around you. i’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

your lips part in surprise, and he laughs quietly, self-deprecating and shy. “too much?”

instead of answering, you lean up and kiss him, slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say until now. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

“i’m in love with you too, idiot.”

he grins, wide and a little teary-eyed, and pulls you closer like he’s never letting go.

and you know he won’t have to.

pls reblog & leave feedback <3 hope you enjoyed the read ◡̈

[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417

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jaesblogstuff · 2 days ago

Text

He doesn't listen I fear.

You know those instances where you’re a kid at school and your parents have to pick you up from school because you’re sick. That reminds me of Simon only time he’s much more stubborn and doesn’t take no for an answer most times.

⸻

You told him not to go in.

That morning, watching him drag his shirt over trembling fingers, you knew something was off. His shoulders slumped just a little too far, his voice caught in his throat when he said, “Just tired, that’s all.” And the heat rolling off of him when you touched his forehead—hellfire, even then.

“You should sit this one out, Simon,” you said quietly. “You’re running a fever.”

He grunted. Kissed your temple. “I’ve had worse.”

You didn’t argue. Not really. You just watched him lace up his boots and walk out the door like the stubborn bastard he is.

⸻

It doesn’t take long.

He holds out through briefing. Through training updates. Through a round of morning paperwork where he stares at the same page for twenty straight minutes. Nobody says anything, yet, but Price is watching him closely. Always is.

Then it happens.

Mid-conversation, Simon loses his balance. He rights himself fast—too fast, but not before his hand slaps against the edge of the table for support. He’s pale beneath the mask, which makes the red flush on his neck stand out even more.

“Riley.” Price’s voice cuts through the air. Calm. Measured. “Med bay. Now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re burning up, son.”

Simon opens his mouth to argue again—but sways instead.

Price sighs. “That’s it. You’re done. You’re no good to anyone like this. Go. And we’re calling your emergency contact.” you

“No—no, I’m good,” he rasps.

“Not asking, mate.”

⸻

The number they dial is the only one listed.

Just “Mrs. Riley – Home.”

When you answer the call, your voice is calm but laced with expectation. You excused yourself from the meeting you were in. “Let me guess. He didn’t make it through the morning.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Then, “That’d be correct, ma’am. Captain Price here. I’m sorry to call out of the blue. He’s in the med bay now—won’t let anyone near him. We’d like you to come collect him.”

You’re already getting your keys. “I told him this morning to —. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

And you are.

⸻

The base is quiet when you arrive—at least the part they bring you through. You’re escorted by a corporal who keeps glancing at you like he doesn’t know what to make of you. Neat coat. Composed expression. Eyes like polished glass. You move like someone used to command, but not in the military sense—something quieter. Older.

They don’t know who you are, not really. They’ve heard of “the missus.” Simon’s muttered references. A few quiet mentions of home, of normalcy. But none of them have seen you before.

Until now.

You step into the med bay and everything shifts.

There’s Simon—half-sitting on the cot, mask still on but sweat plastering his shirt to his back. He looks miserable. Barely holding himself upright. The medic stands a few feet away, clearly not trying to get too close.

You don’t speak loudly. You don’t need to.

“Simon.”

His head lifts.

The change is instant.

His shoulders relax. His breathing slows. He looks at you like salvation has just walked in wearing your coat.

“Love,” he croaks. “Didn’t want them to call you.”

You walk straight to him, planting yourself at his side.

“You should’ve stayed home.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re delirious.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Lets you rest your hand against his forehead. His skin is scorching. You look at him for a long second, then reach to gently peel the mask up and off.

The medics blink. Soap, lingering in the hall, actually stares.

You’re the only one he lets touch him like that.

“Let’s go,” you murmur. “Now.”

And he follows.

Like a shadow. Like a man undone.

Nobody says a word as you lead him out—his massive form leaning on you like he’s hollowed out, his head bowed slightly, his steps heavy but obedient. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t argue.

The sergeant at the desk stares openly. One of the privates murmurs under their breath, “That’s Mrs. Riley?”

Price just nods once to himself, looking quietly satisfied. “Told you she was the only one who could get through to him.”

⸻

He’s out before you hit the highway.

One arm folded against the window, cheek pressed to his sleeve, breath slow and raspy. His body sinks into the passenger seat like it’s the first safe place he’s had all day.

You glance over at him, your fingers tight on the wheel. A small sigh escapes your chest.

“You never listen,” you whisper. “But I’ll always come get you.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #ghost simon riley #ghost smut #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod men #john price #captain john price #john soap mactavish #soapghost #modern warfare

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girlgenius1111 · 2 days ago

Text

different when it's me

barcelona femení x reader you've had a secret for a really long time, one that is getting harder and harder to keep. your friends and teammates know that something is wrong, but they aren't sure how to get you to talk when you seem so insistent on keeping it all to yourself. basically, r is struggling with her sexuality, and her teammates try to help. angst, fluff, you know the drill. cw for internalized homophobia

—

For as long as you could remember, there had been rules. Rules that applied to you, even if they didn’t apply to anyone else. Like how you weren’t allowed to yell at your parents, but they could yell at you. Or how you weren’t allowed to see your friends on school days, but your brother could.

Even as you’d gotten older and moved out, the ‘you’ rules remained. Some of them were entirely self imposed. It was alright if other people took time off training when they were sick, but you couldn’t. It was okay if Vicky left a dish in the sink instead of washing it right away, but if you did that you’d have felt like a terrible roommate.

And then there was the biggest rule of all. It wasn’t even a rule, really. It was just… how things were.

Other people could be gay. Your teammates, your friends. Anyone else, that was okay. You’d stand by that, you’d fight for it.

But you couldn’t be. You just couldn’t.

Maybe it was your parents, or maybe it was the hours you’d spent in church, hearing the priest casually slip into his homelie comments about men and women and Leviticus 18:22. Whatever had kickstarted the shame and guilt within you, it didn’t matter that much. It was there.

Every time a pretty girl smiled at you in public, or when the cute barista would draw a little smiley face on your coffee cup. Every time you instinctually frowned and stepped away from a man who was looking to make a move on you. Every time you noticed a girl’s smile or the color of her eyes, the soft skin of her hand as it brushed yours.

Shame.

And you tried, tried so hard. To imagine the perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect life. But it just wasn’t right. The longer you spent away from your parents, away from the catholic church you’d grown up in, you started to wonder. The longer you spent around your friends who didn’t even blink when Jana announced she had a new girlfriend, the standard you set for yourself started to crumble, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

You’d find yourself daydreaming. The domestic life you’d always been so sure you didn’t want would flash in your mind, except this time, it was a lot more appealing. A wife, instead of a husband, and your stomach didn’t turn. For so long, you’d thought that there was no option to accept what you knew, knew really deep down, to be true. You’d rather die than accept it, if life in the closet was so miserable, you’d rather die.

But acceptance began to start without you even telling it to. Like your brain was so tired of the shame, it started to reject it.

So what? It would say. It had never felt like that before, and you were beyond terrified.

—

What kickstarted everything was a visit home to your parents. As it often went, 90% was nice. Home cooked meals, the feeling of not having to be responsible for anything, just for a little while.

It was good. Or, at least, it was alright enough that you could convince yourself it was good. You could pretend everything was okay.

And then, your mother had asked the dreaded question. Do you have a boyfriend yet?

You could tell as time passed, as you got older and never brought home a boy, your parents grew more and more worried. Whether that was worry that you were going to die alone, or worry that you weren’t into guys, you didn’t know.

But they always asked. And when you’d shake your head, say no and give the excuse that football kept you too busy to think about that, they’d always respond the same.

Well, don’t close yourself off! The perfect guy is out there.

You really doubted that. Normally, it stopped there, but this time, your father took it a step further. Said something that made your stomach twist and your palms sweat.

The perfect man, he’d emphasized. I know how your teammates are. Don’t get any ideas.

It was an off handed comment, probably didn’t mean he suspected anything. Logically, you knew that. Illogically, though… not so much.

You spent the whole drive back from their house crying. Disappeared into your room as soon as you got home, shaking off Vicky’s concerned questions. You didn’t emerge until the next morning for training, and you didn’t feel any better.

There was this weight sitting on your chest. It felt like everyone knew, everyone was staring at you, thinking things about you that you were barely able to admit to yourself. It was the weight of obligation; to your parents and to yourself, pulling you in opposite directions.

It was tearing you in half.

—

No one would ever describe as quiet or withdrawn. You hung around with the louder portion of the team, and you were no exception to that group. You were loud and unrestrained and goofy most of the time. Of course, you were serious when you had to be, but normally not a day passed at Ciutat Esportiva where the sound of your laughter wasn’t bouncing off the walls of the locker room, audible to anyone walking through the hall.

That is, until today.

It wasn’t obvious, not to everyone. There were so many players, so many of you messing around that it didn’t raise alarm bells for any of your older teammates. But for your friends, your best friends, they knew something was wrong the second that you didn’t crack up at Jana’s ridiculous story about Ona falling asleep on her couch and rolling off onto the floor. You gave a weak smile, one that was barely there and very fake.

And immediately, your teammates were giving you a closer look. They noticed bags under your eyes, the distant look on your face as you stared off at the wall. You were wound tightly, it seemed, every muscle in your body tense as you waited to walk out onto the pitch with your friends. It didn’t even occur to you that they’d think you were acting any different, but though they could be absolute clowns, they were also observant, intelligent people.

They could tell, without question, that something was wrong. Jana and Claudia exchanged glances, before turning to Vicky, who could only offer them a shrug in response. She’d known something was wrong since last night, when you’d come home from your parents. You’d barely said two words to her, though, and she was fairly certain you weren’t going to talk if anyone tried to get you to.

But Jana was Jana, and soon she was meaningfully looking between the rest of your teammates and the door, a not so subtle nod for them to give the two of you a moment. For your part, you didn’t even notice them walk out the door. You didn’t notice Jana stay behind, gazing at you worriedly. You were stuck in your head, a billion questions racing through it even as you tried to push them out and focus on the training session ahead of you.

Would your parents hate you?

“Are you okay?”

Would they disown you?

“Huh?” You replied, only half hearing your teammate. You should tell them. Just get it over with. But tell them what? You weren’t even sure. No, of course you were sure, but there was always the chance that you were wrong?

“Hey, amiga.” Jana’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and this time you looked up at her.

You couldn’t tell. It would ruin everything. Absolutely everything.

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” You murmured, voice quiet. But how could you keep this to yourself? How could you live with a secret for the rest of your life? You couldn’t.

Jana was really concerned now. You looked destroyed, almost, like you were being ripped in two. Something was really, really wrong.

“Did something happen?” Jana wondered. She had such a calm, soft demeanor. Her expression was so open, and so concerned, it was hard not to break.

It only took a moment for her question to register, and it was as if your brain had detected some kind of threat and instantly drawn all your walls up. You sat up straighter, your eyes clearing. Gone was the look of anxiety and sadness. In its place, you just looked determined. Your face was wiped of any emotion and you stood, giving Jana a half smile.

“Nope! Sorry, I’m tired today. Everything’s fine. Let’s go?”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door. Jana followed you after, slowly, studying the back of your head as if it would give her the answers.

She wasn’t sure what the hell that was. But she knew, she knew that you were hiding something, and that you weren’t okay. And that wasn’t okay with her.

—

They watched you all throughout training. You could feel their eyes on you, too, and it only strengthened your resolve to act normal. But your friends weren’t having it. They didn’t leave you alone for a second. If it wasn’t Claudia pairing up with you for drills when she normally was always with Patri, it was Esmee standing right next to you during a water break. If it wasn’t Vicky taking the spot right next to you at lunch, it was Jana following you to the bathroom even though she’d just been.

It wasn’t that you blamed them for being worried; you knew you’d been weird upon arriving that morning. Since then, though, you’d made a very strong effort to appear as though you were fine.

Your friends didn’t buy it, but apparently your captains did, because Jana tried to tell them something was up, but they just brushed her off.

Jana explained to Alexia, Irene, and Marta that something was wrong. That you seemed like you were somewhere else entirely that morning, barely fighting back tears.

Vicky had told them how weird you’d been acting since coming home from seeing your parents, and how she could have sworn she heard you crying in the shower that morning.

Claudia told them you didn’t even blink when she took a few blueberries off your plate at lunch, even though you were notorious for being bad at sharing food.

None of them thought anything of it.

Even when Patri told them you hadn’t made any jokes about how she’d worn her shorts inside out for the first half of training, Alexia just shook her head with an amused smile.

“She’s growing up, then? Being more mature?” Alexia asked.

“You’re complaining that she beat you to it, are you?” Irene chuckled.

“The girl doesn’t pull a prank and suddenly she’s been replaced by an alien.” Marta grinned.

Your act was too good; you’d put on a very strong façade since slipping up that morning in the locker room. You had everyone but a few of your best friends convinced you were fine.

—

Annoyingly, no one seemed to be giving up on worrying about you. It continued for the next couple days. Even as you acted normal, completely fine, you could tell you were being watched by one of your friends at all times. They were waiting for you to break, again, which was an unsettling feeling and only made you more determined to be fine. You’d pushed the issue from your mind entirely. Wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t even name it. It was just the issue, and you’d decided it didn’t matter. You couldn’t handle thinking about it while still pretending to be fine, so you didn’t think about it. If your friends caught even the slightest slip up from you, you knew you’d be cornered and interrogated. And above all else, you couldn’t tell them.

They couldn’t know. No one could know. That was what you lived on, the mantra that kept you going when all you wanted was to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry. No one could find out.

You thought that you’d maybe have a respite when Vicky announced she was spending Thursday night at home with her family as it was one of her brothers’ birthdays. But almost as soon as she’d given you that information, your phone was buzzing with a text from Jana.

We’re coming over to watch a movie tonight, because you have the biggest TV. We’ll bring snacks. 8:00. :)

Your TV simply was not the biggest one, that was a blatant lie. But what could you do?

No, Jana, you can’t come over, I have plans of self loathing and sobbing into my pillow until I fall asleep.

So, there you found yourself, curled up on the couch next to Patri as a movie you couldn’t even recall the name of playing on the average size TV hung on your wall. It was harder at night, for some reason, to block everything out that you refused to think about. Mostly, you were picking at your nails and trying to keep up with the plot of the movie so you could appropriately laugh and not bring attention to yourself.

Claudia and Jana were each in an armchair, both of them annoyingly angled so they could see you out of the corner of their eyes. It was impressive, honestly, how committed they were to this. One or two odd moments, and they’d become an investigative team.

You supposed, though, being with them and pretending to be happy was better than being by yourself and feeling it all.

One second, you were holding firm. You were laughing at the funny parts and smiling when you had to. You were holding it together, and you could almost feel your friend’s worry for you dissipating as you acted like yourself.

It felt like you there was a collapsed building sitting on your chest in doing so, but you were doing it.

But of course, the universe wasn’t on your side. Of course the movie that Patri had put on had a scene where a character came out to their parents. Who knows, maybe Patri had her suspicions about what was going on with you, and the movie choice was intentional. Maybe it was entirely unintentional.

Either way, you were crying before you could even try to stop the tears. It wasn’t even a negative scene; the character’s parents were accepting. Loving. They hugged the kid, told him they loved him no matter what.

It was a happy scene, yet all you could think about was that you would never ever have that. There would be no acceptance. No love. There would be tears, but they wouldn’t be the happy kind. It would be the end of the world as you knew it, and that felt so fucking unfair.

You didn’t want to be like this. You wanted to be normal, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t, and you were going to lose your parents as a result. There was nothing you could do to change that.

So, you cried. Tears silently tracked their way down your cheeks. So quietly, in fact, that it went unnoticed for a minute. Until Jana peeked at you briefly, as she’d been doing all evening, and caught the shine on your cheeks and the tremble of your lip. Most of all, she noticed the devastated look in your eyes, and she was moving before she even knew what she was doing.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She murmured, sitting down beside you and pulling you into her. You went willingly, or at least you didn’t resist. You let Jana hug you nice and tight, just for a minute. You felt Patri’s hand on your back, not unlike how she’d approach you when you’d get hurt in a match and stay down.

And now…now you were hurting. But not in a way that any of them could fix, you were sure. You wouldn’t let them try, anyway.

The movie was paused when you pulled away from Jana, hastily wiping at your eyes. You could feel the gaze of all three of your teammates on you, insistent and concerned. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to convince them you were fine this time.

“What’s going on with you, hm?” Patri asked gently, nudging your shoulder until you looked at her.

“You’ve not been yourself for days, chica. Talk to us.” Claudia chimed in, moving to perch on the coffee table in front of you. The three of them surrounded you, and maybe it was meant to feel comforting, but all you felt was suffocated.

The walls were closing in in every aspect of your life. You couldn’t hide anymore. Not from your parents, and not from your teammates. That didn’t stop you from trying. Didn’t stop you from clawing at the walls as the room got smaller and smaller, forcing an exit into existence even though there wasn’t one in reality.

“Nothing.” You replied, looking down at your hands fidgeting in your lap. You couldn’t look at them. Not at Claudia’s normally happy face, pinched with concern. Not at Jana, who was surely biting at her lip like she did when she got nervous. Not at Patri, who you knew was studying you closely, brows knit together. You felt transparent, like eye contact would tell them everything, so you didn’t look up, not even when they began to speak.

“Nothing is wrong?” Jana repeated incredulously. You just shrugged in response. “You just started crying in the middle of the movie for no reason.”

Patri shifted closer, slinging her arm around your shoulders. “Vicky said you’ve been acting weird since you came home from your parents. If something happened with them, you can tell us. You can trust us, nena.”

“Nothing happened, I swear.” Finally, you looked up, and it was Claudia’s eye that caught yours. Surprisingly, she looked frustrated… almost stern.

“I don’t believe you.” She said simply.

A flash of frustration washed over you at how insisted they were being. Though it was for your benefit, it made you inexplicably annoyed; they couldn’t just let it go. They couldn’t understand that you didn’t want to talk, that they couldn’t fix this for you. Every push on their part made it harder and harder for you to pretend to be okay. If you broke, fully, not cracked like you did just a few minutes prior, it would be their fault. If you broke and everything came spilling out and your whole life fell apart, it would be on them.

Maybe if that frustration hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have reacted in the way you did.

Instead, you stood, forcing a scowl onto your face. “Well, that’s not my problem. If something was wrong, I think I’ve made it very clear I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped.

All three of your teammates blinked up at you, stunned. They’d never heard your voice sound like this, angry and raspy and devastated all at the same time. They’d never felt your anger directed at them, not really.

“Chica–”

“No. You all just keep pushing and pushing no matter how many times I tell you to back off. Leave me alone! I didn't ask you to hover over me, and I didn’t ask you to come over tonight. So please. Go.”

Before you could second guess yourself, before you could let the string of apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue out, you turned and stomped down the hall to your room.

Shame had been your constant companion for a long time. But now, as you lay on your bed listening to the sounds of your teammates quietly leaving your apartment, it burned through you in a way you weren’t used to. Normally, you directed everything at yourself. Every negative emotion was your problem and your problem only. People didn’t see you angry or sad, not even your closest friends.

Something had to give, though. You couldn’t keep going the way you had been, pretending you were fine when it felt like your brain was eating you from the inside out. Like the monster of self loathing inside your head would consume you if you didn’t open your mouth and let it out.

That didn’t stop the guilt.

The apartment was quiet in your friends’ absence. It was quiet, yet the silence was thick. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on some pajamas and went to brush your teeth. All the while, your head was spinning. Because the way you’d acted tonight might have gotten them to leave for now, but there was no way they’d let this go. You’d been rude and harsh and unkind. All things very out of the ordinary for you. In your attempt to push them back, you’d given them exactly what they needed to know, to prove that you weren’t okay.

You didn’t remember going through your nighttime routine at all, really. Your clothes for the next morning laid out, your water filled and placed on your nightstand, the doors locked, the fan on the correct setting. It was all right, but you didn’t remember doing it.

You did remember curling up under the covers and pulling your childhood teddy bear close. You did remember the text you sent to your friends.

I’m sorry about tonight. There’s no excuse. I’m really really sorry.

It wouldn’t help your case at all, really, but you were a bit resigned to that now, and if your parents had taught you anything other than to despise who you were, it was that you didn’t treat friends the way you had that evening. Not all of their lessons were bad, you supposed.

As soon as you placed your phone back down on the nightstand, the silence was broken with a buzz. Another buzz. And another. You picked your phone right back up, reading the three texts.

Jana. It’s okay, chica. We love you.

Patri. We’re here if you need to talk. Day or night.

Claudia. You aren’t alone, okay?

You pictured them in their own homes, probably already texting Alexia and Irene. All three of your friends, all of your team really, looked to them for guidance on practically everything. They were wise, seemingly all knowing. It shouldn’t have been a comfort that they’d been on your case next, but somehow it was.

Because for all you talked about wanting to be left alone, for all the pushing away you did, you didn’t really want to do it by yourself. Deep down, you wanted someone to come and stay and not let you self destruct. It was really just a matter of which part of you won out; the terrified you or the desperate you. Terrified of honesty and truth and being you. Desperate for someone to tell you that everything was going to be okay.

—

You didn’t expect your teammates to act as quickly as they did. The team had the weekend off, and you thought you’d have a day or so before someone came busting your door down. But Jana, Claudia, and Patri must have called Alexia and Irene and woke them up, because your friends had left after your captain's bedtime.

And so, at just barely past 9 the next morning, your doorbell rang. Whoever was at your door probably thought they were giving you a nice lie in, but it felt like the middle of the night to be woken then on a day off. You pulled a sweatshirt over your head, unable to even form a thought on who was at your door and what you would say to them in your groggy state.

You opened your door, internally sighing when you saw Irene standing there. A part of you was surprised it was just her, more surprised when she didn’t ask to come in. Instead, she handed you a paper bag full of tupperware containers.

“Hi, chica. This is for you.”

Taking the bag, you gave her a confused look, not quite awake enough to talk.

Irene looked a bit frazzled, like she was in a rush. She was in mom mode, three stray stickers stuck on the front of her shirt, though you were sure she wasn’t aware of them. Even so, she softened for a moment, leaning against your doorframe.

“Jana called me last night. Your friends are worried about you, and I am too. We all are, really.” She paused, her very wise eyes searching yours. “Lucía and I are taking the weekend off to go see her family, but I couldn’t leave without stopping by to check on you. And Lucía heard what happened, and she cooked you dinner. Because that is how she solves things.”

At this, Irene rolled her eyes, but did so fondly. You noticed the light in her eyes she always got when she talked about her wife, and you tried to ignore the deep pang inside your chest. Would you ever have that?

“Anyway, I brought food and this.” Irene stepped forward, wrapping her arms tight around you. You were frozen for a moment, unsure how to react. Would giving in and hugging her back be admitting that something was wrong? Maybe you were passed that point. Either way, you allowed yourself to lean into the older woman, letting the momentary comfort wash over you.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Irene told you. She squeezed you tight one more time before releasing you and stepping back. “Oh! Alexia will be over later. Prepare yourself to talk, because this whole silent thing is not going to fly with her.”

With that, Irene was walking briskly back down the hall. You watched her go, a little dumbfounded. If the defender’s intentions had been to throw you off, it had worked. All you could think was that you hadn’t said a single word to Irene, yet you felt like you’d confessed everything.

She had three more stickers on the back of her shirt, you noted as she turned the corner and walked out of sight. You couldn’t even really be amused, your brain too busy already anticipating Alexia’s visit.

Alexia… Alexia was going to make you talk if it took all day. She was stubborn like that.

Irene was right. You did need to prepare yourself.

—

The apartment was spotless, Alexia noticed. She looked around, gingerly leaning against your kitchen counter.

It was spotless. You’d channeled your anxious energy into cleaning, and besides; your parents had always taught you to clean for guests, and Claudia had somehow spilled popcorn all over your chair so you had to vacuum anyway.

Alexia was very quiet. She’d shown up at your door, not bothering to explain why she was stopping by. You both knew the reason. You’d let her in, and she’d followed you into the kitchen as you got her a glass of water. It was an awkward silence that filled the room, an awkward silence that was making you antsy.

Alexia, on the other hand, was relaxed. Like she’d cleared her calendar and had all the time in the world. Knowing her… she probably had. She wasn’t waiting for you to talk, necessarily. She was just waiting for the right opportunity to get at what was bothering you.

And when she noticed the picture frame facedown on the shelf above your counter, she knew she’d found what she was looking for.

“Thought you had a picture of your family there.” Alexia commented casually. She actually wasn’t sure what picture had been there, but she was making an educated guess. Judging by the way pain flashed across your face, it had been a good guess.

You could have lied, and say the picture frame had broken. Could have lied and told Ale that you’d knocked it over and forgot to pick it up. You could have played it off defensively, kept yourself closed up like you had been for days.

All morning, you’d been trying to decide how to go about this. Ultimately, you couldn’t get over everyone being worried about you. Nothing felt worse to you than being a burden on other people. Jana was worried. Claudia, Patri, Esmee, Vicky, Salma. They were all worried. Clearly Alexia and Irene were too. You knew what you should do. You just didn’t know if you’d be able to do it when the time came.

Yet when you sighed, nodding your head at Alexia’s statement, your decision was made. And once it was made, it was like the truth had been waiting for a moment of weakness to force its way out.

“I’m gay.” You burst out.

Alexia blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She was a bit confused; she’d come over here thinking you were depressed or something. She’d prepared for that, or something similar. She wasn’t prepared for this, and for a moment she was frozen, searching for the right words.

You, on the other hand. You were about to fall to pieces.

You’d never said it out loud before. Had barely even let yourself think it. But now it was out there, and you couldn’t inhale your words back in. You couldn’t go back, and that knowledge had your hands trembling and your breath catching.

“Oka-” Alexia began, nodding her head and taking a cautious step closer to you.

“I like girls, and it’s going to ruin everything, Ale. My parents are going to hate me, everyone is going to hate me. Everything… everything is going to be so hard and I don’t think I can do it!”

You were crying, by now, a steady stream of tears running down your face. Alexia’s expression was one of deep empathy and concern. She looked like she would have done anything in that moment to make you feel better, but you weren’t sure there was anything to be done.

“And I know it shouldn’t matter, but it feels like it does. It feels like it matters because it’s me. It’s different. It’s different and I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to lose my family.”

For the second time that day, you were being wrapped up in a tight hug. So tight it almost hurt. You clutched onto your captain just as tight, pushing your face into her shoulder and letting the weight of what you’d admitted wash over you. Alexia just held you for a minute, her sweatshirt soft as you pressed your face into it, her hands warm on your back. It felt almost safe.

“It’s not different, nena. It’s not. Not because it’s you. You’re not bad, you’re not weird. You’re still you, and anyone who deserves to know you will understand that.”

You cried harder, but not in a bad way. It was just… exactly what you’d needed to hear for so long. Maybe for your whole life. And someone was finally telling you, someone you loved and trusted. Someone you respected.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I promise. I know it feels terrifying, but you’re not alone. We’ve all got you, pequeña.” Alexia murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You choked out. You weren’t sure if you were thanking her for knowing exactly what to say, or for showing up at your door practically the minute she’d realized something wasn’t okay. You had a lot of people to thank, you realized. “Thank you, Ale.”

Alexia just shushed you, running her hand up and down your back. She didn’t let go, and you didn’t either. Because for the first time in so long, you felt like you were safe. You felt like maybe you’d be okay. Maybe.

—

i know this one has been very anticipated, so i hope it lives up to expectations :)

i kind of have an idea for a part two, but i'm not sure if anyone wants that or not.

anyway. enjoy 🙂❤️‍🩹🥰

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #barca femeni x reader #barça femeni x reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader #alexia putellas x reader

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