#what can i say that has not been said before

[solxamber]

"Let's Break Up" with: Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

more hurt/comfort for the soul

Part 1 with Housewardens

Trey Clover

The words slip out in frustration, sharp and final.

"Let's break up."

The mug in Trey's hand shatters.

The crack of breaking porcelain jolts you, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Shards spill across the floor, tea splattering everywhere, but Trey doesn’t even flinch.

Before you can react, before you can take back what you didn’t mean, he’s there—crossing the space between you in an instant, his uninjured hand cupping your face, warm and trembling.

His chest rises and falls too fast, his breath unsteady. His eyes search yours desperately, raw emotion flickering in their depths. “Please,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Reconsider.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. His grip tightens, just enough to ground himself, just enough to keep you here, with him.

“Take it back,” he pleads, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “Tell me you didn’t mean it.”

Your heart is racing, but all you can focus on is his other hand—the one that had been holding the mug. Blood is pooling in the creases of his palm, little crimson beads welling up where porcelain had cut into his skin.

You inhale sharply. “Trey, your hand—”

“I don’t care,” he says, and he means it. He would let it bleed if it meant keeping you here for another second. “Please.”

Something inside you cracks.

Your anger, your frustration—none of it matters when you see the way he’s looking at you. When you hear the break in his voice. When you realize how much he loves you, enough to throw away every bit of his usual calm, enough to bleed for you if it meant making you stay.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice tight with guilt. “I didn’t mean it. I—of course I didn’t mean it.”

His shoulders sag with relief, a shaky breath escaping him as he presses his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, pulling his injured hand between both of yours. “We need to take care of this.”

He exhales, his body finally catching up to the pain now that the panic has subsided. “Yeah,” he says, but instead of letting you go, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a firm, desperate embrace.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean for things to get like this. I should’ve listened more. I should’ve—” He swallows hard. “I’ll do better.”

You squeeze him back just as tightly, breathing in the scent of him, the warmth of him, the realness of him. “We both will.”

For a long moment, neither of you move, holding onto each other as if letting go would undo everything. Eventually, you tug him toward the sink, already fussing over his hand.

Trey watches you, still catching his breath, still feeling the lingering ghost of fear in his chest. But for now, you’re here. He's still yours.

And that’s all that matters.

Ruggie Bucchi

The words slip out before you can stop them.

“Let’s break up.”

Ruggie freezes.

For a second, there’s just silence—heavy, suffocating. Then he lets out a laugh, but it’s wrong. It’s forced, brittle, a sound that cracks at the edges.

“That’s a joke, right?” His voice is light, playful—too playful—but his hands reach for yours, gripping them tight. “Your sense of humor sucks.”

His fingers are trembling.

You feel something deep in your chest twist at the sight of him, trying so hard to brush it off, to act like you didn’t just rip the ground out from under him. His tail is stiff behind him, his ears twitching with every unsteady breath he takes.

You want to say something, to take it back, but the argument still lingers in the air between you—frustration, hurt feelings, words neither of you should have said.

He swallows hard, staring at you like he’s willing you to laugh, to say just kidding, to let him believe this isn’t real.

But you don’t.

And in that moment, something in him wavers. His ears droop, and his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

His voice is smaller this time.

“…You didn’t mean that.”

You inhale shakily, stepping closer.

“No,” you whisper. “I didn’t.”

He exhales a shaky breath, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost knocks the air from your lungs.

His face presses into your neck, his whole body going slack as if he’s only now realizing just how much those words had broken him. You can feel his breath against your skin, uneven, like he’s trying to keep it together, like he doesn’t want you to see how much it hurt.

You hold him just as tightly, one hand coming up to thread through his hair, the other rubbing circles into his back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against you. “I shouldn’t’ve—I didn’t mean—”

You shake your head, cutting him off gently. “Me too.”

His arms tighten around you.

For a long time, neither of you speak. He just holds you, pressed close, his tail weakly brushing against your hand in a silent plea—stay.

When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are misty, his lip caught between his teeth.

“Don’t say that again.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not even as a joke."

You cup his cheek, wiping away the dampness there with your thumb.

“I won’t.”

Ruggie exhales shakily, leans into your touch, and this time, when he lets out a breathy laugh, it’s real.

“…Guess we both suck at fighting, huh?”

You let out a weak chuckle, pressing your forehead against his.

“Yeah.”

And for now, that’s enough.

Jade Leech

The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Let’s break up."

Silence.

Jade just stares at you. The ever-present amusement in his eyes is gone, leaving them bare, unguarded in a way that makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t even tilt his head in that condescending way he does when he’s about to say something cutting.

He just looks at you, frozen in place.

You don’t know what you expected—maybe anger, maybe something cruel and sharp to push you further away, to give you an excuse to slam the door behind you. Instead, there’s nothing. Just the way his eyes widen ever so slightly, like you’ve said something impossible.

Your chest feels tight, but you force yourself to turn away. You don’t get more than two steps before a hand grips your wrist—firm, but not forceful. You barely have time to react before he pulls you back, arms wrapping around you from behind, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

"Don’t go."

It’s a whisper, but it shatters something inside you.

You tense, your breath catching in your throat. And then—you feel it. The faintest, almost imperceptible wetness against your skin.

Jade is crying.

A cold wave of fear crashes over you. You’ve never seen him cry before, never even imagined him capable of it. He’s always so composed, always in control, always one step ahead. But right now, he’s shaking.

Your frustration dissolves instantly, replaced by something heavier, something unbearable.

“I didn’t mean it,” you say, barely able to get the words out. “Jade, I didn’t mean it.”

His grip tightens around you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. His breath is uneven, ragged in a way that makes your heart ache.

You turn in his hold, reaching to cradle his face in your hands. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his expression raw in a way you’ve never seen before. He looks lost.

“I—” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, trying to compose himself. “I didn’t think… you would ever say that.”

You shake your head, your own eyes stinging. “I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

For a moment, he just stares at you. Then, with a quiet, shaky exhale, he presses his forehead against yours.

“I pushed you too far,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

You close your eyes, fingers curling into his shirt. “And I let it get to me.”

Neither of you say anything after that. You just stand there, holding each other, breathing in the quiet between you. The storm of emotions still lingers, but it’s softer now, no longer a force trying to tear you apart.

Jade exhales slowly, his hands settling on your back, grounding himself. When he finally speaks again, his voice is steadier—but there’s still a fragility to it, something uncertain.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispers.

You nod, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with your thumb.

“I won’t,” you promise.

He doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

Jamil Viper

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Sharp, impulsive, thrown like a dagger meant to wound.

“Let’s break up.”

The room falls into an unnatural silence.

Jamil stands frozen, his expression unreadable—no anger, no sadness, just… blank. It’s unsettling. You almost wish he’d lash out, argue, anything but this suffocating stillness.

Then, he laughs.

It’s soft, bitter—nothing like the amused chuckles you love hearing from him.

“…Okay,” he says.

Two syllables. Two syllables and he sounds so distant, so removed, like he’s already walking away from this, from you. Like it doesn’t matter.

But it does. It does, you can see it in the way his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, in the way his breath shudders ever so slightly, like he’s forcing himself to stay composed. Like he’s holding himself together by sheer will alone.

“If that’s how little this meant to you…” His voice is calm, even. A practiced neutrality. But you hear it—the smallest break, a splinter of something raw and aching beneath the surface. “Then fine.”

And he turns away.

And you see them.

The tears in his eyes.

He turns too late to hide them from you, but he still tries, tilting his head just enough that you almost don’t catch it. The effort, the control, the desperate attempt to maintain his composure even now.

Your stomach twists violently.

“Jamil.”

You reach for him without thinking, grabbing his wrist, tugging him back. His skin is warm beneath your touch, but his body is stiff, unyielding. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at you.

You don’t let go.

“I didn’t mean it,” you breathe, voice shaking. You’re already shifting closer, hands moving from his wrist to his arm, to his shoulders, to his face, desperate to get him to look at you. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

His breath catches. He still won’t meet your eyes.

“You can’t just say things like that.” His voice cracks, and your heart breaks into pieces. “You can’t.”

The weight of what you’ve done crashes down on you. You had wanted to make him feel the frustration, the anger, the helplessness you’d felt in the heat of the argument. But not like this. Never like this.

His shoulders shake.

“Jamil…” Your hands cradle his face now, fingers trembling as you wipe at the tears streaking his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, he stays frozen beneath your touch.

Then, with a shuddering breath, he moves.

His hands grasp at the fabric of your clothes, clutching onto you as if you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough. The tension that’s held him rigid for so long crumbles, and he presses his forehead against your shoulder, his entire body trembling.

“I don’t want to fight,” he whispers. “I don’t—” A breath, uneven, desperate. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The sheer vulnerability in his voice threatens to unravel you.

“You won’t,” you swear, voice raw with emotion. “You won’t.”

He lets out something like a laugh, but it’s broken, strained, wet with the remnants of unshed tears.

Then, his legs give out beneath him, and you both sink to the floor, tangled together, arms wrapped around each other like lifelines.

Neither of you let go.

Rook Hunt

"Let's break up."

The words barely leave your lips before Rook is on you.

One second, he’s standing before you, the next, he’s grasping at your arms, pulling you close, desperate. His hands tremble as they cradle your face, and his voice—normally so composed, so theatrical in its beauty—is breaking apart at the seams.

"Non, mon amour, non, non, non—tu ne peux pas—please, don’t do this." His words spill out in frantic, overlapping murmurs, a tangled mix of languages, as if one language alone isn’t enough to hold the depth of his despair. His breath is uneven, his hold almost frantic. "Je t’en supplie, tell me this is but a cruel jest. Tell me you do not mean it!"

You’ve never seen Rook like this before.

You've seen Rook in many states—amused, playful, reverent, even solemn—but never like this. Never so utterly shattered. His eyes, always gleaming with some unreadable mystery, are bare now, stripped of all their usual playfulness. He looks at you like a man standing at the gallows, waiting for the final blow.

His hands tighten around you, as though afraid you might slip through his fingers. "I will fix it, I swear it! Whatever it is, however I have failed you, tell me, je t'en prie! Let me make amends!" His voice hitches, and when you finally dare to meet his gaze, your breath catches.

His eyes—so often gleaming with mirth, with mischief—are glossy with unshed tears.

Your heart clenches. "Rook—"

His hands cradle your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin with a reverence that makes your chest ache. "I love you, mon cœur. I love you more than words can weave, more than poetry can hold." His voice breaks—an unsteady breath, barely a whisper—"Ne me quitte pas."

You reach up, pressing your hands over his, steadying them. "Rook, stop."

He freezes, breath caught in his throat, as if waiting for a verdict that will decide his fate.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I didn’t mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then, a sharp inhale—a breath of air after near drowning—and suddenly, he’s crushing you against him, arms winding around you with near bruising force.

"Mon dieu," he breathes, his face buried in your shoulder. "Merci, merci, merci—" His grip tightens, as if he still can’t quite believe it, like he needs to feel every inch of you to be sure you’re still here.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against him, voice thick with emotion.

"Non, mon amour, I'm sorry." He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, shaking his head, remorse etched deep into every line of his face. “I have hurt you, haven’t I? Tell me how, tell me where, and I shall do better, I promise.”

You nod, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Then we’ll both do better."

A breathless laugh escapes him, half relief, half lingering disbelief. And then he's pulling you close again, arms firm around you, his lips pressing against your temple, your hair, your hands—anywhere he can reach as if to assure himself you won’t slip away.

And you let him, because neither of you are willing to let go.

Lilia Vanrouge

"Let's break up."

At first, Lilia laughs.

It’s soft, breathy—almost amused. “Oh, that’s quite the joke,” he chuckles, his usual teasing lilt in place. “You nearly had me for a second.”

You don’t respond. You just look at him, expression unreadable, arms crossed, waiting.

His smile twitches, just barely, but you catch it. His amusement fades as realization sinks in, and something shifts in his eyes.

“…Oh.”

The room feels quieter now, despite the argument that had sparked this in the first place. He tilts his head, as if examining you from another angle will make this not real. Then, slowly, he reaches for you, his movements careful in a way that is deeply uncharacteristic of him. His fingers hover near your face, uncertain, hesitant—like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for you to pull away.

"Come now," he says, softer now, a touch strained. "Don't do this. You don't mean it."

Your lips press into a thin line. You’re still frustrated, still convinced you have a point, but the sight of him—his sharp, knowing eyes turning glassy, the slight tremor in his breath—makes something uneasy settle in your chest.

"Lilia," you say, but you don’t get to finish.

Because he pulls you in.

His grip isn’t suffocating, but it’s desperate. One hand cradles the back of your head while the other clings to your waist, firm and pleading. His breathing is uneven, his usually composed demeanor cracking at the edges.

"I—" He stops, swallows, tries again. "I am sorry. I never meant to make you feel like this." His voice is quiet now, almost fragile. "If you truly wish to leave, I won’t stop you. But please, tell me—tell me this was only spoken in anger."

You exhale, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders, feeling the tension in them. His heartbeat is rapid against your own, and for the first time since knowing him, you think he’s the one who might fall apart first.

"It was," you say at last, barely steady. "I didn’t mean it."

Lilia lets out a breath that shakes, just slightly, before pulling you in impossibly closer. His fingers curl against you, grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he steadies himself.

He exhales a weak laugh against your skin, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You mustn’t be so cruel to this old heart of mine,” he murmurs, his voice uneven with something too raw to name. “One day, you’ll be the death of me.”

His hold lingers—just a little longer than necessary—before he pulls back, just enough to look you in the eyes. There’s something softer in his gaze now, something fragile and achingly sincere.

"Promise me," he says, and though his voice is gentle, it leaves no room for refusal. "Never again."

You huff softly. "Alright."

Lilia presses his forehead to yours, exhaling slowly. “And I’m sorry for pushing you to that point.” His voice is quieter now, reverent. “I love you.”

You nod, your grip tightening around him. “I love you too.”

Lilia hums, gently swaying as he holds you. “Then let’s stay like this a little longer, hm?”

And you do. You stay, wrapped in his arms, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe the lingering ache.

Masterlist

[sa2sugu]

....hi everyone......... i know that some of you already know about this but i have a bl comic that is currently being published on lezhin. it's called "처음의 여름" or "a first of summers". it's explicit and i'd be really happy if anyone who is interested in this type of thing or my art gives it a read.

you can read the english version at: https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/first_summer

(or the korean version here if you're into that): https://lezhin.com/ko/comic/first_of_summers

you can also follow me on twitter: https://x.com/pppanghouse

i have gotten many messages asking me if i was the one behind a first of summers (because apparently my art style is very recognizable i can't hide from you guys!!), and i've been ignoring them for months (sorry, everyone) because i was never fully proud of the work that i was putting out there. i still don't think i am at a point where i can confidently promote my work like a normal person would because me and shame are like this -> 🫂. but i am working on getting better at managing my shame and making this post is a step towards that goal. in a way, i felt more reluctant to post about it here because i see the connections i've made on tumblr as real tangible friendships rather than parasocial ones so it's even more embarrassing.

as a lover of yaoi, slice of life and queer media, i tried to make something that i personally would like to read, in an art style that i would have found inspirational when i started digital art. here are some panels that i am kind of proud of ahh hee hee

to be honest it feels very very weird to "make a story" and "share it with people", because i've never done something like this before and having to offer my personal themes and internal symbols to people in the hopes that some of you may resonate with them feels like i'm running down the street with my whole ass out in the open. idk how people do this.

also, i know a lot of you consume media illegally and i know that i alone can't stop you from doing that. which is why i'm all the more thankful to anyone who chooses to support me by buying the chapters on the official websites. i'm slowly learning that this (working on stories and drawing) might be something i want to keep doing and get better at, so i'm so deeply grateful to those who make that possible for me by supporting me financially. it always feels super nice when people show appreciation for my art and recommend it to other people and talk about it.

anyways, so that's me. i have a lot more to say but this post has already gotten long enough, and none of it includes any information on what the comic is about lol so here's a short synopsis: hyeonseon is a 40yo divorced salaryman who, after having a bit of a midlife crisis about where he is at in life, decides to learn electric guitar. his teacher, yeoreum (which means summer) is a 24yo college student who is also having a bit of a crisis of his own aaaand falls for the older dude. uhhhh and as i said it's explicit they are fucking it oppa homo style, and it does deal with themes related to age gaps but please don't come for meeeee!!!!!!!! i tried to make it tasteful and chose to work with age gaps because i had something to say about the concept of adulthood/life, also i enjoy a dude who's a little old getting dicked down by a younger lad what do you want me to say, damn......

if you have any nice things to say about my work then weeheee please go ahead, thank you

[clockwayswrites]

An abundance of birbs part 33

Masterpost Please no editing or concrit, I know I have missing or swapped words, but I am super fuzzy from this headache. It will get a good edit before ao3. <3

“I’m hiding in here from your children,” Danny said as he came into Bruce’s study. He had a tray of tea and snacks in hand, so he must have been sent up by Alfred.

“That’s more than fair, considering,” Bruce said with a little smile.

Danny just sighed as he set the tray down. “You have video, don’t you.”

Bruce nodded. “Jason sent one and Tim the other. They’re very moving.”

“Yes, Jerry’s love for me is eternal, clearly,” Danny drolled.

“If only Jerry’s father would approve of the union,” Bruce said.

Danny gave a little hum as he poured the tea. “Alas, Damian does seem very resistant to the idea, if the lecture he gave Jerry is any indication. Cream, sugar?”

“A little cream, thank you,” Bruce said and got up from his desk. “And Jerry was being very forward so the lecture may be a little deserved, but who can blame him with those wings.”

“Mister Wayne,” Danny said with an exaggerated gasp, “are you you saying that you’re enamored with my wings?”

Bruce reached out and brushed his fingertips through Danny’s wings. He could play it all off, of course. It could just be part of the rest of their banter. But did he want to? He’s enjoyed having Danny around. The man seemed to just fit with the family. Overall, the children certainly seemed to like him. And, well, Bruce found that he quite liked Danny too. Maybe it was time to take a little risk.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Though the wings are hardly the only thing about you that I’m enamored with.”

Danny blushed so quickly that Bruce was honestly a little concerned bout Danny’s blood pressure. “I—um, oh?”

“Is it that surprising? You’re kind, intelligent, considerate. You protected my children and even before that were gentle and understanding with them. You have a sense of humor and seem able to handle just about anything,” Bruce said, which was almost an understatement with what Danny has been through lately. “And, more shallowly, you’re very attractive, with or without the wings.”

“That—I—oh come on, you of all people can say someone else is attractive!” Danny sputtered.

“Oh?”

“Have you not looked in a mirror recently? You’re the type of person that ‘devastatingly handsome’ was coined for,” Danny said with a gesture at Bruce. “Which is something that I just said out loud. I don’t suppose you want to fire me so that I can run away to a remote island somewhere?”

Bruce chuckled. “Fortunately, I don’t have that sort of power over your job. All that would fall to Lucius.”

“Fortunately?” Danny repeated.

“Umhum. It means that there’s no company policy we’re breaking if we were to date. And there’s no pressure for you to say yes if you’re opposed to the idea,” Bruce said. He very much wanted to make that clear. “And between the press, my reputation, the large family, and the recent rogue attack I know there are a number of reasons to be opposed to the idea.”

“Bruce,” Danny said before Bruce could continue, “are you trying to talk me into dating you or out of it?”

“I well…” Bruce cleared his throat. “I don’t want to assume anything or imply that I am some sort of catch because I hardly am. I am a stubborn man. I have… a rather deep seated anxiety that verges on paranoia at times. It has and can make me overbearing when I try to protect the people I care about. I come with six children, almost as many pseudo children, and a frankly terrifyingly competent butler who is like a father to me. Every relationship I’m in and not actually in ends up in the paper—”

The spiral of words—of reasons he wasn’t good enough for someone like Danny was cut short as Danny pushed himself up on his tiptoes and across the coffee table to press his lips to Bruce’s. Bruce sighed softly into the kiss as it put sudden stop to the unwanted thoughts. Danny left his hand on Bruce’s cheek as he pulled back a little.

“Too forward?” Danny asked. His words and eyes alike were filled with nerves.

“Not at all,” Bruce said quickly. He followed his words up with a quick kiss as proof. “I am sorry about rambling like that. As I said, deeply anxious.”

“Anxious is okay. You’re aware of it. I’m not exactly a paragon of mental health either. I’ve been going to therapy since I was eighteen,” Danny said. His thumb gently stroked Bruce’s cheek. “First off, fuck the press. I can deal with it. Second off, your family is huge and wonderful and not at all something that would stop me, not unless they hated me.”

“They certainly do not hate you,” Bruce assured him.

“Third off,” Danny continued with a little smile, “I guess the anxiety, which we’ve covered. And fourth off, I am also very stubborn and have no problem telling someone to budge off if they’re being too much. So, yeah, we might have lines to find out and some of those we’d find out be crossing them and fucking up, but that’s just part of dating, isn’t it? If any of them become lines that we can’t deal with, well, we’re old enough that I would hope that we could end things maturely.”

“I have a very good track record of remaining friends with my exes, for better or worse,” Bruce said.

“Better or worse?”

“Harvey Dent, as one example.”

“Ah,” Danny said with a little nod. “I’ve heard that he’s been doing better at least?”

“That or he’s planning something big,” Bruce said with a sigh. “But I even I know I should stop talking about an ex with someone that just kissed me.”

“Generally a good rule,” Danny agreed with a little smile. “Does this mean that we’re going to try dating?”

“If I didn’t talk you out of it,” Bruce joked.

“Like I said, I’m stubborn,” Danny pointed out. “But as much as I adore them, I expect at least one dinner out with no children once my wings are gone.”

“Deal,” Bruce agreed easily and leaned down to give Danny a proper kiss.

---

AN:

I didn't plan for the kiss to happen here, but I'll take it!

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

the after party

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: Jaehyun realizes he's going to need to put some real work in to try to win you back. What, he didn't really think it would be easy to win you back, did he?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: profanity, angst, hurt, violence (a fight), drinking alcohol

a/n: THIS IS A PART 2! Read part 1, when the party's over, for context and catch up on more of my fratboy!Jae au!

dividers from strangergraphics <3

taglist! @chishiyapologist @hyunniebuns @cryingforjae @myfavoritedelusion @urlocalbeaner5 @ynzyy @seoksoop @ive-cool

Jung Jaehyun never thought he was stupid before this break up— could he even call it that? He always just figured he had one of those brains that wasn’t quite meant for academics and his strengths laid elsewhere. For a while he was able to convince himself that this was true. But then everything with you happened…

He’d gone and effectively ruined what could have possibly been the best, healthiest, most wonderful, most amazing relationship of his life just because he was a fucking idiot who didn’t know how to properly handle his feelings. Well, no, not an idiot for that reason alone, but more of an idiot because he said horrendous thing to you as a shit defense mechanism. He couldn’t chase after you, he couldn’t watch you leave, he couldn’t reach out, now, he could barely hear your name being said. He watched helplessly as the pictures of the two of you disappeared from your instagram, how one by one your friends all removed him from their following, how you blocked him, how soon enough he was like a ghost who had never even been a part of your life at all. A cautionary tale you’d one day share with your kids when you met the right man. He hated it. He hated it so much.

Every night he laid in bed, staring at his ceiling with a torturous pain in his chest that didn’t subside no matter how hard he cried, how loud he screamed into a pillow, no matter how much he drank, or how much he wrote about it. His actions, his words, the look of absolute pain and betrayal on your face haunted him unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Every time he laid down to clear his mind, there were your tear filled eyes staring at him in horror as his own voice echoed in his head, “what the fuck makes you think you’re so special?” How could he have asked you that?! How could he have spoken to you like that?! You’re the most special girl on campus, in the country, in his life, on the face of this planet! He hates himself for saying that! 

Six weeks have passed of feeling like this. Six long weeks that pass by in a very numb, dull manner. Every day without you is bleak. He misses hearing you talk, he misses kissing you, he misses just being near you. It’s too much for him. Sometimes he’ll catch glimpses of you across campus and go running over to you, ready to fall to your feet and beg for your forgiveness, but one of your friends always sends him a glare that scares him to his core. It’s enough to keep him away from you.

It’s not just your friends that don’t let him forget. Haechan doesn’t make himself shy to drunkenly shout, “Jaehyun, I hate you!” It happens at every frat party Nu Chi hosts. It’s the only time Haechan even looks in Jaehyun’s direction since everything went down. It’s the only time he talks to him or yells at him or acknowledges him. Haechan has made it very obvious whose side he took in the breakup and it’s very obviously not Jaehyun. The other guys are at least more subtle with their disappointment and disapproval. They can pretend to have conversations with him in front of his face while also simultaneously talking about him behind his back. He’s caught Johnny and Taeyong doing that multiple times. 

After 6 weeks of feeling like shit, Jaehyun decides it’s time to at least try to talk to you seriously. Maybe he doesn’t go about it the best way, scratch that, he absolutely does not, but he’s ready to try. He doesn’t want to go home for Thanksgiving break and explain to his family that he fucked up the best relationship he ever had. He’s determined to get you back if it’s the last think he does. 

Jaehyun remembers your schedule for the semester and walks over to your dorm when he knows you’ll be home. In one hand he’s got a bundle of flowers, and in the other he’s got a box of your stuff that you’d left behind. Right, so… maybe returning your stuff wasn’t the best move, but maybe it would open the door to conversation somehow. At least, that’s what he was banking on. 

He knocks, his heart pounding in his chest as he hears shuffling behind the door. There’s quick stomping behind the door and then Ari opens it. He feels disappointment just flood his body, but he keeps his smile on his face. “Hey Ari, is she uh, is she here?” 

He can hear you whisper angrily, “tell him I’m not here!”

Ari recites robotically, “she’s not here.”

Jaehyun nods slowly, shame flooding his body. You don’t even want to see him. That stings like a damn smack to the face. He clears his throat, “well, I brought her things back. I brought her some flowers too. Could you… could you tell her that I’m really sorry? I know I fucked up, but I’d really just like her to know that I didn’t mean anything I said. I would never.”

He can hear you scoff, it sounds close, you must be standing on the other side of the door and he feels his heart pound in his chest. He’s never felt like this before, so nervous and anxious of what someone might think of him. Being around you has never made him feel anxious, yet here you are, 2 feet away and he feels like a kid with a crush all over again.

“Tell him he can fuck off and that I never want to see his stupid fucking face ever again,” comes your harsh whisper. A black garbage bag lands beside Ari’s leg, “and tell him to take his shit too.” Fuck… it was one thing to imagine the level of anger you held toward him, but to hear it hurt unlike anything else.

Ari grabs the bag and thrusts it toward Jaehyun, “she said this is for you.”

Jaehyun takes the bag, feeling a sense of desperation. You’re so close, he’s right here. All he wants to do is talk. He just wants to talk to you and apologize, that’s it. He wants you to know that he didn’t mean anything he said and he would always have a special place in his heart for you. Always. 

“Sweetheart, I— please,” Jaehyun tries. 

Ari’s face pulls into what he assumes to be is a somewhat sympathetic frown, jerking the garbage bag in his direction once more, “this is your stuff.”

The painful feeling in his chest returns. A tight, burning sensation that steals the breath from his lungs and brings a pressure to his eyes. He nods silently, setting the box beside Ari’s feet before taking the bag from her hands. Very weakly he manages to get out, “these are for her.”

Ari takes the flowers, sending Jaehyun a tiny smile before he makes his way down the hall like he has many times before. He hears your door open and he turns with a feeling of bright hope. You’re going to come to him. Everything is going to be ok. He’ll get to apologize, you’ll take him back, and everything will be fine. It’s not you though, it’s just your arm tossing the bouquet of flowers down the hall in his direction. 

His heart drops. 

But he’s not giving up yet.

The next time he tries to talk to you admittedly, isn’t his best work, but it was spur of the moment! He decides to wait outside one of the buildings where your class is being held after one of his lectures ended early. He’s not proud to admit that he’s been studying the schedule of your classes that you sent him before everything went down. Actually, he’s been religiously poring over every interaction the two of you shared. He’s rereading texts, listening to songs you shared, and staring at pictures. He knows that this isn’t a class that you share with any of your friends and on these you walk home alone. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to act.

Luckily, he’s better prepared this time. He’s been thinking about his apology to you on a regular basis. He thinks about it when he showers, when he eats, before bed, during chapter meetings, in class. Every chance he gets to think about what he’s going to say, he uses to practice his words over and over again. By now, he knows the exact words he wants to say, he knows what he wants to apologize for, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he wants you.

He sits on a bench just a couple yards away from your building, anxiously twiddling his thumbs and biting his bottom lip. He thinks he must look crazy. His hair is unkempt, bags under his eyes, and his knee is bouncing anxiously,.The class starts to pour out, but Jaehyun knows well enough that you won’t be one of the first ones out of the class. You like to stay behind to clear up any amount of confusion you had, even if it was just a word you thought you misheard. He finds himself wishing it was last semester all over again when the two of you had that child development class together. God, he’d do anything to go back and do it all over again, but better this time. He wouldn’t let you slip away if he could do it again.

He wipes his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans and stands. His heart starts to race in his chest when he sees you. You look beautiful, radiant even. The warm sun illuminates your hair, making you look like an angel right from heaven. You’re looking down at a piece of paper as you walk down the steps, right in his direction. He hates that he find himself thinking that you look even too pretty, too calm. It doesn’t look like you got your heartbroken just a month ago. You look normal, too normal while he looks like shit. 

He clears his throat and shakes that thought out of his head, exhaling to calm himself before he calls out, “Sweetheart, hey.”

Your head snaps up like someone just scared you. Your eyes are wide, spine straight, and whole body tensed. Jaehyun notices immediately that your body language tells him that you’re uncomfortable. It makes him feel sick.

Your eyes flick up to meet his but you immediately begin walking away from him. Not a word. Not more than a second of eye contact. Just walking away right away.

He starts following you, reaching out to lightly grasp your wrist, “Sweets I just want to talk. You don’t even have to respond-”

You wrench your arm from his touch and his breath catches in his throat. Your gaze is fiery and angry, but your voice is calm, “what the hell makes you think that I would allow you to speak to me again?” Your voice is angry, as is your gaze, but fuck, your eyes look so pretty. The beautiful, deep pools of what he’s discovered is his favorite color to have ever existed. His mind knows it, and his heart certainly knows it too. There’s still a connection between the two of you. Something just clicks when he looks you in the eye.

“I just want to apologize,” Jaehyun stutters, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“And you can continue wanting to do so. Maybe I’ll let you wait and stew around for four months feeling like a total dumbass like you did to me,” you bite at him. 

“Sweetheart, I’m just sorry, alright?” Jaehyun tries again, feeling desperate. It feels like he’s trying to grasp at slippery grains of sand that just keep slipping through his fingers. Why is this so difficult?

“I am too.” You reply shortly, turning on your heel and walking away before he can say anything else. He knows you don’t mean that you’re sorry about what you said during the fight. He knows that your sorry means that you’re sorry you ever wasted your time with him.

His throat feels tight, his eyes burn with unshed tears as he watches you walk away. Nothing has ever hurt as badly as this does. He doesn’t care that past hook-ups could walk by and see him about to cry, he doesn’t care that he’ll look uncool. He cares that he feels helpless, that he won’t get you back. He feels like he fucked up so badly that you might never even look in his direction again. 

But still he refuses to give up until he can actually give you the apology you deserve. He just hates that the mere sight of you makes him clam up and forget everything he had planned to say.

After the last try he starts to go a little crazy. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he had created an extra Instagram account to watch your friend’s Instagram stories. He sees how you practically glow on the screen. You look so ethereal. Like a goddess straight from Mount Olympus. He spends countless nights tapping away through countless friends’ Instagram stories. He sees how they all rally around you with dinner parties, movie nights, partying, and clubbing. In every picture, he can only focus on your face. Your beautiful face smiling so brightly at the camera like nothing horrible has happened to you. Like some dumbass with a 2.0 GPA (barely hanging on by a thread) hasn’t broken your heart and likely made you wary of any romantic interactions to come in the future. Every picture of you, every version of your smiling face, obscured with a plastic cup, covered with a sheet mask, eyes looking elsewhere, is burned into the deep recesses of his mind. How could he have ever hurt someone so beautiful, inside and out?

It’s one of the reasons why he knows you’re at a fucking Alpha Sig party tonight… looking hot as hell in a cute little crop top and your tightest jeans. He sends a mental thank you to Ari for posting a short clip of you guys taking a shot together before you dance off the burning sensation in your throat. It’s the same reason he manages to convince a handful of his own Nu Chi brothers into going to the same party with some weak excuse of fraternity relations.

That’s how he finds himself here, pressed against the wall of the Alpa Sig frat house, hoodie over his head, dead sober as he watches you dance happily with your friends. You look so happy, so carefree, like a love interest right from one of the romance movies you’d made him watch what feels like 100 years ago. Nights where he grumbled about not wanting to watch a stupid romance movie but ended up more invested than you were.

He watched you like he was stuck in some kind of trance. The colored lights flashed and strobed across the crowd of gyrating bodies in what he assumed was the living room when they weren’t partying. He watched as your hips swayed, arms raised as you move to the bone-shaking beat of the house music. He watches as Kira joins you and Ari, watches as she pushes another plastic cup into your hand, he sees how your eyes clench shut at the taste, but you don’t stop drinking whatever you have in your cup. He can’t help the way his eyes track every enticing sway of your hips, how your crop top lifts just a few inches which makes his mouth water. You don’t look inhibited by any kind of break up or broken heart like he does. He looks like some kind of sick and tired ghost summoned to ruin the vibe of the party. Where he used to attract girls like flies to a pot of sweet honey, his frankly off-putting vibe radiates off him so that the only people that can stand to be around him are his brothers that he dragged here. None of them would have ever been found dead at an Alpha Sig party if it weren’t for Jaehyun, and he would have never been found here it it weren’t for you.

He drags his tired eyes away from Yuta and Johnny’s faces, back to you. You and… who the fuck is that touching you?! There’s a random guy pressed to your back with one hand on your hip and the other on your waist, rising slowly until his hand is completely concealed by the tiny t-shirt you wear. He can see the guy dip his head down, whispering something into your ear before his lips begin to press against the slope of your neck. 

Jaehyun is moving before he can even register what he’s feeling. He’s pushing through people until he has his hands on the neck of this asshole who had the guts to touch you. And then Jaehyun’s fist is hitting this guy’s jaw. Then, the punching doesn’t stop. Not when you start to scream and beg Jaehyun to stop. Not when Jaehyun has this guy on the floor beneath him. Not when the broken skin on his knuckles starts to sting. Not when the music stops. He can’t help it, he can’t stop himself. “She’s mine you fucking asshole! How dare you?!” He yells and it feels euphoric. It feels like the only way he can get out any fraction of the pain he’s been feeling for a month and a half now. 

Four hands haul Jaehyun off the douchebag. A panting douchebag who sits up and smiles smugly at Jaehyun before calling out, “you punch like a bitch!”

Johnny and Yuta grunt while they drag Jaehyun out of the house, where the cold air of the night feels like a splash of ice cold water against his face. A refreshing feeling that lasts for only a second before you’re storming down the stairs with tears streaming down your cheeks before you’re coming at him and roughly shoving his chest. He shouldn’t feel his heart skip a beat when your hands touch him, but he does. 

You shove him again, “who the fuck do you think you are?! Huh?”

“Sweetheart, he was touching all up on you. I wasn’t going to just stand and watch it happen,” he explains while he holds his hands up in mock defense.

Your tears don’t stop, your breathing quickens, “and what if I wanted him to touch me? What makes you the all knowing genius for what I want and don’t want? Why the fuck does that matter?!”

His breath catches in his throat and the harsh feel of your hands on his chest makes him take a faltering step back, “b-but that’s not you. You don’t… you don’t do stuff like that.” He knows you don’t. You made it very clear to him when you first met that his flirting wasn’t going to get him into your pants and even when he genuinely tried, it took him weeks to get you to see that he had real feelings for you. 

“Yeah?” You breathe out, using the back of your hand to wipe away your mascara-mixed tears, “how well did my normal work out for me with you? God forbid a girl just wants to have a good time.”

He feels his ears ring, eyes widen, had he hurt you so badly that you were just going to go around and do whatever with random men? Not even random men, a fucking Alpha Sig brother?! That’s lower than low. That’s even lower than the bar he had set in hell for you.

His voice sounds broken, “have a good time with me!”

You scoff, your face twisting into one of disgust, “you’re a piece of shit, Jung Jaehyun.”

You’re turning on your heel and practically running away from him before he can respond, but this time he doesn’t just let you walk away. He’s made that mistake twice before and only idiots let the same mistake happen three times. 

He’s moving after you quickly, desperately calling out, “I’m sorry!”

Johnny is in front of him before he can get too far, too close to you. His hand is gripping the back of Jaehyun’s hoodie, preventing him from running any further. “You have to let her go right now, dude,” Johnny tells him calmly.

Jaehyun sidesteps to get around his taller best friend but Johnny won’t let that slide. He anticipates every single one of Jaehyn’s moves. Jaehyn feels his breathing speed up, he’s clutching at the front of his hoodie like the fabric is suffocating him, “Johnny, please. I have to apologize.”

“She doesn't want to hear it right now. Nothing good would come of a conversation between the two of you right now,” Taeyong adds quietly.

Jaehyun’s eyes widen as he turns to face his friends surround him with a wild look in his eyes, “do you guys want me to be fucking miserable forever? I need her back!”

“You fucked up, Jaehyun! Do you know that?” Johnny yells, stepping forward to shove Jaehyun roughly until he’s stumbling back. A swift smack to the back of his head follows the harsh shove.

“I know that! You don’t think that I don’t think about that afternoon on a daily basis?!” Jaehyun screams back, while rubbing the back of his head.

Haechan steps in now, who knows where the hell this kid came from, “no! You need to sit here and really think about what the hell you’ve made her go through. You let her enter a relationship with you under the pretense that you would some day become her boyfriend. The second you heard that word you became some kind of mega asshole and broke her heart.” Jaehyun goes to argue, but Haechan stops him with a hand held up, “I’m not done, dumb fuck. This apology, this little search for forgiveness to make yourself feel better doesn’t happen on your time. It will happen when and if she’s ready. You don’t get to keep cornering her and constantly fucking reminding her of the pain you’ve put her through.”

The group around them is silent, everyone listening and waiting with bated breath to hear what their suddenly-super-wise younger brother will say next, “if you choose to pull some kind of stupid shit like this on one of my best friends again, I pray that some higher power has some mercy on you, because I won’t stop beating the shit out of you until I feel like it, and I have a lot of anger I need to take out on you.”

“I’ve been there for the handful of phone calls where she cried herself to sleep, the nights where she screamed and cursed your name, and the days when finally, she started feeling better and had the strength to haul herself out of bed after you broke her heart. So yeah, I have a lot of anger toward you so if that means I whale on you for more than a day, then it happens,” Haechan shrugs as if he just said the most casual thing on the planet, “so get your head out of your ass. Stop being selfish and leave her the fuck alone.”

The group that stands on the sidewalk outside the Alpha Sig house is still and quiet, probably more than they ever have been. The weight of Haechan’s words sit heavily in the air between all of them. They know it’s true, they know Haechan is right. It’s just that none of them have had the strength to say anything because Jaehyun has been so clearly distraught after the break up. Even Jaehyun knows he needed to hear it. Haechan is right… Jaehyun hasn’t even considered if you want to see him. He’s only been acting on what he feels.

Doyoung clears his throat, breaking the silence with, “I just thought I’d let you guys know that the Alpha Sig guys aren’t going to report Jaehyun. I convinced them not to make a complaint to the dean when I reminded them how often they’re brothers have been thrown out for preying on people at our parties. You’re just banned from any Alpha Sig events for a lifetime.”

Jaehyun nods numbly, letting out a weak, “thanks, bro.” Fuck, he hadn’t even considered that he could have gotten thrown out of school or even thrown in jail! He just fucking assaulted someone! He acted on his anger and his instincts the second he saw that asshole’s hands and lips on you. 

He breaks down then, he falls to his knees with his shoulders shaking and his head in his hands. Everything is such a fucking mess! He hasn’t made any progress with you. In fact, he’s probably pushed you even further away from him. He’s basically failing all his classes because the only thing that can stay in his mind is you. You and how he hurt you and how good he had it and good he could have been having it now if he just hadn’t been a goddamn idiot! And now he just beat up one of his peers and could have been sent to jail, because once again, he acted without thinking properly!

His hands feel numb, a strange tingling sensation that spreads all the way up his fingers and into his brain as he pushes his palms against his eyelids. His shoulders shake with the force of his crying, deep, pained sobs escape his throat. He knows he has no one to blame but himself. It just hurts so damn bad. 

He recognizes Johnny’s cologne and when he pries his swollen, tear-filled eyes open he looks up to see his best friend holding him. It’s comforting, like the hug of an actual older brother. An overwhelming stench of sweat, alcohol, and strong cologne engulfs Jaehyun next. A group hug. He let’s out a watery laugh.

Johnny squeezes his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “everything is gonna work out, bro. You just gotta give it some time. Thanksgiving break is just a few days away, and a week at home will give you some time to clear your head.”

Jaehyun wipes his eyes, “you think so?”

“We know so. Just be patient, be forgiving to yourself. Be patient and let yourself process your emotions,” Taeyong adds with a gentle smile.

It’s a week until the end of the semester when Jaehyun sees you again. Two weeks since he last saw you. 9 weeks since everything went to shit. 

It’s finals week and Jaehyun has decided to refocus himself and get his grades up so he doesn't flunk out of school. He finds that his breath still hitches but his steps don’t falter like they did before. His instincts scream at him to go up to you and try to apologize again, but he doesn’t. He won’t admit that he’s genuinely scared of Haechan’s threat to beat his ass… but he is. It also helps that he got some very sage advice from his parents when he got home and poured his heart out to them. 

He sits in a chair, with his back to you as he pulls his laptop open. A half done study guide fills his screen and he finds himself smiling. A study guide, the library, you. This is how it all began. He doesn’t think he believed in signs before, but this has to be one. 

Nothing happens that day, but he finds that he’s finally alright with that. 

It’s the last night before Jaehyun leaves for winter break when there’s a knock on the door of his room. He’s in his room packing his bags to head home for the holidays. Johnny knocks on his open bedroom door, “hey bro, there’s uh- there’s someone here to see you.”

“Me?” Jaehyun asks, looking up from the clothes he’s been haphazardly stuffing in his duffel bag.

From behind Johnny, you step out and Jaehyun’s heart skips a beat. Your eyes flicker up from the hardwood floor to meet his and there’s that familiar click of just… universal correctness. You clear your throat, hands nervously fiddling in front of your body, “hey.”

“Hey,” he breathes out, the cotton in his hands dropping onto the mess of his bag.

Johnny backs away slowly, leaving the two of you alone.

It’s strange having you here in his room again. It’s not a bad strange, it feels right, but he also knows that this room holds a lot of memories for the two of you, not all of them good. The room where everything happened. The room where everything ended.

“How are you?” You ask slowly.

Jaehyun nods, a little too eagerly, “good, I’m good. You?”

“Same,” you breathe out awkwardly. The room is tense. You shake your head, before exhaling quickly, “look, I came because I don’t want to start the new year on bad terms with anybody. I owe you an apology, Jaehyun. I’m sorry I drudged up my insecurities and basically slut-shamed you again. I know we fixed it one time, so we shouldn't have had to do it twice. I was insecure and hurt I should have thought about what I said before I spoke. Even though things between us didn’t work out, I didn’t want either of us, especially you, to go into the new year thinking that I was ashamed of what you decided to do with your own body and your own time before we were even together.”

Jaehyun nods, he’s stunned. He doesn’t think you have anything to apologize for. “Th-thanks,” he stammers out.

You nod to yourself, “well, that’s all I had to say. Have a good break, Jaehyun.”

Before you turn to leave, Jaehyun’s voice comes out quietly, “can I get my apology out too, please? I’ve been needing to do this for over two months. You don’t have to accept it, you can say no, but I need to do this.”

Your eyes are wide, your body language tells him you’re clearly stunned, and nervous. Despite that, you nod, “yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath, giving himself a mental pep talk before his eyes are on you again. Comfort floods his system and he begins  his apology that he’s been practicing for weeks now. “You deserve better than what I gave you. No girl deserves to go through how I treated you and how I spoke to you.”

You nod silently and he continues, “it’s not an excuse but I owe you an explanation. It’s no secret that I haven’t been in a committed relationship in a long time. It’s something that I guess I’ve forgotten how to handle. I’ve never been with anyone that made me want to be in anything committed until you. I’d been feeling nervous and insecure for months, but I didn’t know how to say that to you. I didn’t know how to tell you, the most amazing girl I’ve ever met, that I was scared that I wasn’t good enough for you. I got into my head about it, the thought had been plaguing me for weeks and the day everything went to shit… I just gave up. I didn’t try to say exactly what I was feeling and I let old habits take over. I didn’t mean anything I said and I hate that I said all of that. When it was happening I just felt like I was watching myself act like a dick and I couldn’t stop myself.”

He pauses, taking a beat to calm himself down before he starts to get anxious again, “I should have chased after you. I should have told you that it was alright for your friend to come party with us, but I was scared. I meant it when I said I haven’t been a boyfriend in a long time. I’ve been acting like the total opposite for most of my college experience. I’m the guy that girls warn their friends not to get attached to. I didn’t want that to be how we ended up. I wanted to be better for you. I still do. I should have given you time to process what happened instead of cornering you and forcing you to listen to my groveling and I sure as hell shouldn’t have resorted to violence when you weren’t doing anything wrong. Actually, I shouldn’t have resorted to violence at all.”

“I really miss who I was with you. I miss the way you made me feel. You made me feel giddy and warm and loved in a way I have never felt. What I feel for you isn’t some kind of puppy love like I felt for Hana. It’s real and I’ll be kicking my ass for the rest of my life for not telling you how I really feel. I love you and that is so fucking scary for me to admit because it’s never felt this strong or this real. I’m not saying this to try to sway you in my direction. I won’t blame you for moving on or leaving right now, but I owed you this apology. I’ve owed you this apology for months now. I’ll completely understand if you don't forgive me, I don’t think I would,” his shoulders drop, feeling an immense weight off of his shoulders, “that’s it. I’ll let you on your way now, I’ve stolen enough of your time.”

“How do you know?” He hears you ask and it’s then that he really looks at you, not just the spot over your head so he didn’t lose his train of thought. You have tears lining your eyes, shining in the overcast light that streams in through his blinds. 

He fights his every instinct to drop at your feet and comfort you. His brows pinch softly, “how do I know what?”

“How do you know that you love me?” Comes your reply, voice thick with emotion and followed by a sniffle. 

“Because no one makes me feel the way you do. Whether it’s good or bad, it’s invigorating. You’re on my mind with everything I do. I put extra effort in everything I do because I want to be better for you. Because your laugh has become my favorite sound, the color of your eyes is my favorite color, your shampoo is my favorite scent. Because my bed has felt lonely without you in it and my heart has a you shaped hole in it. When I picture my future, it’s you by my side in every single scenario that I imagine. I imagine myself cheering you on at graduation. I imagine us in our own apartment someday and I even think about stupid shit like you and I someday studying together again. You make loving seem like something less anxiety inducing like I once thought and instead make it something I regret ever fighting. Being in love with you is so damn easy because you’re the most lovely, lovable, loving person on the face of the planet and I have been lucky to discover this feeling with you.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand to suppress a sob, moving across the small space between the two of you to hug Jaehyun tightly. Your tears soak his sweats and he just holds you, letting you let out your emotions while he rubs a warm hand up and down your back. With a shuddering breath you pull away from his hold to look him in the eye, his thumbs swipe away the tears under your eyes as his hands move up to gently cup your face. “I accept your apology, Jaehyun. I…” you stop yourself, your eyes clearly reflecting the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling, “I was going to tell you that I loved you too that week when everything happened. For a week I convinced myself that I hated you but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I hated myself for still loving you even after everything you said. Love doesn’t go away easily.”

His heart soars. A life of pure joy escaping his lips as he fighting his arms around you and tuck his face into the crook of your neck, “holy shit, you mean it?”

He can feel you nod, “I do. I do mean it. But Jaehyun… I’m not going to give you a second chance if there’s any doubt in your mind about me or us. Be honest with me and tell me if you think there’s any chance that you think we won’t last.”

He meets your gaze, leaning in until his forehead meets your own. His voice is low but there’s not a shred of doubt in his voice, “I know I hurt you. I know I fucked up. I will regret it until the day I die, but I also know that I am yours, completely and utterly yours until you get tired of me. I will work every day, harder than the last to earn back your trust and not only tell you, but show you how much I love you and care for you.”

“I can’t do this again if we can’t commit to each other. I won’t put myself in that position again.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to put you in that position. I want you and you alone. Give me any title you want, boyfriend, husband, fiancé. If you want me to get down on one knee in the middle of the student union if you want me to. You could call me your son for all I care. I just don’t want you to have any sliver of doubt in your mind that I don’t want this, us, to work out. I want this for this long run. I want us to be like Noah and Ally in the old folks home and the only thing we remember is each other. I want you forever,” he tells you with a bright smile. 

You laugh and his heart skips a beat, “they die at the end Jae.”

“By the time we’re old, science will have discovered a way to get us to live forever and get us to work because every government are capitalistic machines. That’s beside the point— our love is going to last forever.” 

Your smile gentles, wariness still swims in the depths of your eyes, “you know, just because you confess that you love me and apologize doesn’t mean that you’re completely off the hook. Like I need you to understand that my trust has to be earned and you have to work for it.”

Jaehyun feels a wave of relief, “I absolutely understand you loud and clear. It’s clearer than crystal.”

“Don’t make me regret giving you a second chance,”  you whisper quietly, “please, don’t make me regret this, Jaehyun.”

“I promise. I swear. I swear on my own life, and if I let you down, then I’ll let Haechan go apeshit on me like he threatened,” Jaehyun’s thumbs gently rub at the fullness of your cheeks, “so please, will you please be mine officially? Will you be my girlfriend, please?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” you smile up at him.

His lips are on yours in the blink of an eye. Jaehyun feels like he’s going to cry, hands gently clutching at the soft skin of your jaw as he kisses you with a tender passion. His lips move against your own in a way that just feels natural, like he was made to do it. It’s never felt like this with anyone else, he doesn’t need to try it with anyone else, because he knows this is what is right. 

He pulls back with his chest heaving, a smile on his face, “I think I owe you about a million more kisses to make up for lost time and to win your trust back.”

“We have time,” you reply with a sweet smile. Fuck, he’s missed seeing that smile up close.

“No, a million kisses today. I’ve already lost like 12 hours. Let’s stop talking.”

[zorosangell]

Hi!!! First off I wanna say how AMAZING ur writing is like truly WOW. I loveee how you write jealous Zoro, but I neeeedd some jealous, possessive reader. Reader don’t play about Zoro just as much as he don’t play about her. You can also totally add some spice if you want *wink wink*

⛥ﾟ・。 stall

synopsis: after you catch a girl trying to spike zoro's drink, all hell breaks loose... hell being you.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, a whole lot of profanity, reader's crashout is incredibly valid, reader is a BADDIE, nami is a down ass bitch, girl talk, zoro looooves his girl.

a/n: i'd be this crazy too if I had zoro as a bf

"Look at her! All giggly and shit... he's never said anything that funny his whole life," you huffed, brows furrowed and lip jutted in a pout as you watched from the window of the bathroom door.

"She is kinda hammin' it up," Nami agreed, peaking along with you. "But that doesn't explain why you dragged me out here."

"'Cause I needed someone to spy with. And I didn't wanna look crazy doing it at a table."

"Hon', you look crazy now!"

"Hey!"

With a harsh sigh, you came off your tippy-toes, your heels making a soft clack against the bathroom tile as you turned to your red-headed friend.

"I do not!"

"(y/n), you are in your best dressed while stalking your boyfriend from the grimy bathroom of a dive bar," she deadpanned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I love you... but this is insane."

Slowly, you deflated, shoulders slightly sinking at the facts presented for you.

It did look kind of crazy.

'A warranted kind of crazy...'

The girl out there with the annoyingly silky hair and infuriatingly beautiful dress had been practically throwing herself at Zoro since the moment she saw him.

And it had only been a week since you and the crew arrived at Asaashi.

The Sunny was in need of repairs, so the crew docked at a nearby port island in order to give Franky enough space and time to fix her up.

And guess who happened to be the harbormaster?

Every day, without fail, she had managed to tail your swordsman, following him and showering him with praise whenever she could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before she came barging in with some excuse like a pirate crew she needed help collecting from or boats she needed help destroying.

You knew Zoro had never—and would never—entertain her advances, but being his girlfriend, you couldn't help but feel some type of way.

"She knows exactly who I am, and she knows exactly what she's doing," you stated, firmly, pointing at the window. "I can't just sit around and do nothing, Nami."

"Well, hanging out in the bathroom surely isn't helping."

With a sigh, she stepped closer, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"You've got more history with that idiot than that girl could ever know. And if you actually think she has a shot with him, then maybe you aren't as smart as I thought you were..."

"Hey!"

Amused, Nami let out a small snicker, before focusing on the task at hand.

"You're his girlfriend. And you've got every right to walk out there and plop yourself down on his lap. Kiss him! Shove your tongue down his throat! Lay your claim, girl! Men do it all the time."

Surprised, your nose scrunched.

"Really?"

"You think Zoro starts getting hot and heavy with you whenever Sanji's around just for fun?"

She paused a moment, thinking about her statement.

"Well... yes, for fun, but it's also a power-play."

Shaking her head, she returned to her point.

"So be bold! Take charge! Show that bitch who's boss!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

With new determination, you turned on your heel, throwing the bathroom door wide open and storming out.

Only to immediately rush back in.

"She's coming! Hide!"

"(y/n)!"

Quickly, you snatched up Nami's wrist, dragging her into a stall and shutting the door just in time for the woman and her friend to walk in.

"Oh, my god, Siva, the guy you're talking to is so hot," the friend commended, audibly plopping her bag down on one of the sinks. "Where did you find him?"

"At work," she smirked, going straight for the mirrors to check her makeup. "His crew's been docked here for about a week. We've been getting to know each other better."

"I'm surprised a man like him isn't snatched up already," the friend remarked, slowly gliding the bright red lipstick across her lips.

"Oh, he is," Siva grinned, her lips curling in an almost witch-like expression. "But she's practically out the picture already."

At that, anger began to bubble in your stomach, your brows furrowing at the statement.

'Oh, she fuckin' didn't.'

Just as you were about to open the door, Nami looped her arms under your armpits, frantically holding you back.

"Clearly not enough. He hasn't touched you all night," the friend reminded, beginning to touch up her eye shadow.

"All week," Siva corrected, annoyed, as she grabbed something out her dress pocket. "But this little baby's gonna change all that."

You and the navigator paused your struggle for a moment, brows quirking as you both peeked in the crack of the stall to see what she was holding.

It was a small bottle.

"Few drops of this in his sake and he'll be up for anything."

"Few drops? He'll need ten bottles just to get a buzz," the friend scrunched her nose.

"Nuh-uh. Whole bottle's enough to kill a dragon."

You were clenching your fists so hard, your knuckles were turning white.

"What about the girlfriend?" the friend asked, amused.

"What about her? She'll be old like last week's shoe sale. Tossed out and left with the trash."

"Girl, you are bad..."

"It's good to be."

"Y'know what's gonna be really good?!"

Without hesitation, you kicked open the stall door, the resounding boom scaring the shit out of them

"When I kick your fucking ass!"

Seamlessly, you kicked off your heels before launching forward, grabbing Siva by her silky hair and letting off a rapid-fire round of punches, her poor balance easily taking you both to the ground.

"My extensions!" Siva shrieked as you tossed a clump of fake hair, attempting to lift her arms in order to shield her face.

"Siva!" the friend gasped, quickly moving to assist. "Don't worry! I'll get her!"

"Get who?" Nami scoffed, hopping on one foot as she attempted to take off her heels and take out her earrings. "You're not jumping my girl, bitch!"

Stalling for time, Nami stepped on the girl's toes with the point of her heel before finally managing to get it off, promptly snatching her up before she could grab you.

"Get the fuck off me, you fucking cunt!" Siva spat as you continued to throttle her head.

"Shut the fuck up!" you barked, tossing her into a tiled wall.

"Oh, that is fucking it!" she growled, brows furrowed and newly invigorated.

"C'mon, bitch! I'm right here!"

With a roar of anger, she charged you, slamming you both against another wall before you flipped her over and tackled her out the bathroom, taking the door completely off its hinges.

"Keep fuckin' trying me, hoe! I'm not scared of you!" you spat, the two of you right back where you started as you grabbed her hair once again, slamming her head against the hard wood of the door—Nami still being in a fist fight with the friend in the bathroom.

"Ohhhh, shit! Cat fight!" a random patron exclaimed, calling the attention of the entire bar.

Everyone cheered, letting out shouts of oohs and aahs as you whooped the woman's ass, the sight honestly a marvel as you did so effortlessly, without devil fruit powers nor freakish strength to back you up.

Just will and a whole lot of grit.

Though, it wasn't long before a certain pair of strong arms grabbed you, pulling you away from the woman as you frantically thrashed around like an angry cat.

None other than your boyfriend.

"No, Zoro! M'not done beatin' her ass!" you whined, attempting to wiggle out of his tight grip.

"Yes, you are," he shut down, instantly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're leaving."

"Nami-swan, please! A goddess like yourself shouldn't dirty your hands with things like this!" Sanji pleaded, attempting to pry your red-headed friend off the other girl.

"Fuck that! This bitch tried to pull my hair out!"

"Yeah! Run away, bitch!" Siva taunted, sitting up from the ground with a painful wince.

"Run away?!" you scoffed, eyes wide. "Oh, hell nah! Zoro, let me go!"

"No," he denied, tossing you over his shoulder before starting toward the door. "Let's go, cook! Hurry the hell up!"

"Give me a damn second! She's got a death hold on her!" Sanji grunted, finally managing to loosen Nami's grip on the friend's neck before pulling her off.

"My fucking teeth!" Siva screeched, cupping at least five in her palm with horror.

"Thank my man, bitch! He's the only reason you're still breathing!" you barked, grabbing a nearby man's drink and tossing it at her. "Have fun suckin' sailor dick, toothless!"

"Fuck you!"

"Eat my ass!" you pulled down your eyelid, sticking out your tongue as you waved around a humongous chunk of hair. "Bald-headed bitch!"

The following shriek was high enough to shatter glass, but it sounded like music to your ears as you laughed, tossing her extensions on the ground as Zoro finally exited the bar.

With a sigh, he started in the direction of the Sunny—per Sanji's instructions—glancing back at you with a raised brow.

"You wanna tell me what all that was back there?" he asked.

Slowly coming down from your high, your shoulders slightly sank, arms crossing over your chest.

"She won't be coming around you anymore," you huffed, firm and final.

At that, Zoro finally realized what this was all about, forcing a small smirk to curl on his lips.

Letting out a chuckle, he pressed a soft kiss against your thigh, his large palm giving your ass a quick squeeze.

"Crazy woman..."

[issues4him]

➼ firefighter!rafe flirts with teacher!reader during the class field trip :]

cw : flirting, tension

the second your school bus pulled into the firehouse parking lot, your stomach twisted. you’d been mentally preparing all morning—lesson plan printed, permission slips triple-checked, bus snacks secured, and twenty sugar-high second graders bouncing in their seats behind you like they’d pre-gamed with red bull. the only thing you hadn’t been ready for was him.

there he was. leaning against the open bay door like a walking cliché, rafe cameron, clad in a tight gray station tee and those stupid navy pants with the suspenders hanging loose at his hips. one hand was gripping a rag, wiping off whatever grease he’d just gotten into. the other was casually hooked in his belt loop. and then he looked up—right at you. his smirk could’ve melted steel. you swallowed, hard, “well, well,” he called out as you stepped off the bus, clipboard clutched to your chest. “look who finally brought her whole fan club.”

you didn’t look at him. you couldn’t. not when you already felt your cheeks warming. “be nice,” you said under your breath, forcing a smile as your students began piling off behind you like an unhinged stampede. “they’ve been excited all week.”

he didn’t miss a beat. leaned in just slightly, voice lower, smoother, “didn’t say i was talkin’ about the kids.”

you blinked, “w-what?”

he only smirked wider and turned to the group, voice booming, “alright, little rascals—who wants to see the fire truck?”

a sea of hands shot up, shrieks of “ME!!”’s echoing through the lot. you took a steadying breath, reminding yourself you were a professional. you were in charge. you were not affected by the man currently holding a five-year-old like a football while explaining hose pressure. well… okay, you were a little affected.

inside the station, it was a kid’s dream—red everything, shiny trucks, walls lined with helmets and gear. you walked behind your class, occasionally reminding them to not touch anything, even as rafe encouraged it with a crooked grin and a wink your way, “we don’t usually let people climb inside,” he said, lifting one of your smaller students up to the front seat. “but i guess i can make an exception. miss is bein’ real persuasive.”

you rolled your eyes, yet unable to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks, “please stop flirting with me in front of seven-year-olds.”

“technically, i’m flirting at you. they’re just witnesses.”

you made a strangled noise, faking a cough to hide your smile as one of your kids yanked on your sweater sleeve, “miss,” they whispered behind a cupped hand, eyes wide and serious, “i think the firefighter has a crush on you.”

you froze, “oh?” you said, voice an octave too high. “why do you think that?”

the kid shrugged. “he keeps staring at you like how my daddy stares at my mommy.”

lovely.

later, during the equipment demo, rafe knelt beside one of the kids, patiently explaining how the hose connects to the hydrant. he looked completely in his element—calm, focused, his big hands moving confidently as the child watched with open-mouthed awe.

and then he looked up at you, “y’know…” he said casually, standing and dusting off his palms, “i think i’m pretty good with kids.”

you raised a brow. “thinking of a career change?”

he tilted his head, “nah. just thinkin’ you and me would make a solid team someday.”

your jaw dropped. he grinned like the cocky bastard he was and walked off before you could respond, leaving you standing there speechless, flustered, and violently aware of the way he looked in those pants.

at the end of the visit, while your class gathered near the bus for a group photo, rafe waved you over, “c’mon, teach, gotta get you in the picture too.”

“oh—i’m good behind the camera—”

“nope.” he took your clipboard and handed it to a fellow firefighter, then gently pulled you in. his arm slid around your waist, low and warm and way too casual for your fragile heart. you barely heard the countdown. all you could feel was him—tall and solid beside you, his hand pressing against your hip, the faint smell of smoke and soap on his shirt. the camera clicked. you stepped back fast, heart racing.

once the kids were loading back onto the bus, rafe walked you over quietly. the teasing was gone from his voice now—something a little softer had replaced it, “you did good today.”

you looked up at him, “so did you.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, like he was working up the nerve, “…you free sometime? without twenty small humans between us?”

you blinked, “are you asking me out, firefighter cameron?”

he grinned. “is it workin’?”

you bit your lip, cheeks hot, “…kinda.”

“good.” he winked, then stepped back as the bus door closed behind you.

and as you took your seat behind the kids, still breathless, still flushed, your favorite student turned around and whispered, “told you he liked you.”

you didn’t even try to deny it

[demonic0angel]

Danny travels to Gotham to check out the university and to visit Jazz, when Shades starts approaching him, begging him, to kill a clown called Joker. Ever since Danny took down a GIW satellite that put Amity into a media black out and blocked their calls to the Justice League, Danny's been able to more easily look up information outside of what goes on in Amity Park. The Shades can feel the power Danny tries to keep hidden and can sense he's a protective spirit. Danny learns from the Shades that Batman refuses to kill even though the Joker has hurt him and his family, including killing the second Robin. Danny is conflicted since he knows that sometimes protecting means killing and that killing is wrong. Danny also has clown trauma, so maybe dragging the Joker to court in the Ghost Zone for a proper trial would work, especially since Gotham's a corrupt city. The next time Joker shows his face in Gotham, Danny is still in town by coincidence, Phantom appears before Joker's latest attack starts piling a body count and freezes him before hauling him to the infinite realms for trial. The Bats are stunned

(May I introduce you to this post?)

Tim leaned in close to Dick. “Shouldn’t we do something to help?”

“We don’t know what’s happening right now. And besides, Jason is up there with the king. We have to be careful,” Dick said carefully.

The Ghost King sat on his throne at the judge’s place, where two other guards stood near him, one wearing flowery motifs and the other looking like the Egyptian god Anubis. All three of them looked solemnly at the Joker, who was grinning like a loon as he sat in the defendant’s seat.

The courtroom they were in was crowded and bubbling with noise. Ghosts and monsters sat in the stands and jury. Dick was pretty sure he could recognize one of Tim’s Young Justice friends sitting amongst the jury, but he wasn’t too sure.

Multiple hero teams had also found their way inside of the Ghost Realm in order to be here for the Joker’s trial. Bruce sat next to them, stone faced and clenching his fists. Dick glanced at him but wasn’t able to say anything as the King then stood up, silencing the room.

“You have a choice,” the Ghost King said, addressing the Joker. “For this trial, we’ve decided to do something different for only one time. In this trial, you, the defendant, are allowed to choose the attorney for the plaintiff’s side. The plaintiffs are also able to choose the attorney for you.”

Immediately, multiple people from the audience stood up in protest.

Dick cried, “That’s not fair!”

He was immediately silenced by the Ghost King’s glare as the Joker’s smile widened. Dick ground his teeth together, about to speak up again, when Tim pulled him down.

“Shush, I think there’s a plan,” Tim said and Dick reluctantly sat back down, grimacing. He glanced in Jason’s direction, where he sat stiffly in a sea of victims. There were so many of them that they looked like another part of the audience, all pale faced and bloody, many of them crawling back from the gaping maw of the Dead to see Joker’s demise.

And now it was going to be ruined with this new random rule.

Dick had thought the Ghost King was fair and just, but had he been wrong?

The plaintiffs were allowed to choose the Joker’s attorney first, and they chose Impulse, who had been horrified to be chosen before he seemed to receive some sort of signal from Tim, because he then looked determined and sat in Joker’s space, although very far away.

“The person defending the plaintiffs’ case is Impulse, who’s last name is Allen, once Kid Flash, a hero within the team Young Justice,” the Ghost King announced.

There were some claps. Dick watched the proceedings nervously, almost wanting to throw up.

It was soon the Joker’s turn.

He hummed and his beady eyes scanned the room. He was still grinning when he zeroed in on a woman in the back.

Her red hair covered her face as she bent over her computer, trying to look small as she typed away. She was clearly some sort of court reporter and was keeping to herself, tucked into a corner.

Dick’s heart immediately dropped into his stomach.

“I choose her,” the Joker crooned and the crowd went silent, staring in horror.

The Ghost King said, “Are you sure?”

The Joker nodded, smirking.

There was silence as the plaintiffs immediately seemed to give up, some even bursting into tears.

The Ghost King, however, threw his head back and laughed loudly. He laughed so loudly and so humorously that it was almost funny, if not even more baffling. Even when looking at Bruce, he had no idea what was going on either. The room began to buzz again with confusion.

Finally, the Ghost King reached beneath his mask to wipe away a tear and called to the red haired woman, “Jazz! You’re up!”

She looked up and smiled. When she straightened and stood up, the room fell silent as she rose to her full height, smoothing down her pencil skirt as she tucked away her computer and chirped cheerfully, “Reporting for duty, Your Majesty.”

There was no worry or anxiety on her face. Instead, there was excitement in her eyes and smile as she walked down from where she had been sitting behind the throne to stand near the plaintiffs.

They too, fell silent, staring at her tall frame in awe. Dick was pretty sure he could see Jason’s jaw drop.

Which, real.

But the real shock was the Ghost King’s next words.

The Ghost King smiled as he gestured to the woman standing near the plaintiffs side. “May I introduce you to the person defending the plaintiffs’ case. Introducing Jazz Nightingale, sister of the Ghost King, the Attorney General of the Ghost Zone, a recent graduate of Yale University who graduated summa cum laude for both law and psychiatry, and former queen regent of the Infinite Realms.”

Jazz gave a wave and a small smile.

The Ghost King tipped his head at the Joker, whose smile fell off his face for the first time.

The volume inside of the room rose rapidly as everyone immediately burst into screams of either delight or shock. Dick wasn’t exempt from this either, gasping as his eyes widened. He stood up and planted his hands on the table in excitement, barely able to believe his eyes and ears. He was pretty sure Bruce and Tim were doing the same.

The Ghost King smirked as he gazed into the Joker’s terrified eyes.

“You’ve fucked up.”

[oystermark]

Mohawk Mark x M!Reader (Suggestive)

synopsis: you're the only man version of yourself across all mark universes, still, he seems to recognize you just fine.

A/N: i wanted to make this longer with sinister and no goggles mark but it has been almost a year since i wrote anything and i got really tired.. but i can take requests. having said that im sorry if this is shit, its been a while.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

You sigh wearily as you drag your feet out of your bathroom, a towel wrapped around your hips as you use another one to dry your hair. It has been… a long week to say the least. Your boss decided that you’re the guy to pawn off every little responsibility to, you’ve been sitting on your office desk like a shrimp for weeks, you arch and crack your back with a satisfied moan.

You pick up your phone and toss the towel on your hand to your couch as your eyes drift to the news blaring on your TV.

“Multiple versions of Invincible have been spotted around the city—”

You feel your heart rate pick up as you look through your window without getting up from your seat, your instincts kicking in, though if one decides to come after you…

“Stay in your homes, stay hidden and stay safe, these dangerous vers–”

You turn off the TV with a sigh.

This… “Invincible” guy happens to be your childhood friend, also your first kiss at 13 when you were both nervous and he wanted to feel how it felt to kiss a guy and then high school happened and–

No. Stop. 

Shit happens, life happens, people break off contact without meaning to all the time. Though, it does hurt when that person has been your friend since 3 years old, the person that shared his first kiss with you.

You can’t– don’t know what to call him now though, the last time you talked was… a year ago. For your birthday. He remembered that, surprisingly. Does he even still… look at guys that way, does he even remember–

This isn’t the time for this.

All this to say, in your professional opinion, none of the Mark’s would give a shit about you so you should be safe and sound. You don’t have anything to worry about.

You put your phone down and get up.

You hear the glass of your windows shatter before the sight registers in your mind. Your eyes shut, your arms defend your face as instincts kick in but you never feel the incoming cuts of the broken glass. Instead, the air is knocked out of your body as Mark slams you down on the floor with his body.

“What the fuck– You– hold up,” he sputtered as your gazes locked, yours is terrified while his turns from glee to…confusion?

He yanks you closer to his face by your chin with an iron grip as he looks you over,

“Well… it is you, huh. Just a dude now, though,” just as you finally think to say something he yanks you up from the floor and sits you down on the kitchen table –when did you even get here– and he saunters closer. 

“Look at that, all ready for me too?” he coos, his eyes drifting to your —almost undone by now— towel, he steps closer, his hands planted on either side of your thighs, “did you know I was coming?” he snickered at his own immature joke.

“What– what the fuck are you doing here?”

You finally spoke and it felt like torture through your dry and constricted throat, your hoarse voice evidence of your nervousness. He cackles as his hand moves from where it was planted, to your ass and giving it a squeeze, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“Nice ass”

You don’t know what to do, you feel frozen, you could try to fight, punch, run, do something. 

You’re frozen, either because of fear or because of how frayed your nervous system is from overworking for years that your body just gave up when being confronted with a fight or flight response and just deciding to freeze.

He pouts and squeezes your ass even tighter, making you groan in pain, “Come on babe, say something, I missed you– well, you weren’t a dude but, I know it’s you,” his other hand deciding to pinch and grope your thigh as he goes on, “I know you aren’t so boring, so c’mon, this is foreplay isn’t it? I bet you’re used to doing this shit all the time with your mark–”

He feels the impact of your punch on his throat, letting out a surprised but satisfied groan he looks you in the eyes, opening his mouth before you interrupt him with a glare, “I don’t know which version you are or whatever but me and ‘my’ mark don’t have anything to do with each other. Not...not for a long time,” finally hearing your voice, although hoarse, plus your glare and fuck that punch has him so fucking turned on already. He can feel the uncomfortable constriction of the suit becoming more and more prominent as you speak.

“Which means I’m not a leverage or a hostage to be used, I– I won’t give you any kind of advantage so just– please just—” your rambling gets interrupted by his lips latching onto your neck, you let out a whimper involuntarily as you try to push him off of you. Grabbing his hair –as much as you can anyway– you pull his head back with as much force as you can muster and headbutt him. Which goes as well as you’d expect. Your vision blurs and your ears ring, you can feel blood seeping from your nose as your ears finally register the exhilarated laugh. 

“Yes, fuck! That’s it baby, give it to me, I can take it,” he cups your face with one hand as the other brings your bodies closer by his other hand on your ass, “let me show you what that little bitch boy could only dream of doing to you, what you’ve been missing out on,” you groan in pain as he plants a rough kiss on your lips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip with very clear intention to draw blood.

[storgicdealer]

EVERY MAJOR BIT FROM THE ALAN Q&A STREAM !!

holy SHIT dude that was so good

---

1) AVA 12 IS PLANNED FOR THIS SUMMER !!!!! (and! there's a possibility ava 13 might come out sooner as well, this year potentially too!)

2) aversus can be played by more than 2 people!

3) alan says that his character just happened to not be on the computer while avm s3 was happening. he usually leaves them to their shenanigans!

4) alan says that purple just happened to ? find a mac during their 7 year period post 2011 after they and their parents came out of their animation. (possibility that purple and their family mightve stayed in the internet for a while?)

5) the team has already made a decision about whether the dark lord is going to come back, but nonetheless — he will be seen in the upcoming video.

6) "the stickfigure site was animated by someone — it's not clear who, but one could theorize its been around for 7~ years before orange broke them out of it" — alan

7) green's socials will be revisited!

8) all of the cg potentially could be miku fans! red most likely more than the others. :)

9) alan could call tsc and tco long-lost brothers that just happened to not know each other — estranged siblings.

10) ava/m will go for as long as death does us part with alan, apparently

11) to alan, cg communicate more "telepatically" with each other. the text in influencer arc could be seen as green translating their communication to something the viewers could understand!

12) interpersonal cg relationships will be explored in the new minecraft season!

13) the mercenaries production names have been officially (although, perhaps by accident) dropped: lasco for primal (referencing the lascaux caves), eztoon for ballista, gui for agent, sign/pedestrian for hazard

14) hazard, corndog guy and red got they/themed. lol

(also! when talking about the mystery white stickfigure, when referred with 'he', muno (the lead developer of aversus) questioned it ("he?"), and the team said its not yet specified if, well. if the stick figure is a "he". please give us a nonmale living character i Beg of thee ...)

15) cg doesn't have an official age, but they could be seen as teenagers-early 20s (thank god)

16) the abteam is considering minisodes proposed by the community! (such as proposed chosen & dark minisodes , rocketcorp slice of life)

17) alan thinks purple's birthday would be in february (no set date)

18) chosen will get more characterization in the future

19) some known artists in the community (such as anglermann, @sushiree, @flareboi, @cindersnows, @ , @ornziy, @itslilacokay, pasteldragon, @comyetani, realvegemite, @wretchedvictim, qr_png, hoodedjelly have been noticed on stream by the team !!! congrats !!! :D

— “ooh that's a nice one, i like that“ (hatena in response to @itslilacokay mercenary art)

https://docs.google.com/document/u/0/d/1iR_QZLJip9WsbVVdlNhl-uhbFqtHa4ydajcILszdszI/mobilebasic <- the entire fanart compilation doc, made by novamations :)

20) when the pc turns off, the cube in the interspace goes dark, but stays there.

about what cg does when the pc turns off: "think of it as when the electricity goes out, it's black and cold, they cant use things anymore. they'd probably just sleep.”

21) mitsi will be seen in a future video

22) skim created corndog guy (and has apologized for it)

23) the team has been holding polls on whether the chat wants to see the dark lord, mitsi and gold come back — but said that they ultimately will decide on their fates.

24) king and purple ... were based on thanos and loki.

25) confirmation that green likes udon noodles and listens to daft punk

26) alan says we could come up with little quirks for characters on our own (i.e. blue could be superstitious / be into astrology, yellow getting into rubics cubes)

27) alan thinks red might have adhd !!! :)

28) avchemistry might be real in the future, but it'll be tougher to execute since the person who was behind avmath and avcoding doesn't know chemistry.

29) ava 11 took over a year

30) ava 12 has all the storyboards done, and ava 13 is already in the works!

31) alan said that purple is "that friend that doesn't live at the house but comes over a lot"

32) name for mitsi stuck after the team reversed victim's name

33) alan is excited for the next avm season!

34) skim sees ava 12 and 13 as a two-part

35) its a possibility for new avm characters being introduced — ava as well, but unlikely they'll be major ones in the second instance

36) the team said that there are 4 minisodes in progress , and that hopefully they'll start to release them soon !!!!!

37) "how rich is corndog guy?"

"never rich enough. he's on that grindset"

38) when skim was asked who he related to the most he said it was victim because:

- more withdrawn and quiet

- carrying a weight with him

- prefers to occupy his mind with things hes good at

- not as naturally gloomy as youd expect from him

- struggles to connect with people but good at getting things done

39) when asked about what happens to stickfigures after they die, alan replied that that their code is still there — but it's kind of "disconnected". it'd be impossible for someone in the living dimension to take that code and put it back together (alan (jokingly? half jokingly???) notes: "unless you're the second coming"). "it's kind of like when you're programming, and you change one line and then all of a sudden all of the code is unusable. it's still there, it's just not attached to the right dimension”.

goood LIRD !!!!

[theminecraftbee]

If Cleo hadn’t known Joe for longer than either of them have known Hermitcraft, she might be concerned about Joe having an argument with himself about which of his six contingency boltholes to hide the two of them in and discuss plans. She might be even more concerned about how blatantly questionable several of them are—she didn’t even know Etho had an attic, let alone one Joe knew how to break into and had hidden a bed in. However, Cleo’s known Joe since longer than either of them have known Hermitcraft, and frankly this is an impressively minimal amount of bafflingly designed anxiety-induced disaster prep for him, so she just lets him guide him into the room and sits cross-legged on the floor.

“No one ever remembers that the overworld smells different,” she says with a sigh.

“For example, here it smells like Etho’s socks,” Joe responds. “Why does he keep socks in the attic, Cleo? I still haven’t figured it out!”

Cleo snorts. “He’s a very strange little man.”

Joe shakes his head. “No, no, if he were a strange little man, I’d know. That’s what I am!”

“No, you’re a strange little puppet these days. Entirely different.”

“Oh, right.”

The two of them sit in silence for a bit after that. Cleo just breathes. They are supposed to be dead or exiled, and they are not. “Supposed to be dead but they’re not” is like, Cleo’s entire thing as a zombie, and Joe’s entire thing as a person, so that’s not what’s making Cleo’s heart race. Maybe Joe’s right; maybe it is the smell of socks. Maybe, though, it’s that the world is different colors. Everything isn’t the same awful grey and red, stretched out endlessly across the horizon.

A fuzzy puppet hand is placed on her own. Cleo looks down.

“Sorry I couldn’t talk to you the whole time. I was being hunted for sport,” Joe says.

“What? No, don’t answer that. Scar. That was obvious. Don’t know why I bothered asking.”

“Doc also kind of wanted to?” Joe says. “But as we both know, Doc’s really bad at making threats that are actually actionable. It’s sort of embarrassing. Cub, also, although Cub and I were mostly engaged in psychological warfare. It’s kind of a shame he exiled himself; who else has an appropriately complex relationship with fireworks and comic sans?”

Cleo snorts. “Never change, Joe.”

“I can’t promise that. To live is to change,” Joe says solemnly.

“Walked into that one,” Cleo says.

They both fall silent a little longer.

“The fact you called me at all, uh. Texted me. Kept me company. Fought a dragon? The drop shipping? I—”

“If my best friend goes mad from loneliness I’m not a very good friend,” Joe says.

“Still, thanks,” Cleo says. “Thank you. It was—thank you.”

“Anyone would have,” Joe says, and all at once Cleo is laughing and sobbing into their hands. Distantly, they can hear Joe panicking; he’s never been very good at other people’s emotions. It’s just—nothing, for days, and everything now, and the edges of their sleeves are still singed from Grian’s attempt to render it all pointless, and Joe’s right here, and Joe’s right here, saying:

“It’s alright, Cleo. I mean, it’s not, there’s an authoritarian government that isn’t letting me play Permitmaster. But it’s okay, for some definition of that, I think—”

“They really wouldn’t,” Cleo manages between choked breaths.

“What?” Joe says.

“You said it’s what anyone would do and they really wouldn’t,” Cleo says.

“…really?” Joe says, and he sounds so idiotically baffled and so exactly like Joe Hills, constant in Cleo’s life since before either of them knew what a Hermitcraft was, that she breaks down into sobs again. Distantly, she recognizes that this is a symptom of having ridden a horse across the nether roof for enough days in a row that her ability to emotionally regulate snapped a little. Immediately, though, she can’t stop thinking about how lucky she is.

Joe smiles, strangely kind for a puppet, and leans his entire felt body against her. He stops talking for the moment. Cleo knows it’s more that he’s probably panicking internally than out of any desire for silence, but…

She’s really, really lucky.

By some miracle stroke, they’re both left alone long enough for Cleo to pull herself together, and then, to the sound of distant fireworks and sirens, they escape Etho’s attic, laughing.

Together they really are going to be so annoyingly unstoppable.

[hivemuthur]

Hi Anons! Happy Freakday! Taking this amazing opportunity to mingle two into one:

Lips Where Lips Were

viktorxfemale!reader explicit. What's in here? Perverted yearning, panty theft and face sitting :v I'm sure the day was stressful for him :< Never lose sight of your laundry, folks!

word count: 3K

author’s note: I listened to Smoke City Underwater Love. @rennethen beta-read and she was sick doing it so double thank-yous! And as per schedule, I name Fridays Freakdays, and on most of those you can expect some Freaktor action.

—

It wasn’t planned at all when you stepped into the laundry room with a basket full of clothes. Pure coincidence—or call it fate, if Viktor dared to entertain such grand notions when it came to something so utterly embarrassing.

He had just been loading the washing machine, half full with his meagre three white shirts and a few undershirts, when the door swung open. You entered backwards, nudging it open with your ass, your face obscured by the tall basket cradled in your arms. But he recognised you instantly—by the back of your head, the curve of your neck, your ankles. Again, utterly embarrassing.

“Oh my God, are you washing whites? Please tell me you are washing whites,” you asked, not bothering with a hello.

Viktor eyed the laundry in your arms, picking up what you were putting down, but simply replied, “Yes, I’m washing whites.”

"Mind if I invade?" you asked, already shifting your weight forward, basket pressing into your stomach. "I’ve mostly got darks, but I’m running out of underwear."

Viktor swallowed, considering. Having your underwear washed with his­—pretty good. You having no underwear to wear? Significantly better. Being unable to come up with explanation to denying you, he forced a nod, stepping back from his machine as if giving you space might help untangle the sudden knot in his throat.

"Be my guest," he said, voice steady despite the way his pulse stuttered.

You wasted no time, setting your basket down and beginning to sort through your clothes. Viktor watched as you moved, as your hands fished out a bundle of whites and dropped them in beside his. Then, with the ease of someone used to efficiency, you loaded a second machine with your darker clothes.

It should have been a nothing moment—mundane, forgettable. But when you leaned forward, he caught sight of a bra slipping from the heap in your arms, a delicate thing edged with lace, straps tangled. His mouth went dry.

A thought, insistent and utterly filthy, flashed across his mind—quick, scorching, and impossible to ignore. He almost turned away, almost shut the machine door to spare himself from his own treacherous imagination. But then, right there, in the tangle of fabric, were your knickers.

White as snow. Thin as paper. A tiny, pretty bow crowning the hem.

His fingers twitched. Good with his hands as he was, before he could think better of it, before his brain could catch up to his body, he snagged them—swift, seamless, a movement so smooth it almost convinced him it hadn’t happened at all. But the fabric in his pocket was real as day whenever he reached to check if it’s still there.

And now, Viktor has a problem.

He’s thought about returning them—washing them by hand and slipping them in with the rest of your white clothes. He’s also considered getting rid of them: throwing them away, tossing them out the window, burning them—anything that might make him stop. But whenever he comes close, he falters.

At first, just the thought of having a piece of fabric that was so intimately close to you is enough. Clutching onto the last ounces of self-respect he has, Viktor does nothing beyond tucking the knickers into his chest pocket, carrying them close to his heart whenever he feels like it.

The idea nearly backfires when Jayce asks him for a pen—the little metal loop catches on the fabric, almost pulling them out and exposing him for the depraved pervert he is.

From that point forward, Viktor says goodbye to your underwear every time he leaves his dorm. They lay splayed flat on his bed when he returns, and his mind instantly drifts to which parts of you they clung to. The curve of your ass, hugged tightly as you pulled them on. The waistband, with its little bow resting just beneath your belly button. And his favourite part—the delicate pouch fabric kissed by your sweet lips.

Then it happens again that his body overrides his mind’s restraint, compulsive in its betrayal. It’s a compulsion, yes, when his fingers unbuckle the belt, his hand palming his aching cock. It’s compulsive yet again when he undoes his fly, rubbing himself through his boxers, thinking of you. It’s compulsive when he pulls himself out and smears the precum pearling at the tip, pretending it’s your gentle fingers touching his heated skin.

And it’s utterly deranged when he reaches for your panties and brings them to his face. If he could snort it all up, he would. Instead, he holds it against his nose, inhaling deeply, greedily. It’s dizzying—the smell of you, sweet and intimate, proof that this was yours.

His fingers tease the head first, gliding over the aching spot just beneath, and he twitches in his own hand. His mind, corrupt and rotten, throws him the worst of images for this occasion—or the best, depending on how he looks at it. You, bending over, the seam of your underwear glaring at him from beneath your skirt. Your mouth, speaking his name. Then moaning his name as his hand is buried between your thighs.

His grip tightens around his cock. At first, slow, as he breathes in the remnants of you. He strokes himself languidly, knees bent over the bed’s edge, feet pressing hard into the floor. His hips thrust up, chasing more—more of anything to quell the ache inside him, the iron grip that coils low in his belly.

Your name spills from his mouth, ragged and desperate. He imagines you here, above him, thighs caging his head as you press down onto his waiting tongue. The thought alone has his cock twitching in his hand again, and he lets out a filthy groan, gripping himself harder.

And even though shame still lingers somewhere in the periphery of his thoughts, he cannot help himself. He splays the fabric over his face and licks where your lips have been cradled. And kisses there. And takes it into his mouth, sucking on it—the poor substitute for your soft pussy.

“Ah—fuck—” His breath stutters, muscles winding tight as he fucks into his own hand now. Fast and hard. His imagination runs wild—your taste on his tongue, your fingers tugging his hair, the way you’d roll your hips to use his mouth like you need it. He lets himself drown in the fantasy, slutty moans spilling from his mouth so loud he doesn’t hear the knocking. Or the door to his dorm room creaking open. Or the soft sound of feet shuffling on the floor.

You do knock. And you do call out, until you mistake a noise coming from his bedroom for one of pain. You rush in, clutching a shirt he mistakenly gave you with your batch of white laundry to your chest. And then you freeze by the door, when you hear the sound of your own name stumbling from Viktor’s lips in the filthiest, most sultry tone you’ve ever heard from him. Oh—the door is ajar.

Not that you haven’t imagined him doing it. Many times, possibly too many to count. But to imagine it and to hear it—raw and real, seeping into your ears so sweetly—is a completely different thing.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut before holding your breath and stepping in carefully. Viktor is writhing on the bed, unaware, unseeing, his trousers slipped down his thighs, and his face covered with—oh. One hand pushes the fabric into his nose and mouth, and the mere sight has your thighs clenching under your skirt as you step closer, transfixed.

Heat floods your cheeks when your gaze drops to his other hand, to his cock—hard and flushed at the tip, sliding in and out of his grip as his hips thrust helplessly. He looks so absolutely, utterly hot like this, you almost want to let him finish—just to see the vulgar act of him cumming all over his stomach. Until, again—oh. You notice it—the panties are yours.

"Viktor," you whisper, bewildered.

He freezes. "Fuck!" The curse rips from him, loud and raw as he throws the underwear away from him like it burned, rolling onto his stomach with light speed. "Fuck." Again, muffled against the mattress. Then your name, a plea. "I'm so... so sorry."

You step closer, gaze flicking to where the discarded fabric landed. Slowly, you bend down and pick it up between two fingers, holding it up as you muse, "I thought I was missing a pair."

Viktor drops his forehead to the mattress and groans, frustration and shame bleeding into the sound. "I can't believe this is happening, I—"

"For how long have you had them?" you ask. There’s no accusation, only curiosity.

He says nothing. You bite your lower lip, eyes drawn helplessly to the curve of his bare ass, the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body seems locked in mortification.

"Viktor," you try again, softer this time. "Look at me. Turn over."

"I beg you, spare me," he rasps. "I promise I will apologize properly, but please, please, leave."

But you don’t. You see it now—clearly, undeniably. Viktor has been pining for you as much as you’ve pined for him. And so you dare, your mind stunted with the sight conjuring ideas beyond the realm of reason, as you crawl onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight and you settle beside him, sitting on the balls of your feet. Viktor presses his face harder into the sheets, as if willing either himself or you to disappear. "Please," he mutters, your name a breathless sigh, "this is mortifying."

You reach out, running a hand up his leg, fingertips tracing along the muscle, up to the swell of his ass in a gentle caress. Where you touch goosebumps prickle on his skin and you really, really have to resist the urge to bite on his pale cheek. "Viktor," you murmur, voice coaxing, "please look at me. I beg you."

He sighs into the bed, then slowly turns his head to face you, though he avoids your eyes. His face flushed all the way up to his cheeks, shame bleeding into skin. Swallowing hard, he says, “I am so sorry. I wasn’t… This is not—”

"Hey," you say softly, brushing the hair off his forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the touch. You shift closer, lying on your belly beside him, and blow gently on his face. A breathy chuckle forces its way out of him, and finally—finally—he opens his eyes.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi yourself," Viktor murmurs, calmer now.

"I, uh—" you start, then bite your lip. "Can I… see you?" The words come out shyly, your breath held as you wait for his reaction.

"W-what?" Viktor turns, startled—only his torso, though. His hips remain stubbornly pressed to the mattress, much to your disappointment. His brows knit together as he waits for an explanation.

But you have no idea what to say, so you let your body speak for you. You exhale, closing the last bit of distance between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper, "you looked so… hot."

Your cheeks scald as you wait for his reaction, but disappointment and fear flee the moment Viktor's tongue swipes over his lips and—oh—he rolls over, revealing his pretty cock to you. It had been trapped in the crease of his thigh, held there by the dampness of his skin, still achingly hard.

You reach for him slowly, and he moans—his brows knitting—before you even touch him. Your fingers, palm facing down, trace over his balls before gliding up, the heel of your hand pressing along his length, your thumb circling beneath the head.

“Your cock is so pretty,” you whisper a quiet praise, and he shudders, pressing his nose into your cheek, his lips brushing yours, mouths hanging open. As your hand moves in tender strokes, Viktor can’t help himself, it’s invitation enough. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he presses his tongue between your lips, kissing you sloppily, desperately. "Oh God, yes," he mutters into your mouth.

The sound alone makes you moan, spurring you to move with more intent. In no time, you have him so worked up that the neglected dampness between your legs almost doesn’t bother you—but then Viktor’s tongue grows more insistent, his hands roam your body, and your hips buck involuntarily. He clocks it immediately, rasping into your mouth, “Sit on my face. Please.”

You choke on a sound between a gasp and a moan, barely having time to process his words before Viktor’s hands find your hips, guiding you forward. He shifts beneath you, pressing his back flat against the mattress, and tugs at you again, insistent and needy. His breath is hot against your skin as he urges, “Come here, please.”

Your legs tremble as you move, suddenly all shy and hesitant. You come to straddle his chest first, but oh, Viktor’s shame has melted into impatience once encouraged—his hands slide up, gripping your thighs to pull you the rest of the way until you hover above his face. His parted lips are so close that you can feel the ghost of his breath and it’s so unbearably warm you barely resist the urge to sink into him.

What’s in front of you, is his cock, still flushed and leaking, laying thick on his navel. Swallowing your nerves, you lean forward, bracing your hands on his sharp hips as you lower your mouth to him, wrapping your fingers around the base. Viktor groans beneath you, the vibration rippling against your skin and you can feel yourself leaking obscenely when he whines out his famous last words—“Fuck, you are so wet,” and his hot mouth meets your sex.

It's a sinful swipe, that first one. Has you gasping and gripping his cock tighter, before you remember what is it that you are holding. Your eyes widen, mouth huffing warm air over his length as you try to regain your bearings. But Viktor is relentless, thorough, as if he’s intent on devouring the very essence of you, memorising every crevice. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you down, grinding you against his mouth, burying himself in you.

It’s a thousand times better than a mouthful of your underwear—no comparison, really. Not that Viktor can think straight enough to measure the difference, not when his tongue finds its rhythm, plunging in and out of your hole. His head wrenches back into the mattress, chin teasing your clit, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. And then—he groans, a loud, wrecked sound, because your mouth has just wrapped itself around his cock.

Your lips part around the head, tongue flicking over the slit as your hand works the base, thumb pressing along the thick vein running underneath. He twitches so beautifully under your touch that you pause, pulling off with a quiet pop. Watching him glisten in your palm, this time it’s you who can’t help yourself—you glue your torso to his stomach, bury your face against his cock, and inhale long and deep through your mouth and nose.

Viktor shudders beneath you, a deep, broken groan muffled against your cunt. As if this were a conversation, you moan back, the vibration sending a shudder rolling through his muscles. Emboldened, he buries himself deeper, rubbing his chin against your sweet spot, fucking you with his tongue until your hips begin to move on their own, grinding down onto his face. And you—oh, you take him back into the warmth of your mouth, sinking down past the barrier of your throat. Drool spills down his length, slicking the ridges with every bob of your head.

What was merely an ember when you walked in on him now burns bright and hot in his loins. He snorts up whatever air you grant him between your movements, bracing himself for the blinding twist in his stomach that he knows is imminent. His muscles flex under your hands, and for a moment, he loses rhythm, parts his lips from you—and then he cums with a throat-wrenching moan, hard and heavy, spilling thick white into your mouth. You lick it all up, gulp on it, letting him make as many sounds as he likes, lifting your hips just enough so that your clit stays pressed against his chin.

When his cock begins to border on overstimulated, his hand finds your hair, and he tugs you gently, guiding you back to where you were—pressing you down onto his tongue. And you are so, so close. You straighten, brace yourself on his chest, and rut against him without restraint, dragging yourself over the flat of his tongue.

Viktor groans into you, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you where he wants you, letting you use him, consume him. Heat gathers and pools over in waves, tipping you beyond that edge—your body seizing as a raw, broken moan tears from your throat. With the sight of his pretty softening cock in front of you, his name spills from your lips, over and over, as you tremble and grind against his mouth. He holds you through it, drinking in every last shudder and cry until you finally collapse against him, spent and trembling.

Your ass slides off his face, splayed in front of his very eyes and Viktor suddenly realises something—all this time you’ve had no knickers on. “Why are you not wearing any underwear?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Hmm, I thought I miscalculated, but turns out you took my last pair,” you smirk against his hip where your cheek is cradled. You place a soft kiss there to the peak of his bone and whisper, “You can keep it.”

[wernerherzogs]

some of my fave buddie fics for anon in no particular order! please mind all the ratings, tags, and warnings of these works while browsing:

plot-focused:

about the present series by Amiril

The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook)

Three months later, things are mostly back to normal.

And then there's an accident.

the city is a jungle and i’m a beast by putanauhere (TRUST ME.)

“There are no wolves in Southern California,” Buck states, another bit of trivia. He just doesn’t know it’s a lie.

The Things All Come and Gone by moodlighting

“I didn’t—it’s not that I couldn’t be alone,” Buck explained, pausing to find the right words. “I just. Wanted to be here.”

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings

Evan Buckley wakes up without eight years of his memories with some guy named Eddie Diaz on his bedside. Which could mean nothing.

lonely little love dog by littleghost

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much.

kerosene by mandolare

He doesn’t— need more of Eddie. This is enough. This is plenty. This is more than anyone else has of him; he can deal with the marrow-deep want that’s begun to choke him every once in a while.

all my little words by youbetsya

Eddie: Did you just send me an email??

Buck: yeah lol

Eddie: Why…

I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken

Buck: did you read it?

Eddie: Not yet

Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me

Buck: just read it dude 🙄

instructions on not giving up by Wildehack (tyleet)

Eddie gave up in July.

Live and (Don't) Let Die by xylodemon

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

“Okay, but what are the rules?”

Ravi stares. “The rules for…?”

“Casual sex.”

Ravi continues to stare. It is 5:39 in the morning.

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by Talls

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this.

here’s my hand, there’s the itch by signetsealed

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about Chris all night,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet and close in Buck’s ear. “But that’s not why I called.”

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later.

Downward Facing Doggy Style by Survivah

Eddie and Buck pick up a new hobby while Chris is in Texas.

slaughterhouse by kithmet

Eddie announces he’s leaving. Buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness.

Choosing Joy 'Verse series by ithilien22

In which Eddie mends fences with Chris, starts something new with Buck, and navigates the complex emotions he has around his parents.

 the sweetest apparition by hyruling

Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

pluperfect by unreckless

Buck is always good for a ride to the airport. He’s good at lots of things, like being a good friend and goodbyes.

beating the horse by doitgently

Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants.

Burn a bridge, learn how to swim series by WatermelonShots (AvocadosUnderTheEaves)

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

ripples all the way down by iriswests

This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says softly, torn between unbearable fondness and an ache that threatens to crack his breastbone.

when everything's on fire by beartowns

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order.

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies

The problem is—well.

Actually, backtrack for a sec. There were a few problems.

Eddie’s got a whole lot of them, lately, and maybe that was The Problem.

Something in the Air (Is Giving Me Bad Ideas) by paramountie

After Christopher comes back from Texas, Eddie makes an important decision: he is not going to blow up his life anymore.

crossed the muddy line by Anonymous

Eddie Diaz is from El Paso, Texas; a fact which accounts for both more and less than he ever expected it to.

the tortured poets department by colonoscopys

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.

still by brewrosemilk

For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.

somewhere to stand and stay by teaspoon

“What are you doing right now?” Eddie asks. He sounds distracted; Buck can tell immediately that he’s driving.

authentication by v_greyson (greyson)

"Yeah, Eddie picks the guys so I don't make stupid decisions," Buck says, flicking through menus to pick a new racetrack.

The combination of Hen munching peanuts and looking back and forth between them makes Eddie feel like he's a zoo exhibit. Best Friends, captured in the wild, still feral, exhibiting behaviors heretofore unknown to science.

"Well, good luck with - all that," Hen says pointedly to Eddie. She is definitely not talking about the video game.

keeping score by arcanaphora

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

if i said you could never touch me by marviless*

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr*

Eddie Diaz’s life is going great. He’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him.

Now his best friend is dating their new friend.

Things are going great. He promises.

porn-heavy (only a few of these are straight up pwp though):

Feel You Forever by semperama

“Is this…” Eddie meets his eyes again. “Is this new?”

a mess of my creation by Anonymous

They’re in the fucking bunk room. There’s someone snoring in the bed over by the bathroom, a good twenty feet and two beds away, and Buck doesn’t know if it’s Hen or Chimney or Bobby, but they’re in here, they’re asleep, and this is awful, this is so fucking unprofessional and if they get caught they are going straight to HR.

blood in the highs and count the stars by seachanged

“Go on,” Eddie says, nosing into the soft spot under Buck’s jaw.

Buck laughs, a little hysterically. ”You’re not serious.”

look straight ahead if you like it slow by hattalove

“This gets you going, huh?” Eddie grins, propping himself up on his elbows so he can move higher on the bed, reach the pretty pink bow of Buck’s mouth. “Devotion? You being it for me?” He stretches up toward Buck’s ear, whispers: “Monogamy?”

hang me up on your bedroom wall by eddiegettingshot

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.

“Eddie, I—”

“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?

buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer series by cranberrymoons

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not.

the moon like a spotlight by dykeries

Three months after Eddie moves to El Paso, Buck comes to visit.

this ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living by glorious_spoon

"You guess," Eddie repeats under his breath, but he sounds amused. He sets the boxes down and kicks the door shut behind him to wind through the chaos of Buck's half packed away kitchen. "You're insane."

love's not a game by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

“So that goal, huh?”

Buck groans, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him as his toes curl up, the fire that’s been building up inside him for what feels like hours sizzling and uncontrollable in its path through Buck’s body.

i might kiss you on the back of your neck (because it’s christmas time) by sibylsleaves

Five Times Captain Diaz and Recruit Lieutenant Diaz fail to sleep together and one time they do.

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? by brattybuckley

Evan Buckley is currently on cloud nine. 

Well–

Honey on the Vine by sirencalls

Buck wakes up to an Eddie with stubble for the first time in months and refuses to let a good opportunity to go waste.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl

Buck tells everyone Eddie talks him into it, but when it comes to Eddie, he’s never needed much convincing.

Mind Blowing Mess by EtoileGarden

"I’d like to have a threesome. I think.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor eyed him for a moment, and then leaned a little further over the table, her chin in her hand. “Have you ever had one before?”

songs and poems and promises by lesbianrobin

“It’s crazy how different sex is with men,” Buck says, and everyone around him groans.

rodeo queen by okanus

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

yes god don't speak by detectivemeer

“You’re staring.”

“What.” Eddie says. “No I’m not.” 

[snail-day]

You got this, Nerdjo!

Part One // Next Part // Masterlist

Gojo Satoru was not stalking you. He just happened to be standing in the board games aisle of the popular bookstore near campus. At the same time you were. For the third time this week. Total coincidence. Really. He was just hear for an expansion pack. For Dice. Okay maybe he is here for you. He's been thinking about you since the moment he saw you checking out the Gundam section last week. Really. He wanted to give you his opinion but...he didn't want to seem like a total dick. A mansplainer of sorts.

Oh god, there you are again. Picking up a game. Oh you look so focused. So beautiful. So smart. Wait, is that - oh no. Not that one.

You were reaching for a notoriously convoluted board game, one even Redditors have many complaints about, and before he could stop himself, his feet were moving. Mouth was moving. Everything was moving except his common sense.

Okay, Satoru. Tap the shoulder. Speak. Be your usual charming self. It's just a girl. A very pretty girl. Say something. Be normal.

He tapped your shoulder. Lightly. You turned to look at him with the kind of expression one might give to a stranger who had absolutely no business tapping them in a bookstore. Which, honestly, he didn't have the business to do. Then cleared his throat - loudly, awkwardly - and blurted out:

"Ireallydontthinkyoushouldpickupthatgametherulesaredifficultactuallytherulesdon'tevenmakesenseImeanwhoevencameupwiththem - "

Oh my god. Oh my god. Did I just say that out loud? What did I just say?

First, your brows knit together slowly as you blinked, turning towards him with a touch of confusion and offense on your face.

“You don’t think I can understand… the rules?”

Shitshitshit

His heart dropped straight to his ass.

Going to throw up. Going to throw up. Going to throw up.

How am I fumbling this bad?

He could practically see the social bar above his head draining to zero. As your very pretty, bright eyes stared up at him. He wondered just where did you get those eyes from? His future mother-in-law or father-in-law? Wait no don't be fucking weird.

“No, oh god no! I didn’t mean - uh, that’s not - I think you could totally get it! I mean, you probably solve logic puzzles for fun! You look like you’re really good at thinking! Wait, not that you look like a nerd, but - uh - like, in a hot way - shit, no, I mean - "

End me. Just smite me down right here between Settlers of Catan and Uno.

Waving his hands now, panicking in real time. You, somehow composed, just turned the game box over and calmly read the back, letting him spiral like a dying Beyblade.

“I just meant - it’s a bad game,” he added weakly. “Like, the win condition is unclear and the rulebook has typos and there’s no official errata - it's just, um… bad design.”

You finally looked back up at him. “So what game would you recommend?”

For a second, Gojo just stood there.

You're still talking to me. Oh god. Oh no. You, beautiful and stunning, want my opinion. My professional opinion. I can’t screw this up

“S-Splendor,” Satoru blurted, voice cracking at the edges. “Or maybe Wingspan? No wait. Cascadia? Or - do you like deck-building mechanics? I could make a whole list. I actually have a spreadsheet. A whole reddit. ”

You absolute loser.

But you were… smiling. Just a little. And nodding like you were genuinely interested.

Gojo, poor nerd Gojo, practically short-circuited on the spot.

You ended up leaving the store with a board game you didn’t plan on buying. Not because of the game, really. But because the tall, twitchy, white-haired guy with far too much enthusiasm had somehow roped you into a monologue about probability mechanics, game balance, and “that one time my friend Nanami rage quit a co-op dungeon crawl.”

He was… weird. But kind of charming. In a feral raccoon digging through your trash for affection kind of way.

“So, uh,” he said, hovering beside you outside the store, practically bouncing on his heels, “if you ever want to, y’know, play a game or something - like, totally casually, not like, a date, unless you want it to be, which - no pressure - uh - I just thought maybe you’d be into - um…”

He trailed off. Heart thundering. Couldn't even ask Reddit for Advice You stared. He swallowed. Blinking rapidly, those pretty-blues darted anywhere but you.

“…I run a D&D campaign,” Satoru said suddenly. “Every Friday night. Very low-commitment! Very chill! High-level story arcs. I made all the NPCs. I do voices. I - it’s cool. I swear.”

What are you doing what are you DOING you weren’t supposed to tell them about the campaign yet they’ll think you’re weird this is why you don’t have a girlfriend Satoru you idiot -

But you smiled. Then handed him your phone - little charm dangling off the case. Something cute. You probably picked out without a second thought. God, he’d kill to have matching phone charms with you.

“…Add your number,” you said. “Text me the details.”

He blinked at the phone, questioning how he is worthy enough to text you. Then promptly fumbled it, typed his name with three emojis, deleted them, re-added one, panicked, backspaced everything, and tried again.

You mentioned you had class.

Right. You're busy. That's fine. Yes. He has your number. Oh god why is his heart pounding so loud. Can you hear it? Could you feel it when his hand brushed against yours?

Satoru nodded too fast. Rushed words as you trailed away with a wave. He was left there wondering what your major was. Who you knew. If you'd actually show up next Friday. If he’d just imagined all of this.

When he finally texted you later, it read:

Hey it’s Gojo from the bookstore 🧠 I asked my party and there’s a spot open in the campaign 👀 you’d be perfect. Unless you hate fun. Then we can just play Wingspan lol anyway let me know!! pls 🥺

And before you could even respond, another message came in.

also pls ignore any typos i'm at the gym 💪getting ready for all those monsters we're going to be slayin ⚔️

Friday night. Gojo’s apartment. He had cleaned. Like, deep cleaned. Scrubbed corners no one would ever look at. Decorated the bathroom. Lit a candle that smelled like vanilla and cedar. (He may or may not have spent an hour on Reddit reading forums titled “What candle scents make girls fall in love with you?” and this one had the best upvotes.)

He had set the scene. Maps unfurled like ancient scrolls of destiny. Dice sets lined up in a neat little rainbow offering to the gods of chance. Snacks meticulously arranged in what was supposed to be a dragon shape, though now it looked like a pile with tiny wings. Still. It was the thought that counted.

Everything was ready.

You're coming. Oh god. You're really coming. You're gonna sit here. With me. Maybe next to me. Or maybe not. No - no, no, you can sit next to Shoko. Or Nanami. Shit. What if you like Nanami? Oh my god, what if you like Nanami and not me? He’s got that broody thing.

He paced.

Screw it. Just play my campaign. Laugh at my jokes. Please. Just - please think I’m cool. Just once. Please don’t see through how desperate I am.

He adjusted his glasses. Then adjusted them again. Re-checked his rulebooks even though he wrote half the notes inside them himself. He’d already rehearsed your character’s intro fifteen times. But he did it again.

“…and as the tavern door creaks open, a figure steps through the mist. Cloaked in shadows, yet - no. No, too dramatic. They’ll think I’m trying too hard. Which I am, but like, subtle. Okay. Again - ”

His voice cracked mid-practice. He flopped down into his DM chair, then stood up again two seconds later, muttering, “Nope, can’t sit. Gonna combust.”

They’re gonna be here soon. They’re gonna walk through that door and I’m gonna die. Literally die. Headlines: Local Dungeon Master Dies When Pretty Person Shows Up.

The doorbell buzzed. Satoru physically jolted. Then stood there frozen in front of the door, hands out like he was about to catch a falling star. Or a live grenade.

Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Just breathe. Be normal. Don’t say anything weird. Don't tell them about the custom soundtrack you made for their backstory. Don't confess anything emotionally compromising in the first five minutes.

He opened the door. A stupid smile formed on his face.

Is he blushing? Please don't be blushing. Oh no. They’re even cuter than I remembered. I’m so screwed.

Wearing the coziest hoodie. Carrying a dice bag. Smiling. Beside you - because of course - was Geto Suguru. Satoru’s longtime friend. Fellow player. Tall. Cool. Calm. Hair tied back in a lazy bun that somehow made him hotter. That bastard. Satoru barely had time to panic before you laughed at something Geto said. A soft, amused laugh that curled around Gojo’s ribs and squeezed.

Then it happened. You looked at Geto. Blushed. Just the faintest pink brushing your cheeks. Just a second too long of eye contact. Just enough to punch Satoru square in his already fragile, overly romantic, nerdy heart.

You don’t like him. Right? No. It’s just warm. It’s almost summer. The hallway’s probably stuffy. Your hoodie’s too thick. That’s it. That’s all it is.

“Hey,” you greeted, blissfully unaware of his internal collapse.

“H-Hey!” Satoru yelped, voice cracking at a completely unnecessary octave. “You made it! That’s so cool. That’s - you look. Uh. Dice. You brought dice. Awesome. Good job.”

What the hell are you saying? Shut up.

Geto smiled at him. That smug, easy smile that Satoru had seen melt hearts and start trouble since freshman year.

“You didn’t tell me your new player was cute,” he said, tone maddeningly casual. You blinked. Satoru stopped breathing.

“Oh,” you said, voice softening, eyes flicking away. A little flustered. “Um. Thanks.”

You’re just being polite. That’s not real. That wasn’t real. Right?

Satoru forced a smile that came out more like a grimace. His brain was melting. His heart was clawing against his ribs.

“Haha! Yeah. So anyway! Let’s, uh. Go. Sit. Down. And have a drink. Or a seat. Or both. Whatever people do. When they enter rooms. With other people.”

Oh my god, please shut up. Please shut up. You’re going to die here and your ghost will be a virgin forever.

a/n: if you see any mistakes...no you don't totally not editing this while getting ready for wicked...totally not

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Stuck Here Like Me

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: in the wake of the chaos, you’re there to pick up his broken pieces. Takes place during 1x13 so spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet

Warnings: depiction of explicit themes, death, grief, panic attacks, blood, hospital stuff, ptsd, age gap (reader is 35, Robby is 50) (no smut but yall better love it)

WC: 4.3k Drabble who?

A/N: omg no smutties??? Who possessed me??? Okay well there is smutties, this just isn’t it. I mentioned before that I started writing smutties based on ep 12 but when 13 came out I just had to write a comfort fic. God this man needs to be held and loved so I couldn’t help myself. The smutties based on ep 12 is still on the works. So think of it as an alternative ending to this one. I started writing this last night after I finished ep13 and i cant believe I finished it so fast. Hope you enjoy being traumatized give Noah his Emmy btw

Staying away from the chaos of the ER was the plan for today. As far away as you possibly could. You did this on purpose. Neither of you had worked on this day in years. You didn’t mind that Robby had made other plans. You were even happy that he was keeping his mind occupied with Jake. You would happily stay home and catch up on some well deserved sleep. Ever since you convinced Gloria to give you that pediatric emergency medicine fellowship, you had been doing overtime almost every single shift. You left at the same time as Robby every night, and that was saying a lot.

So when you felt movement beside you, your husband shifting as quietly as possible, you were very suspicious. You stirred and grumbled almost immediately. Much to his attempt of getting out of bed without waking you.

“Michael.” You muttered into your pillow, blindly reaching for your phone beside you. He gritted his teeth, turning his head to find you squinting at your phone. “Why are you getting up at six on your day off?”

“Ah, busted.” You felt his weight sink into the bed as he leaned over you to leave a kiss to your hair. “They’re down an attending this morning. And you know we’re short staffed so.”

You scrunched up your face, huffing softly as you shifted on your back. You gave him a look of apprehension and he leaned down to kiss the expression lines on your forehead.

“Today? Really?” The sleep lingered on your voice as you rubbed your eyes softly. He clicked his tongue but said nothing. You weren’t shy about it. You were an R2 when the pandemic broke out. How you managed to start, and maintain a functioning relationship was still beyond you. Though you guessed you understood each other’s he trauma. And your marriage has been without issues so far, so you guessed it worked out. Still, you weren’t beneath bringing it up, even if he didn’t quite enjoy it. “Michael I really don’t think—“

“It’s fine. I’m fine, really.” He was firm with his words, loving, but firm, like he didn’t want to press the matter further. A sigh of resignation left your chest and you shrugged, shaking your head at him.

“Mkay. Want me to come in with you?” You sighed, stretching out your arms with exhaustion. Robby narrowed his eyes at you and shook his head.

“Nope. You’ve been working what? Thirteen? Fourteen hours straight? Absolutely not. Sleep while you can. You’re going to burn yourself out.” You hated when he lectured you, the age gap between you sometimes becoming painfully obvious. You groaned with annoyance and squeezed your eyes shut. You hated when he was right.

“Fine, whatever.” You pretended to pout, which he found quite amusing. With a soft chuckle he leaned down to press a kiss to your pouty lips. You couldn’t help but giggle. “I swear Gloria is still punishing me for hexing you with my charms. She couldn’t get rid of me so she’s making me suffer.”

“Aren’t you doing overtime willingly?” He tisked at you as he peeled himself from you to finish putting on his scrubs. He knew that if he didn’t leave your side soon he would forget he has actual responsibilities to attend to.

You scoffed at him, shifting to your side again, “I’m being coerced. She insists that my fellowship is an unnecessary expense and that if it hadn’t been for your favoritism I would’ve had to transfer hospitals.”

“It wasn’t favoritism. I was completely objective and unbiased. You really are one of my best doctors.” He reminded you and you laughed into your pillow.

“She doesn’t seem to agree. She makes sure to remind me every time she sees me.” You rolled your eyes, disdain lacing your tongue. Robby found it almost amusing how you didn’t even try to hide your opinions. He always had to hold back a laugh whenever you gave Gloria side eyes when she came strolling down to the ER to get on his case about one thing or another.

“Yeah, well, she’s a pain in my ass too. Don’t take it too personally.”

“I’ll make you coffee and something to eat, hm?” You suggested, figuring you would spend as much time with him as you could before you didn’t see him for the next twelve-plus hours. He shot you an apprehensive glance, eyes narrowed but you were already throwing the blankets off you. “I’m already up. I’ll take a nap when you leave.”

Robby chewed on the inside of his cheek, clicking his tongue as his eyes followed you out of bed. His eyes never left you, more than happy to be reminded that you were parading around in nothing but an old tee and panties. He followed you out of the bedroom with eagerness, more than happy to follow you around until he left.

“Shit, my sweet and amazing wife is making me coffee this morning? And she’s making sure I eat? Aren’t I lucky.” He chuckled, following you to the kitchen. Your giggles filled the air and he was so in love with the sound it made his head spin.

“Don’t forget hot and young too.” You looked over your shoulder and shot him a wink, snorting at the groan he let out at your teasing words. If you had to be reminded that he was older, he had to be reminded that you were younger, too.

“God, I hope you don’t say that shit to other people. Makes me sound like such a creep.” He sighed out, his freckled cheeks dusting red with embarrassment. You loved to tease him about it. Even though you were already thirty when you started dating. You found it amusing how worked up he got about the logistics. You knew it fucked him up for months when you first slept together.

“If it makes you feel better, I tell people I wanted to fuck my attending.” You managed to hold in your laughter until after your words sunk in, you had your back to him as you made him his coffee, but when you heard him mutter ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ behind you, you bursted into giggles. “You love me. Oh! Can you get me the strawberries and blueberries from the fridge? And the Greek yogurt.”

“Yes I do, unfortunately.” He sighed out a long exaggerated breath as he searched around the fridge. You shoot him a glare, which he took with a chuckle.

“Okay, well, you can starve then. I’m not making you shit.” You clicked your tongue, huffing as you crossed your arms over your chest. Robby pouted, trying to stifle a laugh at the matching pout on your lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said in between laughs as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him and he left kisses on your cheek, on your nose, until you broke a smile and giggles left your lips. “You have such a shitty poker face.”

“I do. I can’t resist your old man charms.” You teased, throwing your arms around his neck. He rolled his eyes at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, successfully shutting you right up. You didn’t protest, you were in fact, very pleased with this exchange. God, you wished he would stay home with you. You didn’t want him to go. You were tempted to jump him right then and there. If you pushed him enough he really couldn’t say no to you even if he tried. But you also knew better. So against your better judgement you relented.

“I really have to go hun.” His words left his chest with an edge, his fingers slightly digging into your hips. You slightly threw your head back, grabbing his face as you whined. “Cmon, don’t do that.”

“I really can’t convince you to stay, hm? You’ll have me all to yourself today.” Your words left your lips softly, quietly. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, his jaw ticking with each string you pulled.

“I’m gonna think with my head and regrettably say no.” An uneven breath left him, much to his dismay. Your offer was so fucking tempting. But he knew better, he definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it if he ended up not showing up.

“Ugh, I like your other head better.” You gave him one last jab to his sanity before you pulled yourself away to resume your previous task. You heard him groan loudly as he reached for his freshly brewed coffee.

“God, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Though there was a smile on his face, those soft brown eyes filled with warmth, you knew him well, too well, and you knew there was more hiding behind those eyes, behind the same facade he put up every year. And that sat with you, you carried that worry like a burden, because you didn’t know what truly was going on in his head, what he was thinking. And it made you wish you could just lock him up until the day had passed. But alas, he wasn’t the type of man to hide. Exchanging I love you’s as he walked out the door left you with unease, with anxiety. And you couldn’t shake that feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey love. Lemme guess, you’re staying late?” Your teasing words were laced with humor when you picked up the phone. You had managed to get through your day, though you definitely missed your husband. It was around six when he called.

“Yeah, something like that. Uh, fuck. I’m sorry to ask, but could you come in?” He rushed out his words, a sense of urgency edging through his tone even over the phone. The smile on your face quickly fell and you stilled, stammering over your words. “There’s an active shooter at PittFest and I’m down two residents. Please, you know I wouldn’t call if I didn’t have to.”

You were running to your bedroom for the first pair of scrubs you could grab before he was done talking. Your mind was racing with a million questions, but you didn’t have time to ask any of them.

“Fuck me. You really couldn’t stay home today, huh?” You blew out a breath of exasperation as you threw on pieces of clothing like a maniac. You were thankful you had decided to take a shower before getting started on dinner. Guess you would have to settle for takeout tonight, if you even left the hospital at all.

“I wish I had. Look on the bright side though, I missed you so much I had to find a way to get you here with me.” Though his words were playful, nothing about his tone was humorous in the slightest, there was so much edge to his voice it made your heart sink. As if he needed another thing to make today miserable. Today, out of all days, too.

“You could’ve just asked.”

You were on autopilot, walking to the hospital wasn’t even a conscious thought. You and Robby walked there every shift, it was just automatic. Though you were sure your feet walked just a bit faster than usual because you were walking through those doors and rushing downstairs before your brain could even process where your feet had taken you. You were met with the sight of just about the entire ER staff, day and night shift. Your heart pounded against your chest louder and louder by the second. You spotted Robby talking to Dr. Abbott. His eyes trailed in your direction and he could almost feel a sense of relief wash over him when he spotted you. It was automatic, his feet were taking you to him. He met you in the middle and he pulled you into his chest without hesitation.

“Michael.” You offered quietly, pressing the side of your face against his chest, happily accepting his embrace. You felt him press the cheek against the side of his head, a long sigh of relief leaving him.

“I really needed you. Thank you.” He muttered softly, only for your ears to hear. You nodded.

“You should’ve called me sooner. You’re down two residents?” You asked quietly, feeling the way he tensed under your touch at the question. He half nodded, another exasperated sigh leaving his heavy chest.

“Yeah. Collins wasn’t feeling well, so I sent her home, and I had to send Langdon home, too.” You could hear the slightest bit of edge in his voice at that last part. You frowned, pulling back to look at him with confusion.

“Why? What did he do?” You asked with a frown, having the feeling the reason had nothing to do with illness. His jaw tightened, his eyes drifting away from your gaze.

“You don’t want to know.” He shook his head dismissively, but his tone was anything but reassuring. You narrowed your eyes at him, not convinced by his answer. But he didn’t give you more than that. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

You didn’t want to push it, not right now at least, he had enough on his mind. You simply nodded at him, offering him a half smile as he walked you back to where everyone had gathered. You were met with some confused faces, but also welcoming glances of the familiar ones. You figured they were medical students or interns, since you didn’t recognize the new faces. What a day to be your first day, you thought.

“Okay, this is all hands on deck. That’s why I called for some help. For those of you who don’t know, this is one of our best doctors,” Robby looked at you as he introduced you. You felt almost embarrassed, faint heat rushing to your cheeks but you said nothing. “She’s our emergency pedes fellow, so if you need an attending and you can’t find me or Abbott, find her.”

You felt a bit awkward as Robby continued, now explaining the bracelet system and the colors for each area. You could still feel some confused and puzzled eyes on you every once in a while, but you otherwise ignored it. You figured there would be time for proper introductions later.

Robby and Abbott were done saying their final pieces before everyone dispersed in their own directions. You offered Robby a smile as he left to check on triage. This feeling of unease at the imminent doom that awaited you was making you sick, but you knew this is what you had to do. You eventually found Dana, and you were very distraught by the very evident brushing on her face.

“You didn’t have that last night. What happened to you?” You asked her, your tone alarmed, but you managed to keep your voice down. She sighed, like it was a long story that she had no desire to get into at this time.

“An unhappy patient decided to express how displeased he was with our care.” She states, her tone tired. Your eyes widened, your mouth falling open.

“A patient punched you? Are you fucking kidding?” You scoffed in disbelief and she simply nodded, too tired and burned out to do much more. You shook your head. “Maybe Gloria should fire me. Maybe she can hire better security with my salary.”

“Doubt it. She would find a way to claim we still don’t have the budget for it.” She blew out a humorless laugh, also shaking her head.

You opened your mouth to reply but stopped when you heard a string of voices speaking all at once, you knew it was time for the madness. And you had no idea just how much.

~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t know where your head was anymore. You were jumping from patient to patient like it was a marathon. You had managed to tune out most of the noise, focus on where your hands were. You were helping Langdon when you spotted Robby wheeling in a girl and your heart nearly stopped when you saw Jake following him. Robby hadn’t heard from him or his girlfriend since the shooting started and he was frantic, looking for him every time a new patient was wheeled in. He didn’t show it, but you could tell.

“You good here?” You asked Langdon, his panicked expression matching your own when he spotted Jake. He nodded, ushering you to go. You nearly ran across the other side to find Robby doing chest compression on a girl, and Jake was standing there, refusing to leave her side.

“Jake, hey, are you okay?” You asked him, checking him for any severe wounds, but he didn’t seem to be hurt, despite being covered in blood. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, his eyes glued to the girl on the gurney, you assumed this was the girlfriend Robby had told you took his ticket.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay, just my leg I think. But Leah is really hurt. Is she going to be okay?” He still wasn’t looking at you, not moving either. You gently grabbed his arm as you made eye contact with Robby. You knew that look. You half nodded, trying to usher Jake back. You hadn’t known him super long, his mom and Robby had already been split for a while by the time you came into the picture. But he thought you were cool and you found his relationship with Robby endearing.

“Robby is helping her right now, but you can’t be in here. You need to get that leg checked. I promise I’ll come find you.” You slowly pulled him back as you called for a wheelchair, he wasn’t budging, understandably not wanting to leave his girlfriend. “Jake, please. Robby’s got her but you need to get checked out.”

You managed to join Robby, and it did not look good. You made eye contact with Dana, and you did not like the look she gave you. You took in a deep breath, clearing your throat as you tried to find your voice.

“Where do you want me?”

“Switch with me.” Robby panted, quickly switching places with you. You resumed chest compressions, despite knowing where this would end. You couldn’t stop the bleeding, and you couldn’t transfuse blood fast enough. But you would keep going until he told you to stop. “Stop compressions. Check for carotid.”

You swallowed, pressing your fingers to her neck. You held your breath, perhaps holding yours would allow you to feel even the faintest beat. There was nothing. You sniffled softly and shook your head.

“I can’t feel the carotid.”

“No femoral either.”

You stopped keeping track of how long you were at it. You were at three bags of blood when you stopped compressions, and again you couldn’t feel anything. Robby shook his head.

“Robby.” You protested, knowing this was it. There was nothing else you could possibly do. There just wasn’t enough time. He shook his head again, the denial evident on his face. You exchanged knowing looks with Dana as Abbott spoke, but he couldn’t get through Robby either.

“Push one more bag of O neg, resume compressions.” He insisted, his voice breaking the slightest bit. A shaky breath left your lips and you hesitated for just a second, but you complied nonetheless.

“Abbott is right. The bullet probably tore right through the aorta. I still can’t get a pulse and we can’t give her another bag.” Your own voice was breaking, sweat starting to fall down your forehead and soak your hair. He shook his head at you, checking his own pulse to make sure the machine worked. “Michael—“

“I know, I know. Fuck, just, let me try this. Please. Hold compressions.” His voice was shaky, on the verge of breaking as he avoided your gaze. You breathed out shakily as you stopped and waited. You could hear abnormal beats, coming and going. And then nothing. There was nothing. Robby kept trying, his jaw tight and he squeezed his eyes shut as he desperately tried to find a pulse. Anything. There was nothing. Your eyes found Dana’s and she shook her head at you. Your eyes filled with tears when Robby shook his head. “We’re done.”

Your breath got caught in your chest as you held it, your own eyes fluttering shut as the realization finally dawned on you. When you opened them again your eyes landed on Robby and your heart sank. You swallowed, inhaling sharply before you spoke.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You asked quietly and he quickly shook his head, sniffling softly.

“No. I’ll go. Just.. Can you take her?” He looked at Dana. She nodded. You opened your mouth to speak again but he gave you no time. He was rushing down the hall as you were left with your mouth open, speechless and distraught. Seeing him like this, it reminded you of what today was. And that feeling made you so uneasy it made you nauseous.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You got pulled from patient to patient until your head started to spin. You didn’t even have time to notice Robby was gone. And nobody could find him. Those words made your stomach drop. You rushed to where Jake was, you found him still on his gurney, crying. You figured he knew.

“Jake…” You said softly, and he didn’t even bother to look at you. “Jake, I'm so sorry. We tried. We really did. But I need you to tell me where Robby is.”

Jake stayed silent for a long while, sniffling quietly, still not looking at you, “I dunno. He took me to see Leah then he kicked me out. He started, like crying and didn’t come back out.”

Your eyes widened, your breath picking up and your chest started to pound. “I promise I will come check on you but please, try to call your mom. She must be really worried.” You offered him a half smile, your lip quivering the slightest bit before you rushed to the pedes room. God this fucking room was cursed.

Your heart was not ready for the sight you would find. You were frantic as you opened the door and you found your loving husband, the love of your life, in a corner with his hands behind his head, shaking. You choked on your own breath as you grabbed the curtain and covered the door before you dropped to your knees in front of your husband. Your own eyes filled with tears at the sight of him like this. It was like he didn’t even process that you were here, he was hyperventilating, choking back sobs into his arms.

“Hey, Michael. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” You held back your own tears as you reached to grab his face. He wouldn’t stop, he was sobbing and crying like you had never seen him do. You didn’t know what to do, you had never seen him break down like this. Your own tears had started to fall without even knowing. But you kept talking to him, you grabbed his face, “Michael, hey, you’re okay. I’m here with you. I’m here baby.”

“Did… Did I ever tell you you have the prettiest freckles? They go so well with your eyes. You have the kindest, softest eyes. I’ve been in love with them ever since I met you. I knew that you were it, I knew I wanted to be with you, all the time.” You didn’t know what you were saying, or when you started to cry, too, but you continued, “I’m right here with you, okay? At your lowest, remember, like in our vows? I got you, I promise.”

You didn’t know what clicked in his head, or what wall fell down in his fragmented mind, but he reached for you, a broken sob leaving him as he found refuge in the comfort of your arms. He sobbed into your shoulder and you held him, cradling his head as you shushed him softly, choking back your own tears.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? You can cry. It’s okay. Just breathe with me.” You spoke quietly into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. He held you tighter.

“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save any of them.” He sniffled into your shoulder, his voice hoarse from emotion. It shattered your heart to hear him like this. You would give absolutely anything to make sure he never felt like this.

“I know.. I know. And I can’t make it hurt less, I wish I could. But it’s okay to grieve and feel like this. Sometimes we need to feel it.” You said softly, breathing softly, each breath you took was slow and steady until his own breath matched yours. You held him there, you let him cry until he couldn’t anymore. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how long he had been holding this in. Years of grief bottled up until he couldn’t take it anymore. “You have saved so many lives. So many people look up to you. I look up to you. And I know you have lost a lot, and that feeling will never go away. But the good you have done doesn’t go away either.”

You lost track of how long you stayed like this. But you didn’t care how long it took. You held him for as long as he needed. You said nothing more as he cried quietly into your shoulder, until he stopped and all that was there was his tight grip on you and his steady breaths in your ear. When he was ready you gently grabbed his face and offered him a sad smile. He closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch, a shaky breath leaving his lips as you gently wiped his cheeks. He opened his eyes to find yours. And as he looked at you, you felt so much sadness seeing the eyes you were so in love with so full of pain. You held his face, your cold rings against his hot skin grounded him. You leaned your forehead against his and stayed just like that. You said nothing. He said nothing. You had nothing to say. You needed this silence. Words weren’t necessary, only grief and sadness was present and that was okay. You would be here to pick up his broken pieces when he was ready.

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ I LOVE YOU

cw. fratboy isagi, smut mdni, body worship, soft sex, isagi is so so so sweet in this, reader is a lil tipsy tho, crying during sex lol, they love each other sm it’s nauseating, very fluffy at the end

“isagi. fuck off.”, you groan, isagi’s hand on your wrist as you attempt to walk away.

“no. i’m so done with you pretending like you’re fine without me. you- you never wanted this. there’s no way you just randomly wanted to leave me.”, he frowns with a frustrated tone.

“i’m not doing this in front of everyone.”, you sigh, “it’s embarrassing.”

you’re not even sure how you got yourself in this situation. you were just partying with your girls, actually having some fun since your breakup. and the next minute, you had isagi’s hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away with his cheeks flushed in anger.

he huffs, pulling you towards him before looking for some empty bedroom to talk to you in, “well, we’re in private now.”, he crosses his arms, “and you’re gonna tell me why you left me, i don’t deserve this.”

you frown, “i told you why..”

“i don’t believe you. i don’t believe that you just wanted to throw everything away so randomly.”

“it wasn’t- it wasn’t random.”, you sigh, “shouldn’t you be happy about this? i don’t get why you keep holding onto this, onto me.”

he frowns in confusion, “why would i be happy that my girlfriend left me?”

maybe it was the fact you were tipsy, maybe it was because you missed him. but, you just felt yourself pouring out the truth that was so desperate to come out, “because i’ve- i’ve never been good enough for you. everyone says it! we don’t make sense.”

“what?”, he mumbles

“don’t act like you don’t know. you’ve heard what your friends said and it’s not like you said anything to them about it.”, you sigh, crossing your arms and looking up at isagi with a frown.

“my friends.. said shit to you? baby, please- please tell me you didn’t break up with me cause of that.”, he utters, itching closer to you with a pained expression.

you shrug, “yeah, but it’s not like they were wrong, so..”

he rubs up your shoulders, his touch so gentle and reassuring that you just wanted to cry in his arms. but you couldn’t. there’s no way you could do that right now.

“what did they say?”, he demands, an unusual tone for isagi.

“that- that i wasn’t good enough, that you shouldn’t be with a girl like me cause im too mean or whatever..”, you admit, causing isagi’s jaw to clench as he rubs his hand over his face.

“and you listened to that? you really let those assholes to you? you know i’m not even that close with them. fuck- i can’t believe you’d just let that get to your head.”

you feel your throat tighten at his tone. it was so rare to see isagi this heated, this angry, “can you stop getting mad at me?”, you ask with a crack in your voice. god that’s embarrassing.

isagi feels his heart break a little at that.

“i’m sorry- shit, i’m sorry, baby.”, he whispers, pulling you to his chest once he see’s you glossy eyes.

“i didn’t know what to do.. i thought i was doing you a favour.”

“don’t ever say shit like that. if you think i’m gonna let a few words from those guys in my frat break us up then you clearly don’t know me, baby.”, he declares, looking down at your face.

you were weirdly pretty like this, your eyes red and glossy, your glossy lips parted and your eyebrows pinched together.

and isagi just can’t help himself, pulling you into a rough, passionate kiss. he’s needed this, needed you.

and he was gonna make sure you knew it.

. . . ♡

you cry out as you feel your fourth orgasm build up, that blinding white pleasure creeping up on you again, “isagi- baby, please. it’s too much..”

“you can do just one more, can’t you? c’mon. show me how much you missed me, yeah?”, he coaxes, his hand gently wrapped around you neck as he pulls you in for a desperate kiss, bottoming out inside of you and kissing your cervix.

isagi has never been so rough before and it felt good.

the way he took you like he knew you belonged to him, like he was really marking you as his and claiming his territory was something you didn’t know you needed. he was always so sweet and gentle that it had never even crossed your mind that isagi could be like this.

“you’re mine. my girlfriend. i’m never letting you even think of leaving me again.”, he groans against your lips as his cock throbs against your gummy walls, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming pleasure.

you feel your walls flutter around his cock as you whisper, “i’m yours, baby.”

as soon as isagi feels those words he’s been so desperate to hear, he whimpers. resting his forehead against yours, he continues fucking you like he’s never before whilst his free hand explores your body, rolling and pinching your sensitive bud.

you moan against his lips, wrapping your legs around his waist as your hips stutter in attempt to match his pace, your body so, so close to climaxing.

“y’gonna cum, aren’t you?” he mumbles, “i can feel it.. c’mon, cum for me, please?”

and you do, crying out in pleasure as you attach your lips to isagi’s, his own orgasm hitting him like a ton of bricks once he feels your walls flutter around him, “oh- shit..”

you feel your thighs grow weak and your toes curl, rolling you eyes back as you struggle to catch your breath. all you could do was focus on isagi, his face beautiful as he cums. god, you missed this, you missed him. you didn’t even begin to think how much you needed this man before, but you had been so naive.

you are hopelessly in love with him.

“i love you- i love you- i love you-”, you chant like a beautiful prayer, your eyes watering from the intense feeling in your chest. this wasn’t your orgasm, it was your heart. your heart finally realising that isagi was your soulmate.

“i love you too- so much, baby. please, i can’t do this without you. i can’t live without you.”, he admits, his voice trembling as he cradles the back of your head.

“i’m not leaving, isagi. never, ever again.”, you promise.

and this is a promise you’ll keep because the truth was too strong.

you couldn’t live without your fratboy, yoichi isagi.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness (my girl) for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO [WIP]

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep—keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm—almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy