#He heard how they had been treated in the past | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mooningningg · 1 month ago

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After You - Satoru G.

about. after a devastating accident pulls you back to tokyo, the last person you expect to see again is gojo satoru — the man who shattered your heart a year ago. You swore you'd never forgive him. But he’s showing up in quiet mornings and rainy afternoons, offering everything you used to love. And no matter how hard you try… you still notice him.

pairings. Gojo x Fem!Reader

words. 12.69k

content. angst, exes to lovers (maybe), slow burn, heavy emotions, crying gojo, yelling reader, emotional breakdowns, single tulip at your door, “don’t touch me”, “oh, toru”, soft flashbacks, hospital scenes, self-sabotage, character growth, gojo on his knees, regret-filled apologies, comfort scenes, pacing in a hotel room, rainy confessions, “i miss you”, sleepless nights, soft touches, holding back tears, emotional tension, love that still lingers

notes. stay up for part two??? winkwink, yll deserve a treat after this.

They say when something awful happens, time slows down.

But for you, it didn’t.

It struck fast and cruel, like the sharp snap of a branch underfoot.

One moment you were rinsing toothpaste from your mouth, scrolling mindlessly through notifications, and the next, your phone was shaking in your hand, someone on the other end barely holding their voice together.

You don’t even remember what they said exactly — only that he was in surgery, and it didn’t sound good.

That was enough.

You were already grabbing whatever clothes you could find, already booking the next flight to Tokyo, already letting your vacation days burn for something that didn’t feel like a break at all.

It had been a while since you heard his voice. Longer since you’d seen his face. But the second you heard the words accident and critical, something inside you collapsed without permission.

You hadn’t cried yet.

Not really.

There wasn’t time for it — only motion, only urgency, only movement that felt like survival.

The grief hadn’t hit.

Not fully. But something close to it was blooming beneath your skin, a cold, buzzing panic that had followed you all the way from your apartment to the terminal to the cab ride now speeding toward the hospital.

You try not to think about who else might be at the hospital.

You haven’t asked.

You couldn’t bring yourself to.

The name lingers at the back of your throat like smoke — like a wound you’ve trained yourself not to touch. Even now, even after all this time, even after all the healing you’ve faked in Kyoto, you can’t say it.

Not even in your head.

Not without feeling your jaw clench, your pulse kick up, your entire body remembering the sting of something you were never supposed to feel.

You wish you could say you’ve moved on.

That the distance between then and now had softened the memory.

That you don’t still flinch when certain songs come on, or when someone with white hair brushes past you too fast on the street.

You wish you could say it doesn’t still live in you — that night, that voice, the sound of betrayal dressed in a whisper.

But it does, and it haunts you every damn time.

And that’s why you don’t let yourself say the name.

Not here.

Not yet.

Not when you’re this close to the hospital, this close to seeing him — the one who didn’t hurt you. The one who never left, even when you did.

Suguru.

His name doesn’t sting.

His name doesn’t tremble when you think it.

He was steady, kind. Always there in the background, holding pieces no one else noticed you’d dropped.

The thought of him lying still in a hospital bed makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t have words for. You’ve known him since your first year of high school — back when the world felt too big and the future felt too far. He was the calm between louder voices, the one who made space for you when everything else felt like too much.

You owe him everything. So when the hospital comes into view — tall, gray, humming under fluorescent lights — you square your shoulders and remind yourself why you’re here. Not for ghosts. Not for memories. Not for names you can’t bring yourself to say.

You’re here for the boy who never let you fall alone.

You’re here for Suguru.

And if something else is waiting for you inside those walls?

You’ll deal with it when it finds you.

The hospital lobby is too bright. That’s the first thing you notice. Too white, too sterile, too cold. The kind of place where time moves weird — where minutes drag and hours vanish and the people sitting around you are all waiting for answers they’re scared to hear.

Your bag hangs heavy off your shoulder as you step through the sliding glass doors. The air smells like bleach and something metallic beneath it. You don’t look around. You just head to the front desk, voice barely steady as you say Suguru’s name.

The nurse gives you a room number and tells you gently, “The surgery ended half an hour ago. He’s stable for now.”

You nod, but your chest doesn’t unclench.

They tell you you’ll have to wait until the doctor clears visitors. So you’re directed to the family waiting room — tucked in a quiet hallway at the end of the cardiology wing. You’re almost afraid to open the door.

But you do.

And the second you step in, you see her.

Shoko sits in the corner of the room, hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, a tissue clutched loosely in one hand. Her eyes are red, but her face is still. Blank. The kind of blank that only comes after hours of holding it in.

She looks up when she hears you enter.

And for a moment, she doesn’t say anything.

Neither do you.

You just cross the room and kneel in front of her, the lump in your throat rising the second your eyes meet.

She was the one who called you.

Shoko hadn’t always been part of your circle. She came halfway through high school — quiet at first, almost cold, until she wasn’t. You didn’t expect to grow close to her, but she stuck. A sharp tongue, a good heart. You shared notes, lighter moments, hungover mornings. Somehow, she became someone you trusted. And now she’s here, holding herself like she’ll fall apart if she breathes too hard.

You reach for her hand, and her fingers curl tightly around yours.

“I got the call at 2AM,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. “They said it was bad. That there was… blood. And broken ribs. And—” She stops. Her mouth opens, then closes again. “They didn’t tell me if he was going to make it.”

You squeeze her hand. “He will.”

She lets out a breath, shaky and half-laugh, half-sob. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say, even though your voice cracks. “Because he’s Suguru. He’s stubborn as hell. He doesn’t know how to leave.”

Shoko nods, but her lips are trembling now, and when her eyes meet yours again, whatever strength she was holding onto snaps.

The tears fall quietly. No sound at first — just her face crumpling as she leans forward and buries herself in your arms.

You hold her. Tight. The way you wish someone would hold you. Your hand finds the back of her head, and your other arm wraps around her shoulders as she finally breaks. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just broken.

You try to whisper something — It’s okay. You’re not alone. I’m here. But your own voice wavers, and before you can stop it, your cheeks are wet too.

You don’t even know who you’re crying for.

For Suguru, who didn’t deserve this.

For Shoko, who held everything together alone for hours.

For yourself, for everything you left behind and everything you’re being forced to feel all over again.

You cry quietly, tucked into each other like the world outside the waiting room doesn’t exist. You’re not ready to face anything beyond these walls — not the doctors, not the machines, not the possibility of seeing him.

But for now, you don’t have to.

You have Shoko. And she has you.

And maybe that’s enough, just for this moment.

The waiting room stays quiet after that. Just soft footsteps from nurses in the hallway, the buzz of an old TV on low volume, and the occasional sniffle from Shoko as she tries to get her breathing under control. You don’t say much. Neither of you need to. You just sit beside her, shoulder to shoulder, hands wrapped around bad vending machine coffee that tastes like burnt water and anxiety.

You checked your phone a few times, but there’s no point. No missed calls. No new updates. Just time dragging its feet, and your knee bouncing without rhythm. At some point, you both gave up and wandered down the hall to the little hospital kiosk — bought crackers you never opened, a bottle of tea, a rice ball you didn’t touch. The cashier didn’t ask questions. You looked too tired for small talk.

The hours stretched thin after that.

Shoko eventually closed her eyes for a bit, curled up awkwardly in one of the waiting chairs, her lab coat draped around her like a blanket. You didn’t sleep. You couldn’t. You just sat there, chewing your lip raw and staring at the hallway.

And then — finally — the door opens.

You shoot up before your brain catches up. Shoko’s eyes snap open too, and you both stand at once when the doctor walks in.

He looks tired, like he’s been on his feet for hours, but there’s a calm in his posture. A professionalism in his voice that makes you cling to every word.

“He made it through surgery,” he says. “There was a lot of internal bruising, several fractured ribs, and a ruptured spleen. The bleeding was significant, but we got to it in time. He’s stable now. Still unconscious, but responsive to touch. We’re keeping him under observation for the next twenty-four hours.”

You nod too quickly, almost like it’ll make the information easier to digest. Shoko’s breath hitches beside you.

“You can see him,” the doctor adds. “But keep it short, please. He needs rest.”

You thank him, voice barely audible, then follow the quiet sound of his footsteps down the hall. The fluorescent lights feel too bright again. The tiles echo under your shoes.

When he stops at the room, something in your chest twists.

The doctor opens the door, gives a polite nod, and leaves.

You step in.

The beeping is the first thing you hear — soft and steady. Machines monitoring a rhythm that, hours ago, almost stopped entirely. The lights are dimmed low, and the smell of antiseptic clings to everything.

Suguru looks... small.

Not physically. He’s still tall, still long-limbed, still very much the person you remember. But there’s something in the way he’s lying there — skin pale, an oxygen line resting under his nose, his arm bandaged and strapped with IV lines — that makes your heart lurch into your throat.

You take slow steps to the side of his bed. Shoko hovers beside you, her hand covering her mouth like she’s trying not to break again.

There’s a chair near the headboard, and you take it.

“Hey,” you whisper. Your voice feels too loud, even though it barely comes out.

His eyes are shut. There’s a bruise just beneath his cheekbone, faint yellow mixed with violet. You wonder if he even knows you’re here.

Shoko steps closer, brushing a hand over his hair, like maybe that’ll wake him. She doesn’t say anything either. Just stares down at him like she still can’t believe it’s real.

You swallow thickly and rest your hand near his — not touching, but close enough that he’d feel it if he shifted.

“You scared the shit out of us,” you murmur.

Still nothing.

But he’s breathing. That’s enough. For now, that’s enough.

You lean back in the chair and press your palm to your chest, trying to quiet the chaos inside you.

He’s here. He’s alive.

And as long as he is — you can keep going.

You’re not sure how long you sit there in silence, just watching the slow rise and fall of Suguru’s chest. His skin looks pale against the sheets. His lips are chapped. There’s a machine next to him that lets out a soft hiss every few seconds, and the sound digs under your skin like a pin.

Shoko stands near the window, arms crossed, eyes unfocused. She hasn’t cried again, but you can still see the weight in her face — like something’s pressing down hard on her shoulders and she’s too stubborn to fall under it.

You speak first, voice low. “Do they know what happened?”

She blinks, like the question had to filter through layers of static. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, the cops called me after I got here.”

You wait.

“They said it was a truck. Some delivery driver lost control—snow slicked road, poor brakes. It was too fast. Hit Suguru on the driver’s side.” She swallows. “They said he probably didn’t even see it coming.”

Your fingers tighten in your lap. The thought of Suguru alone in a car, unaware, unable to stop what was coming—something about it twists in your stomach and won’t let go.

“They said if the ambulance came two minutes later…” Shoko doesn’t finish.

You don’t ask her to.

The silence after is full. Not empty — just packed with things neither of you want to name. So you stare at the beeping monitor instead, and try to focus on the rhythm. It helps. A little.

Then Shoko’s phone rings.

She looks down, already irritated before she even sees the screen. But when she does, her lips press into a thin line. Her jaw flexes.

You don’t need to ask.

You already know.

It’s like your whole body freezes. Like your bones remember something your mind worked so hard to forget. You feel your pulse spike, chest tightening, the cold creeping in from somewhere deep inside.

“I should get this,” she mutters, eyes flicking toward you.

You don’t move. You can’t even nod. But she’s already turning away, already answering.

“Where are you, Satoru?” she snaps, low and sharp, the words like glass.

And just like that, it’s back.

His name.

Said out loud for the first time in a year. Like it never left the earth. Like it hasn’t been rotting quietly in the dark corners of your memory. It lands heavy, sharp — like someone carved it straight into your skin without asking.

You inhale too fast. Look away. Pretend to focus on Suguru’s hand.

Shoko paces a little, voice hushed now but tense. “No—don’t pull that. Don’t—Satoru, you should’ve been here hours ago. He could’ve died.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

Not now. This isn’t about him. This isn’t why you’re here. You came for Suguru — because he’s your friend. Because he’s family. Because he never broke you.

But you can hear Shoko’s voice still, even as she walks toward the hallway, trying not to disturb you.

“Yeah. She’s here. What the hell do you expect me to say to her?”

It’s too much.

Your chest tightens, and the room suddenly feels smaller — like the walls are pressing in, like the air’s been sucked out. You stare at Suguru harder, like maybe he’ll wake up and give you something to cling to. A joke. A complaint. A tired smirk.

But he’s asleep. And he is coming.

You push your chair back, quietly. The scrape of the legs on the tile is soft but enough to break Shoko’s focus for a second. She glances back, still holding the phone against her ear, and your eyes meet.

You don’t say anything.

You just need to leave before you fall apart.

You need air. You need to walk. You need to remember how to exist without his name ringing in your ears.

Because four years ended on a Tuesday.

Just like that.

And now he’s coming back into your life like the silence he left behind wasn’t loud enough.

You won’t break.

Not for him.

Not again.

You don’t wait for her to come back in fully.

You’ve already grabbed your bag from the floor, fingers fumbling for the zipper, pretending you’re not moving too fast, pretending your heart isn’t crashing against your ribs like a trapped thing.

Shoko steps into the room slowly, her phone still in her hand, like she’s trying to approach you without startling you.

“Y/N—” she starts, but doesn’t get the whole sentence out.

You’re already swinging your bag over your shoulder. “I need to check in. I haven’t… I haven’t rented anything yet. I need to figure that out.”

She frowns. “What?”

“I mean, I was thinking of staying somewhere for a few weeks. Like that Mimaru place in Ueno East. The one with the little kitchen. I think I saw a listing still open. I need to book it now—while I still can.”

You’re not making sense. You both know it. But your voice keeps pushing forward, carrying you through the panic, through the fog, like if you just keep talking, none of this will catch up to you.

Shoko steps in front of you before you can reach the door. “Y/N.”

You won’t look at her.

She exhales hard, trying again. “He’s coming. Satoru’s on his way.”

Your eyes snap up. The name, again. Spoken like it doesn’t hurt. But it does. It cracks something inside you, sharp and instant.

“I know,” you say flatly. “That’s why I need to go.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“I came here for Suguru,” you say, louder now, your voice starting to shake. “Not for him. I didn’t ask to see him. I didn’t want to see him. I can’t.”

Shoko’s expression tightens. Her eyes soften, but her jaw sets with a kind of stubborn kindness only she could pull off.

“This isn’t about you and him right now.”

Your laugh is bitter, short. “No? It feels pretty damn close.”

“I’m still mad about it,” she snaps. “Do you think I forgave him? I haven’t. I still want to punch him every time I remember what he did to you. But this isn’t about him. Or about you. This is about Suguru. He needs both of you here. Whether you like it or not.”

You shake your head. “I can’t be in the same room as him, Shoko.”

“Then don’t talk to him.” Her voice is quieter now, but firmer. “Don’t look at him. Just stay. For Suguru. That’s all I’m asking.”

You stare at her, trying to find something to fight with — a reason, an excuse, anything that doesn’t sound like I’m scared, because that’s what it really is. You’re scared. Of how he’ll look at you. Of how your voice might betray you. Of the way your heart is already acting like it remembers him — and it shouldn’t.

Shoko sees it. All of it. You don’t say a word, but your silence screams.

She takes a step closer.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in a year,” she says quietly. “A whole year, Y/N.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“I missed you.”

Her voice is so soft, it lands right where your defenses are thinnest. You look at her — really look — and you see it in her face: everything she’s carried, everything she’s held together without you. You weren’t the only one who lost something when you left.

The room stays still for a long beat.

And you?

You just hold your bag a little tighter. Because you’re not sure what else you can hold onto right now.

You’ve been staring at your phone for the last twenty minutes, screen dim, thumb barely scrolling. You’re not reading anything. Not really. You just need something to look at that isn’t the door. Something to occupy the space inside your chest that’s been on high alert ever since Shoko stood up and said, “I’ll go get him.”

You didn’t ask her to.

But you didn’t stop her either.

Suguru hasn’t moved. His breathing stays slow, steady, the beeping of the monitors calm like he’s just napping after a long night. Every few minutes, your gaze drifts from your phone back to him. You wonder what he’d say if he were awake. You wonder if he’d be pissed or grateful. Maybe both. He was always better at reading people than you were.

You check the time again. The hallway outside is too quiet.

And then — footsteps.

Two pairs. Light, but unhurried. The sound of them makes something cold unfurl in your stomach.

You don’t lift your head. You don’t need to.

He’s here.

You knew he was. You felt it before Shoko even said she was going to meet him at the entrance — probably so the nurses wouldn’t assume he was some random six-foot-two man barging into the ICU like he owned the place. Because that’s what he looked like. Always did.

Even now, when Shoko opens the door and walks in first, your spine goes stiff.

And then he enters.

You don’t raise your eyes at first. You feel it instead — the way the air in the room shifts like it always used to. The weight of him. The gravity. It always demanded your attention.

And slowly, inevitably, you look up.

The same white hair. Tousled, like he ran his hand through it on the way here. No blindfold. No sunglasses. Just those eyes — the ones that used to soften when they looked at you, like you were something holy.

They’re just blue now. Plain and clear and impossible to forget.

You don’t mean to stare.

But in that second, you remember everything.

The way he used to walk you home, flicking your forehead and laughing at how dramatic you were. The way he used to kiss the top of your head like it was second nature. The night you fell asleep in his lap while he crammed for a test he never studied for. The four years of being so stupidly, completely his.

And then — the night you weren’t enough.

The night he told you everything and cried while you sat there, feeling like something hollow and discarded. The night you walked out of his apartment with a suitcase in your hand and everything else in pieces.

Your eyes drop back to Suguru, and you don’t look again.

He almost says something. You hear the breath catch in his throat, like he’s reaching for your name.

But Shoko is faster.

“Don’t talk to her,” she says under her breath, cutting her eyes toward him like a warning. “Give her space.”

A beat. And then he exhales — long and quiet, like it knocked something loose in his chest.

You keep your eyes on Suguru.

Because you came for him. Not for this. Not for him.

Satoru bites it back. Sighs, low and tired. Rubs the back of his neck.

Because she’s right.

You don’t owe him a damn thing. Not a word. Not a look.

He hurt you — ruined everything — in one night.

And now?

Now you’re sitting there like the four years he loved you never happened at all.

But you’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.

And he’s still the one who destroyed it.

You hadn’t meant to remember.

But sometimes, when the room gets too still — when the hum of the fridge starts to sound like silence, when the chair beneath you feels too familiar — it creeps back in. All of it.

The mornings first.

You used to wake up in a sun-drenched room that wasn’t yours, pressed beneath heavy sheets and even heavier limbs. Satoru always slept like he was trying to pin you to the mattress. A leg flung over yours. Arms around your waist. Sometimes his face buried in your shoulder, breath warm on your skin as he mumbled nonsense in his sleep.

He was terrible at waking up.

Always five alarms deep, groaning, dragging himself out of bed like gravity only worked on him. But for you? He made coffee. Every time. Milk and one sugar. Sometimes he forgot the sugar and tried to kiss it back into your mouth later, laughing when you told him he tasted like regret and half-burnt toast.

You used to study together — or at least, you tried to. Satoru got bored easily. You’d be neck-deep in notes while he stacked highlighters into towers or played with your hair, asking what you thought you’d name your future dog. Somehow, you always let him distract you.

Some nights you sat in the tiny ramen shop near the corner of your dorms, sharing pork broth and teasing him about getting extra noodles when he was already full. He never listened. Always said, “If I die, at least it’s with miso in my veins.”

He was loud in crowds, but soft with you. Always softer with you.

Fingers brushing yours under tables. A kiss to the side of your head as you walked. His hand resting on the back of your neck when you leaned forward — like he needed the contact, even in silence.

He took pictures of you when you weren’t looking.

And then laughed when you caught him.

You fought sometimes. Of course you did. Over nothing and everything — who forgot to text, who didn’t show up on time, what he said that came out too sharp. But he always came back. Always found you.

The rooftop of the engineering building. The lawn under the cherry blossom trees in spring. That 24-hour diner you hated but he loved, with neon lights that made your skin look like paper.

He made you laugh until your ribs hurt.

He danced with you in the hallway once, music playing from his phone speaker, swaying clumsily in socked feet on polished floor. Told you, “This is what people mean when they say forever.”

And you believed him.

God, you really did.

You memorized the shape of him — the curve of his grin, the dip of his collarbone, the little mole near his jaw he always forgot about.

He was your first home that wasn’t a place.

And for a while... it felt like enough.

It felt like always.

You didn’t just love him.

You chose him.

Again and again, even when it didn’t make sense. Even when everything else told you not to.

It wasn’t just coffee in the mornings and laughter under cherry blossoms. It wasn’t just the warm way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

It was the night he drank too much after bombing a midterm he swore he didn’t care about. You were halfway through your own exam — thirty minutes in, pen moving furiously — when your phone started buzzing in your lap. Over and over. Shoko. Then Nanami. Then finally, a stranger.

The bar manager’s voice was sharp. Impatient. “Is this Y/N? You need to get down here now. He’s making a scene.”

You didn’t finish the test.

Didn’t explain. Didn’t even grab your jacket.

You just ran.

All the way to the cheap bar two blocks off campus where Satoru was slumped in a booth, laughing too loud, eyes glassy, one arm hanging off the edge like he was too big for the world. People were staring. A manager was yelling. Telling you they should call the cops. That he wasn’t your problem.

But he was.

He always was.

You apologized until your voice went hoarse. Helped him up even though he was twice your size. Held his hand like it could shield you both from the embarrassment burning up your cheeks. Got him home, into his room, into bed, and stayed by his side the whole night while he muttered half-coherent regrets into the pillow.

You missed the exam.

Your professor didn’t let you retake it.

Your parents didn’t understand either.

“You're throwing your future away for some boy?” “He can take care of himself, Y/N — why is it always you picking him up?” “He’s not your responsibility.”

But you loved him.

And that made it worth it.

At least back then, it did.

He had this way of holding your face when you cried. Like nothing else existed. Like your sadness deserved reverence. His thumbs would brush under your eyes, soft and steady, and he’d whisper things like, “If it hurts, I’ll make it stop. You just tell me how.”

He made you believe he could fix anything.

That nothing could go wrong as long as you had him.

He’d show up to your apartment with cheap takeout and a new playlist, saying, “You looked tired in your texts. This is recovery food and sonic healing.”

He’d kiss your knuckles in the middle of arguments, just to calm you down.

He’d carry your backpack after class even when you said it was fine. “It’s not about weight,” he said once, “it’s about letting you know I’m here.”

And God, you let him be there.

Even when it cost you sleep.

Even when it cost you grades.

Even when it started to cost you you.

Because being with Satoru made you feel like you were bulletproof — like nothing could touch you, not the world, not failure, not loneliness. He filled your days with so much light, you didn’t realize how dim you were becoming just to keep him shining.

You gave him everything.

Even the ugly parts. The selfish parts. The ones you’d never shown anyone else.

You gave him the parts of you that you now wish you’d saved.

Because at the time, you thought he’d keep them safe.

And for a while… He did.

It had been raining that week too.

Not softly. Not romantic or warm. Just endless, grey, and cold — the kind of weather that felt like it was leaking through the cracks in your life.

Things had been rocky for a while. A month, maybe more. Missed calls. Short replies. Less eye contact. More space between your bodies in bed.

You told yourself it was stress. Finals. His internship. The late nights, the shift in his tone when you asked where he’d been. You told yourself not to spiral.

Until the night he came home at one in the morning.

The dorm was dark. Just the little desk lamp you kept on while studying, your notes spread out in front of you, highlighter ink staining your fingertips. You were barely awake. Shoulders tense, eyes sore.

You didn’t even hear the door unlock.

You only noticed when the floor creaked — and then there he was, dripping rainwater on the hardwood, wiping his shoes half-heartedly on the mat.

He looked exhausted.

But not in the way you did.

You stared at him for a second.

Then said quietly, “You didn’t text.”

He ran a hand through his hair, didn’t look at you. “I figured you were busy.”

“I was. Still am.”

And when he finally turned his head, you saw it.

Just a flicker of it. Half-hidden beneath the line of his jaw, peeking out from the collar of his hoodie.

A kiss mark.

Faint. But real.

You froze.

He didn’t notice — or maybe he did. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t say anything.

But you did.

“…What’s on your neck?”

His mouth twitched.

“What?”

“Your neck,” you repeated, voice thin. “What is that?”

He didn’t answer.

And you knew.

You knew.

You pushed back your chair. Stood. Let the question fall again, louder, uglier, something in your throat already cracking:

“Who was it?”

He scoffed.

Like it was ridiculous.

Like you were.

“Seriously?” he said. “You’re going to start this now?”

“Start—? Are you fucking kidding me—?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, already walking past you toward the kitchen. “God, I was drunk.”

Your chest burned.

“Drunk?” You followed him. “You let someone put their mouth on you and you’re calling it not a big deal?”

“It wasn’t. I didn’t mean for it to happen, alright?”

Your voice splintered.

“So it did happen.”

That made him pause.

And when he turned around, something in his face was wrong. Not defensive. Not even sorry.

Just tired.

Like this conversation bored him.

“Look,” he said, “I was overwhelmed. You don’t— You don’t understand what it’s been like lately. Everything’s too fucking much, alright? I can’t breathe around you anymore.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

“You’re always hovering,” he snapped. “Always checking in. Always making things heavy. You act like I’m your responsibility or something. I didn’t ask you to give up your classes for me. I didn’t ask you to pick me up from every shitty bar or cover for me with your parents—”

“I did that because I loved you,” you choked.

“Yeah? Well it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like guilt. Like pressure. Like I can’t mess up without you holding it over my head.”

You stared at him.

And you realized something, in that moment.

He didn’t just betray you.

He resented you.

Everything you did — the nights you skipped sleep, the classes you missed, the way you fought for him harder than you ever fought for yourself — he hated it. He hated being held up like that. He hated the version of you that refused to leave, even when he gave you reasons to.

And he hated how small it made him feel.

“Then why didn’t you just say it?” you whispered. “Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want me anymore?”

Satoru looked away.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t apologize.

You waited for him to say something that could undo it. Even now, even bleeding — you waited.

But all he said was:

“I didn’t think it would get this far.”

That was the moment something inside you died.

The part that still believed in him.

The part that thought maybe you were different. That the four years, the late-night confessions, the mornings wrapped in each other — that it all meant something solid. Something real.

Instead, you stood there in a room full of shattered promises, rain pounding against the windows like it was trying to drown out the silence between you.

You grabbed your coat.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t reach for your hand.

Didn’t chase you down the hallway or beg you to stay.

Because you weren’t his anymore.

Not after that.

Not ever again.

The hotel room is too quiet.

You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up, a cup of coffee resting warm between your palms. The city outside your window is buzzing — lights flashing, cars passing — but in here, it’s still.

Still enough for old ghosts to come knocking.

Your laptop sits forgotten in your lap, the screen dimmed out minutes ago, maybe longer. You don’t remember what you were typing. You barely remember what you were thinking. All you know is that your brain hasn’t stopped spinning since the hospital.

Since you saw him.

It wasn’t the face that undid you — though even now, you can see it in the reflection of the black screen. White hair. Blue eyes. The shadow of a man you used to love more than you loved your own future.

No — it was the memory.

It came back fast. Uninvited.

One minute you were standing in that sterile room next to Shoko, pretending you didn’t feel him looking at you. The next, you were back in that tiny dorm, the rain against the window, his voice in your ears again like a curse.

"I didn’t think it would get this far."

That.

That was the part that still makes your throat close.

Not the cheating.

Not even the kiss mark on his neck.

But the way he made your love feel like an accident.

Like some burden he didn’t ask for. Something you did wrong.

And you hate him for that.

You fucking hate him.

You hate how those words still live in your chest like splinters. How even now, a year later, after therapy and silence and pretending you’re healed, the memory still makes your coffee taste bitter.

You stare down into the mug.

It’s lukewarm now. You should get up. Reheat it. Do anything other than sit here and replay what broke you.

But your body won’t move.

Because there’s a part of you — the part you thought you buried — that still wonders what you did to deserve it.

That part is quieter now, sure. Duller. But it’s there.

It whispers things you don’t want to hear.

That maybe you were too much. That maybe loving someone that hard was suffocating. That maybe if you had just—

You stop yourself.

You swallow it down.

Because no. No — fuck that.

You didn’t break the promise. You didn’t kiss someone else. You didn’t turn four years into a footnote just because things got hard.

He did that.

He chose that.

And no amount of blue eyes or half-hearted apologies will ever change it.

You press the coffee to your lips, even though it’s cold.

Even though it tastes like memory.

And somewhere in your chest, the hate sits quietly — not burning, not loud. Just there.

Heavy, unmovable and earned.

The hotel room was too still.

Too quiet without Shoko's tired sighs or your footsteps moving from the kitchen to the bathroom. No clinking mugs, no charger cords stretched across the bed, no rustling of your oversized hoodie as you curled up with your laptop. Just... silence. And the heavy hum of the air conditioner that sounded too much like guilt.

Satoru leaned back against the headboard, still fully dressed. Jacket unzipped, shoes on, fingers twitching at his sides like they were looking for something to hold onto. But there was nothing left to hold.

You were gone.

And he felt it — finally, in full.

He stared at the bedside lamp, too dim. The walls, too blank. His chest, too fucking empty.

It had taken him a long time to realize what your absence meant. Months, maybe. At first, he called it space. Told himself he was giving you room to “cool off,” to “think.” As if you were the one who needed to apologize.

But then a week passed.

And another.

And then… it hit him.

Not in a dramatic way. No thunderstrike. No collapse.

Just little things.

Like how no one reminded him to eat before heading out to meetings.

How his keys were always missing now, and you weren’t there to laugh and say “Left side coat pocket, dumbass.”

How his apartment stayed cold all the time. How the bathroom floor was always wet. How the playlist in his car kept skipping over the songs you used to sing quietly along to — not because he removed them, but because he couldn’t bring himself to listen anymore.

And then it hit harder.

The way his laundry piled up. The way his calendar never got updated. The way he showed up late to everything, forgot birthdays, left unread emails for days.

You used to handle those things. Not because you had to.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And Satoru hadn’t even realized.

He hadn’t seen how much of his life you filled — how much of his chaos you softened with a simple glance, a kiss to the shoulder, a quiet, “Hey, it’s okay, I’ve got this.”

He took it all for granted.

Your steadiness. Your small routines. The way you made his favorite tea when he was too exhausted to lift a finger. How you made to-do lists for him and stuck them to the mirror in neon pink sticky notes that always ended with “♥ please don’t forget.”

He remembered the time he was sick for three days and you stayed up, head foggy from your own fever, just to make sure he drank water. The time he failed a certification test and you said nothing — just let him lay in your lap and cry, fingers stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

You never asked for thanks.

You never asked for anything.

And he gave you everything but loyalty.

Now, sitting in this goddamn hotel room with the overpriced minibar and the empty second pillow, he finally saw it.

He would’ve given his blood, his name, his stupid pride — anything — just to hear you laugh again.

That soft, slightly breathless laugh when he said something dumb. The kind that made your nose scrunch and your eyes soften like he was the only boy in the world.

And now it was gone.

You were gone.

And he’d never hated himself more than in this moment — not when you cried, not even when he walked out of your apartment for the last time.

It was now, in the silence.

In the knowing.

That he let something extraordinary slip through his hands — and he did it thinking he’d still have time.

He thought he could fuck up and still be loved.

He thought you’d always come back.

And he was wrong.

So devastatingly, gut-wrenchingly wrong.

There’s a knock at the door.

Sharp. Twice.

Satoru doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t want to deal with anyone, let alone a hotel staff member asking if he wants fresh towels. But then the door handle turns, and only one person on earth would be both ballsy and polite enough to knock before breaking in.

Nanami.

“You look like shit,” he says bluntly, stepping inside.

Satoru doesn’t respond. Just stares ahead at nothing, still slouched against the headboard, still in yesterday’s clothes, still silent.

Nanami doesn’t expect a hello. He just sets down the takeout bag in his hand and walks over to the chair by the window, shrugging off his coat.

“You haven’t left this room in two days,” he says. “Shoko told me.”

Satoru exhales. A bitter, tired sound.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Nanami says, crossing one leg over the other. “But this is pathetic. Even for you.”

Satoru finally shifts — just enough to glance over.

“You came here to insult me?”

“No,” Nanami says coolly. “I came here so you’d stop marinating in your own regret like a dying poet.”

Satoru snorts.

Then falls quiet again.

A beat passes. The air is thick.

Then, without looking over, Satoru mutters:

“…You think she’ll take me back?”

Nanami doesn’t answer right away.

He leans back in the chair. Eyes him for a long, quiet second.

“No,” he says, flatly.

Satoru flinches. Just a little. Like he was hoping for something softer, even from him.

But Nanami’s never been one to sugarcoat truth.

“Not now. Maybe not ever.”

Satoru rubs a hand down his face. His fingers twitch in his lap.

“She won’t even look at me,” he says, voice low. “At the hospital, she just sat there. Like I was invisible.”

Nanami nods.

“She should.”

Satoru glances at him, brows drawn.

And Nanami continues, tone calm but cutting.

“She loved you like you hung the stars. Gave you her time, her future, her energy — all without asking for anything back. And you... what? You broke her. Because what — you got scared? Bored? Tempted?”

“I fucked up,” Satoru says, almost choking on the words. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t act like I don’t care—”

“I’m not saying you don’t,” Nanami cuts in. “I’m saying caring doesn’t undo what you did.”

Satoru looks away.

Silence again.

Until finally—

“I miss her so much, Nanami.”

And this time it’s not snark. Not deflection. It’s raw. Soft. A wound speaking directly.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, eyes glossing over. “I keep checking my phone like she’s going to message. I keep thinking I’ll bump into her at that stupid bento shop she likes. I—”

He breaks off. Exhales shakily.

“I remember everything. The way she’d wake me up by pulling the blanket off. The way she’d tie her hair in a lazy bun and still look prettier than anyone else. She used to hum when she studied. I used to hate that sound but now it’s the only thing I want to hear.”

Nanami stays quiet.

Lets him spill.

“I didn’t think she’d really leave,” Satoru says, quieter now. “I thought… no matter how bad it got, she’d still—”

“But she did,” Nanami interrupts. “She did leave. Because she had to.”

Satoru clenches his jaw. Stares at the floor.

And Nanami softens — just a little.

“She loved you,” he says. “Maybe still does. But don’t confuse love with forgiveness.”

Satoru doesn’t reply.

Nanami leans forward. Folds his hands together.

“If you want her back,” he says slowly, “then fix yourself. And not for her — for you. Because the man she loved wouldn’t have done what you did. And right now, she’s mourning him.”

Satoru’s throat tightens.

And in the quiet that follows, he finally understands—

You didn’t just walk away.

You grieved him.

The version of him that held you up when the world got too loud. The boy who remembered your drink order, who studied your face like scripture, who promised you forever and meant it — once.

And now, if he ever wants you back...

He has to become him again, or lose you forever.

It started small.

The morning after Nanami’s visit, Satoru was out of bed before nine for the first time in a month.

No excuses. No dragging. He just got up.

He shaved. Trimmed the chaos that had started taking root under his jaw. Cleaned out his inbox. Replied to four different emails that had been blinking red for a week. Caught up on overdue reports. Folded the wrinkled laundry that had been thrown over the back of his couch since god-knows-when.

Old Satoru wouldn’t have done any of that.

Old Satoru would’ve rolled over, groaned, and told the world to wait.

But the old Satoru didn’t have to see you in the hallway every morning with your clipboard and your unreadable face, your footsteps quick and careful, your eyes never lingering for long.

The old Satoru didn’t know what it felt like to be invisible to the only person he still cared about.

The first few days passed slow.

Suguru still didn’t wake up. Shoko said it was normal — healing was complicated. But Satoru started showing up every evening, sitting quietly by the window, watching you from across the room as you read or dozed or just… stared.

You never acknowledged him.

He didn’t expect you to.

But that didn’t stop him from hoping.

On the third day, he brought coffee.

Two cups.

He walked into the room like it was casual, like it didn’t mean anything, even though his heart was fucking racing. He held out the one you liked — same brand, same custom syrup pump you always asked for — and waited.

You didn’t even look at it.

Just reached into your bag, pulled out your own drink, and set it next to you without a word.

Satoru stood there for a second, awkwardly holding two coffees like a dumbass.

“…Yeah, okay,” he muttered, forcing a smile. “I mean, I’ll take both. That’s fine. I’m kind of sleepy anyway.”

You didn’t respond.

Didn’t even blink.

He sat down in the corner and drank both.

It was bitter. It stung. But he drank every drop.

Later that night, he got back to his apartment and opened up his calendar for the first time in ages. Started color-coding deadlines. Deleted all the mindless things that used to fill his days — the parties, the after-work bar crawls, the late-night games that ended in blurry mornings and hangovers.

He started doing things differently.

Up early.

Work first.

Texting Nanami back on time. Saying thank you to the admin assistants. Actually sitting in team meetings without slouching and zoning out.

He didn’t tell anyone why.

Didn’t say your name.

But they all noticed.

Even the higher-ups. The ones who used to roll their eyes when he sauntered in late with sunglasses and a grin.

“About time you cleaned up,” one of them muttered when he handed in a project two days early.

Satoru didn’t react.

He just nodded.

And went back to work.

Then came the rain.

The kind that turned the city into a blur of umbrellas and blurry headlights.

He was already waiting near the hospital entrance, standing under the awning, sipping a warm can of coffee from the vending machine when he saw you coming from the crosswalk — no umbrella, shoulders hunched, phone pressed to your ear.

Instinct moved him before logic could stop it.

He jogged forward, umbrella open, arm already outstretched as he stepped into your path.

“Here,” he said gently. “Let me—”

You looked at him.

And then walked faster.

No words.

No hesitation.

Just a sharp, desperate speed-walk that ended with you darting under the building overhang, water dripping from your sleeves.

He stood there in the rain like a statue, still holding the umbrella, watching your back disappear into the building.

And he swallowed it.

Didn’t chase. Didn’t speak.

He just walked back to the vending machine.

And bought another can of coffee.

Because even if you didn’t want his help, even if you didn’t want to be near him — he did want to be better.

Not just for you.

But because he hated the version of himself you had to leave.

Back at work, things changed more.

He started showing up to staff meetings early. Left detailed notes for people who missed presentations. Picked up projects he usually would’ve pawned off. He even reached out to Suguru’s old team — offered to help cover while they waited for him to recover.

He said it was out of obligation.

But everyone knew.

It was guilt. It was hope.

It was you.

A week passed like that.

With silent coffees. Awkward hallway glances. You ignoring him in every room. And Satoru not asking for more than that.

He didn’t deserve it yet.

But he was trying.

God, he was trying.

He was halfway through a meeting when his phone buzzed.

He didn’t even glance at the caller ID. Just grabbed it, eyes still on the spreadsheet his coworker was rambling about — until he heard her voice.

“Hey,” Shoko said. She sounded… different. Lighter. Like something huge had just cracked open.

“He’s awake.”

That was all she needed to say.

Satoru didn’t respond — didn’t even bother with a “thanks” — just stood up mid-meeting, shoved his laptop shut, and practically ran out of the office with his blazer flapping behind him and a half-apology to Nanami trailing off in his wake.

The drive felt like a blur. Like time didn’t matter. The whole world melted around the edges, and all he could think about was Suguru. Awake. Breathing. Alive.

By the time he pushed through the hospital doors, his pulse was racing.

And when he reached the room—

He stopped.

You were already there.

And for the first time in a year, he saw it.

Your smile.

Not polite. Not forced. Real.

It was soft, crooked, slightly teary — the kind of smile people only made when they thought they’d lost something for good and finally got it back.

You were leaning over Suguru’s bed, whispering something that made him grin, bandaged and groggy but alive, eyes warm even through the haze of meds. Your hand was resting near his — not touching, but close enough to feel like home.

And then—

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Suguru muttered with a hoarse laugh.

Satoru blinked.

And then that grin — the old one, the bright, obnoxious, Satoru fucking Gojo grin — stretched across his face.

“Well, well, well,” he said, stepping inside like he hadn’t just been holding back tears in the hallway. “Took you long enough, Sleeping Beauty.”

Suguru snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Where’s my kiss, then?”

“Oh, don’t tempt me.”

“You’re not my type.”

Satoru laughed. It came out louder than he meant, unfiltered and boyish and almost too much — but Suguru chuckled too, and suddenly, it felt like college again. Like rooftops and vending machine snacks and stupid inside jokes that never really left them.

They bantered for a while — something about Suguru's gross hospital food, how Shoko would definitely milk this for free drinks, how Nanami probably scolded the surgeon about punctuality. You giggled under your breath once or twice.

And then—

He looked at you.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

Your eyes found his.

And you smiled.

Small. Hesitant. But bright.

Like maybe… maybe this didn’t have to be permanent.

Like maybe, just maybe, there was still something left.

Something worth rebuilding.

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat — just for a second. Just long enough for his chest to swell, full of something warm and familiar and just a little bit fragile.

Because after all the silence, all the avoidance, all the cold hallway glances and slammed doors in the rain —

You were looking at him again.

And smiling.

And for the first time in over a year, Satoru felt alive.

Shoko and you had already gone.

Just one visitor at a time, per the doctor’s rules — the earlier exception was rare and temporary. So now, it was just Satoru and Suguru. Quiet between them. The hospital room had dimmed, the sun finally starting to fall behind the skyline, painting the walls soft orange and grey.

Satoru sat by the window, legs stretched out, fingers loosely linked in his lap.

Suguru cleared his throat, careful of the soreness still in his ribs.

“She smiled at you.”

Satoru blinked. Looked up. “Huh?”

Suguru smirked faintly. “Just now. You didn’t notice?”

He had.

Of course he had. He’d been thinking about it since the moment it happened.

“I noticed,” Satoru murmured.

Suguru looked at him for a moment longer. Then, without preamble, he asked, “You’ve talked to her at all?”

Satoru sighed. Shook his head.

“She won’t speak to me,” he said, voice low. “Barely looks at me. I’ve tried. Not with words, not yet. But... I’ve tried.”

Suguru raised a brow. “Tried how?”

That’s when Satoru leaned back in the chair, ran a hand through his hair, and really spoke — for the first time in what felt like years.

“I stopped waiting for her to forgive me,” he said. “Started working on being someone who deserves it. Even if I never get it.”

He paused. Swallowed thickly.

“I started showing up to work early. Got ahead of deadlines. I picked up your old assignments, handled team rotations, replied to every message Nanami ever complained I ignored. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since the day she ran in the rain to avoid standing under my umbrella.”

Suguru blinked.

“She what?”

“Yeah,” Satoru laughed once, bitter. “I waited at the hospital entrance like some fool with an umbrella, and she just looked at me… and ran. Didn’t say a word.”

Suguru tried not to smile, but it tugged at his lips anyway.

“I’ve been bringing her coffee sometimes,” Satoru added. “Doesn’t take it. She brings her own now. Same order, but not from our place.”

Another pause.

“I know I don’t deserve her,” he said. “And I know what I did was—” He stopped. Breathed. “It was more than a mistake. It was selfish. Cowardly. I broke something that took four years to build just because I didn’t know how to sit with my own fear. She gave me everything. Even when she was tired. Even when I didn’t thank her. And I...”

He trailed off again. This time, when he looked up, his voice cracked a little.

“I’d give anything to hear her call me Toru again.”

Suguru looked at him for a long time. The kind of look only someone who’s known you your whole life can give — layered with exhaustion, history, love, and disappointment.

“I hated what you did,” he said plainly. “Still do.”

Satoru nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

“But,” Suguru added, “I’ve also never seen you like this.”

Satoru blinked.

“I mean it,” he continued. “You’ve always had your charm, your talent, your big talk. But this... this quiet version of you, the one who's finally earning things instead of expecting them handed over with a smile — she would’ve loved to see this.”

“I’m too late,” Satoru said, rubbing his thumb against the corner of his lip. “She’s moved on. Or worse — she’s numb to me.”

“I don’t think she’s numb.”

Satoru looked at him.

“I think she’s scared,” Suguru said. “You broke her, Satoru. And people don’t just bounce back from that. But I also think... if she didn’t still feel something, she wouldn’t have come back to see me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Another beat.

“You want her back?” Suguru asked.

“With everything I have.”

“Then don’t rush it. Don’t corner her. And don’t try to be the man you were before. Be the man she should’ve had all along.”

Satoru exhaled shakily. “What if I don’t know how?”

“You do,” Suguru said, with a tired, certain smile. “You’ve already started.”

And for the first time in months, Satoru didn’t feel like he was drowning in regret.

He felt like maybe — just maybe — he was finally learning how to swim.

You just needed five minutes.

Five minutes away from the machines and the disinfectant, the humming lights, the weight of watching Suguru sleep like if you looked away, he’d disappear again.

So you stepped outside. Coffee in hand. Hoodie pulled up. The sky above Tokyo already dimming into something slate grey, the kind of quiet that warns you rain’s on its way.

You were halfway down the path to the little hospital garden when it happened.

A stranger — tall, in a rush, barely looking — bumped into you shoulder-first. Your hand jolted. Coffee sloshed over your sweater, hot and bitter and ruining the one piece of comfort you had on your body.

“Oh— shit, I’m sorry,” the guy muttered, already walking backward, not even waiting for you to respond.

You stood there, stunned. Chest heaving just slightly. Coffee dripping down your sleeves. Fingers clenched. And not because of the spill — not really.

It was everything else. It was the year that gutted you. The ache that didn’t leave. The fact that you still woke up thinking about someone who ripped you in half like it was an accident.

And then, of course—

“You okay?”

You froze.

Your heart didn’t. It stuttered like it remembered something you didn’t ask it to.

He jogged the last few steps toward you, eyes flicking to your shirt, the wet stain already starting to cool against your skin.

“I’ve got clothes in my car,” he said, breath a little rushed. “I can grab you something, a hoodie or—”

“No. Forget it.”

He blinked.

You didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but it just came out. Too fast, too raw.

“I was just—trying to help—”

“Well, don’t.”

Silence.

You hated this. Hated how his face fell just slightly, like he thought this was going to be the moment. Like he thought a fucking coffee stain was his chance.

You looked at the ground. Then at your hand. Then at him.

“Stay away from me. Okay?”

He didn’t move.

You clenched your jaw.

“I mean it.”

The wind picked up then — brushing past both of you, pulling your sleeves tighter against your arms. A low grumble of thunder rolled in the distance.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

But he didn’t.

Just stood there, watching you like you were the last thing in the world he had left.

You turned around.

And walked back toward the hospital doors.

And behind you, the rain started to fall.

You’d been back and forth from the hospital so often the nurses started to smile at you with tired recognition. Suguru was awake now — groggy, healing, but talking. That alone gave you something to hold onto.

But not enough to block him out.

Because lately, Satoru didn’t hide anymore.

He used to linger. Hang back. Leave a coffee on the bench like it was some apology in disguise.

Now?

Now he waited.

Held doors open for you. Walked behind you in the hallway — not too close, not enough to make you speak, but just there.

The day after the coffee spill, he showed up to the hospital with a bag of clothes.

Not from his car. Not his oversized hoodies or a stupid t-shirt you used to wear to sleep.

New. Folded. In your size. With a little tag still clipped to the collar.

“I didn’t know what color you liked anymore,” he said, holding the bag out. “So I got black. That was always safe, right?”

You didn’t take it.

Not then.

But when you left for the day, it wasn’t in the trash. It was sitting beside the hospital chair, and somehow — somehow — it made its way back with you.

Two days later, it was raining again.

You forgot your umbrella that time. Too distracted. Rushed out.

He didn’t speak when he met you at the exit, already holding his over your head.

Didn’t smile either.

Just walked beside you.

Both of you quiet under the small circle of plastic shelter, boots splashing through puddles. You didn’t say thank you. He didn’t ask for it.

That night, you sat at your hotel desk and stared at the wet umbrella in the corner like it was some kind of ghost.

By the third day, he started showing up with food.

He remembered your old orders — which you hated him for. Because it meant he remembered everything else too. Where you used to sit in cafés. How you hated olives. That weird way you always had to drink something cold with something hot.

He knew all of it.

And he used it.

Not to manipulate you. Not to beg.

Just to be there.

You tried to ignore it. You did.

You’d leave the food untouched sometimes, let the hospital staff take it, or give it to Shoko. You acted like it didn’t bother you.

But it did.

Because it meant he still knew how to take care of you.

And part of you hated how much you noticed.

The dark circles under his eyes. The way he didn’t laugh like he used to. The way he looked at Suguru — with real warmth, like he was scared to blink and lose him — and the way his gaze would flick to you after, like he was already bracing for heartbreak.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t joke.

He just… showed up.

Every time.

And it was getting harder and harder to pretend you didn’t feel it too.

Not forgiveness.

But the ache.

The memory of what he used to be — what you used to be — before it all shattered.

And the quiet, unspoken truth that he was trying now, when it might already be too late.

You weren’t expecting anyone to be there.

Not outside your door. Not after a long, emotionally draining day at the hospital, not after hours of trying to convince yourself that you were fine. That ignoring him was working. That time was doing what it always promised to do — make things easier.

But there he was.

Leaning against the wall outside your hotel room, like he had nowhere else to go.

A single tulip in his hand.

Your favorite. The kind you used to tell him reminded you of quiet mornings and fresh starts. Of spring.

He looked up the second your footsteps approached — like he’d been listening for them. Waiting.

You froze.

He straightened up. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

Just held out the flower.

You blinked at him. Your fingers tightened around your hotel key.

“Who told you I lived here?” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

You stepped closer to your door, ignoring the way your heart slammed in your chest. You tried to brush past him, to get your key in the lock, but—

“It’s just a flower,” he said quietly. “It’s not a promise. Not a trap. Just something you used to like.”

You stilled.

Just for a second.

And then, slowly, without looking at him, you took the flower.

Walked inside.

And tossed it to the floor.

Didn’t even look to see where it landed — just stepped over it, like it didn’t mean anything. Like he didn’t.

You didn’t expect him to follow.

But he did.

The second you turned around, he shut the door behind him, slow and careful like he knew you were ready to kick him out the second you had the breath to do it.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

“The fuck are you doing here?” you snapped, voice sharp, brittle.

He didn’t flinch. “I just— I needed to see you.”

“You have been seeing me, Satoru,” you said, stepping back like his presence alone was suffocating. “Hospitals. Hallways. Coffee stands. I told you not to talk to me.”

“I haven’t said a word.”

“But you’ve been everywhere.”

Your voice cracked. Just barely. But enough to make you hate the way your throat tightened.

You looked away.

He stepped forward once. Hesitant. Like he was moving through water.

“You deserved more than a quiet apology. More than coffee cups and umbrellas. You deserved—”

“I didn’t ask for anything from you,” you snapped, eyes burning. “I didn’t want flowers. I didn’t want closure. I wanted distance.”

He looked like he was holding himself together with thread.

“You think showing up with my favorite flower is going to fix anything?” you laughed — bitter, breathless. “You think being visible makes up for what you did?”

His mouth parted like he wanted to argue.

But he didn’t.

Because you weren’t done.

“I came here to forget. I came here to make sure I never softened again— and all you’ve done since Suguru opened his eyes is push yourself back into places you don’t belong.”

“I never stopped belonging to you,” he said.

The room went still.

You stared at him. Heart thudding. Eyes hot. Rage swallowing you whole.

But somewhere, under all of it — you noticed the way he looked at you like this was the last time.

Like every second he stood in that room hurt, nd you hated it.

Because no matter how hard you tried — You still noticed, and that was the worst part.

You didn’t mean to scream.

But it ripped out of you like it had been clawing at your chest for months, desperate for air.

“Get out of my fucking life, Satoru!”

His eyes widened — but he didn’t move.

“I don’t fucking need you,” you yelled, your voice breaking, fists shaking at your sides. “I never will again.”

He didn’t believe it. You knew he didn’t. Not with the way your throat closed mid-sentence, not when your eyes were already stinging.

And that only made it worse.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you spat, pacing the small room, barely able to breathe. “Why can’t you just—just stay away? Why can’t you let me go?”

Your hands shot up to your forehead, wrists pressed to your skin like you could hold the emotions in if you squeezed hard enough. But it didn’t help.

Nothing did.

Because you were crumbling.

“I don’t want to feel like this again,” you gasped, pacing tighter circles now, stumbling through your own grief. “I don’t want to be soft again, Satoru—don’t you get it?”

You turned to him, eyes wide, heart pounding, tears now streaming down your cheeks.

“I didn’t want to notice anymore. I didn’t want to see you and remember how good it used to be. I didn’t want to feel that pull again. Because I know myself—”

You sobbed. A sharp, guttural sound that broke through your teeth.

“I know I’ll always have something for you. Even after everything.”

He stepped forward — slowly, carefully, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him.

But when his hand reached out toward you—

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you shrieked, jerking back like he’d burned you.

He froze.

“You don’t get to do this,” you cried. “Not after what you said. Not after what you did to me.”

Your voice cracked again, trembling, wet, filled with everything you swore you’d never let him hear.

“You can’t just fucking bring me coffee and expect I’ll forgive you,” you hissed. “You don’t get to barge into my life again with your sad fucking eyes and think I’ll forget what it felt like to be nothing to you.”

The yelling stopped, but your sobbing didn’t. Your arms wrapped around yourself as you stumbled back against the wall, as if holding your own body together was the only thing keeping you standing.

“You know how hard I love,” you whispered, voice shaking like glass. “You know it’s hard for me to say no to you.”

Your head fell forward. Shoulders trembling. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why are you still coming back into my life,” you choked, “when you already tore it apart?”

You looked up at him, vision blurred, throat aching.

“You weren’t the one who gave everything only to realize our relationship was a fucking accident.”

He flinched at that.

“You weren’t the one who carried that.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your chin. “You knew how to get me. You always knew. One sorry. One fucking flower. One ‘please,’ and suddenly I’m right back where I started.”

You laughed through the tears — bitter, hopeless.

“The resentment. The hatred. It just—goes quiet. Like my whole world starts spinning again, just because you showed up.”

Your hands dropped to your sides. Exhausted. Done.

“You’re a fucking jerk, Satoru.”

And he just stood there.

Soaking in the wreckage.

Because for the first time—

You weren’t holding back.

You didn’t expect him to move.

Not at first.

He stood there, staring at you like you’d just ripped open his chest and finally saw what was left inside. His jaw clenched. His lips parted, then shut again — like he didn’t know where to start. Like he knew anything he said might make it worse.

But then—

His voice.

Soft. So soft it barely made it past the space between you.

“I didn’t know how empty I was until you left.”

Your stomach twisted.

He took a step forward. One foot, then the other — careful. Heavy.

“I thought I could handle it. That if I gave you time, maybe I’d stop missing you. That maybe it would hurt less.”

He shook his head.

“But it never did.”

You stayed still.

He looked down. Fingers twitching at his sides, knuckles pale.

“I tried to be better. I tried to become the kind of man you’d be proud of. Not because I thought it would fix things—” His voice broke, barely audible. “—but because I needed to believe I could still be someone good… someone worth the way you loved me.”

Your chest tightened.

He looked up again, blue eyes shining under the weight of his own shame.

“I used to think I was the strongest man alive,” he whispered. “And then I lost you. And I’ve never felt weaker.”

The first tear rolled down.

He didn’t wipe it.

Didn’t flinch.

His lips just pulled into that soft, pouty line you’d seen so many times — when he was tired, or sad, or trying not to cry. His mouth trembled.

“I miss you.”

He said it like a prayer.

“I fucking miss you.”

And then — slowly, quietly — he sank to his knees.

Like his body couldn’t carry the weight of it anymore.

He knelt in front of you, looking up with eyes red and full of longing. His hands limp in his lap. His head tilted up, lips trembling, tears streaming down now — silent, steady, shameless.

Your heart cracked in half.

He was beautiful like this. Broken, yearning, soft in a way only you ever got to see. No bravado. No charm. Just the real Satoru — the boy who used to cling to your pinky finger in public like it made him braver. The man who used to fall asleep with his head on your lap, mumbling how he didn’t know how to love right, but he was trying for you.

You didn’t realize you were reaching for him until your thumb wiped the tear from his cheek.

He flinched, just slightly — like he couldn’t believe you touched him.

And still, he kept talking. Barely holding his breath between words.

“I think about you every morning I wake up. Every time I order coffee. Every time I hear someone laugh the way you used to in the car when I played stupid songs.”

He shook his head, more tears slipping out.

“I don’t want anyone else. I never did. Even when I fucked up—god, even then—there wasn’t a second I didn’t regret it.”

You stayed standing.

But your hand… lingered.

Fingertips brushing against the skin beneath his eye, now damp and warm.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for you.

Just knelt there.

Crying for you.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve it. But just… don’t hate me anymore.”

And you could see it in him — every single piece of him cracked wide open, still loving you, still begging you to love him back.

You didn’t speak right away.

You just stared down at him — knees on your hotel floor, eyes wet, face flushed, holding back nothing for once.

It would’ve been easier if he stayed the Satoru you hated. The one you left behind. The one who shattered you.

But he wasn’t.

He was this Satoru. The one crying at your feet like his entire world was on pause, waiting for your voice to bring it back to life.

And suddenly, the fear that had kept you cold for so long — the armor you wore so well — began to crack.

You opened your mouth.

It didn’t come out strong.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

His head lifted — just enough to meet your eyes. His bottom lip quivered. The quietest breath left his mouth.

“I know.”

You let your hand drop from his cheek. Watched it hang at your side, useless.

“I’m scared of losing myself again,” you murmured. “Of giving everything and watching it fall apart like it never mattered.”

He shook his head quickly, kneeling taller, hands still trembling in his lap.

“I swear to you,” he said, voice hoarse, “I’m not that man anymore. I don’t want anything else. I don’t care about perfect or easy or clean. I just—”

He looked up at you like you were oxygen. Like he was afraid to blink.

“I’m half a heart without you.”

You exhaled — sharp, shaky, gut-deep.

“And I’ve been walking around like I’m fine, like I’m whole,” he went on, voice trembling, “but I’m not. I’m fucking not, Y/N. I haven’t been since the night I left your doorstep.”

You bit down on your lip, eyes stinging.

“I think about it every day,” he whispered. “How cold you looked. How strong you were for letting me go. And I’d give everything just to go back and make you feel safe again.”

Silence.

You let it linger between you.

And then, with the gentlest breath — a thread of sound caught between sorrow and love — you said it.

“Oh, Toru…”

The moment it left your lips, his hands found your waist.

His arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, like prayer.

And he pressed his face to your stomach, forehead resting against the fabric of your shirt as he sobbed — not loudly, not violently, just finally.

Your hands trembled as they threaded into his hair.

You held him.

You held him like you used to — with everything you were. With love and hurt and history all tangled in your fingers. Your thumb stroked the nape of his neck. Your other hand stayed pressed gently to his crown.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

Because something heavy — something unspoken and unbearable — lifted from both your shoulders.

It didn’t make it simple.

It didn’t make it right.

But it made it real.

And in that moment — knees to floor, arms wrapped tight, breath stuttering between you — love didn’t feel like weakness anymore.

dividers by, @cafekitsune

3K notes · View notes

nevvdrinksteaa · 1 year ago

Note

PLEASE Spencer answering a work call in the middle of sex??? Super smutty

just wanna say that this is my first request and it makes me feel special so thank you !!! hopefully you like this <3

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: 18+ nsfw smut, porn with small plot, afab reader, fingering, p in v sex, post prison spence, riding, doggy style, and missionary (yall were busy), spitting kink !!, spanking (once?), face slapping (i’m not sorry), slight oral (f receiving), lots of pet names (baby, angel, pretty girl), let me know if i missed anything !!

word count: 1.8k (got a little carried away)

also note to everyone- y’all absolutely devoured my spencer post the other day, a little less than 800 notes last i checked, and i just want to say i was very caught off guard and appreciate it so much !!

+ i apologize for the overuse of commas & very limited vocabulary,, i feel like i used the same 10 words smh

+ NOT PROOF READ !!

~~~

“i was able to talk to the brass about getting the week off. the past few weeks have been tough and i think we all need a well deserved break.”

you were all gathered in the round table room for a meeting emily called. in the past two weeks, the team had been assigned three back to back cases; which meant three different unsubs, three different cities, and three different hotel rooms. you hadn’t slept in your own bed in fifteen days, already feeling giddy at the thought of snuggling up in your bed, binge watching mindless reality tv, and fueling yourself with nothing but sweet treats.

matt was the first to speak, already standing up gathering his things from the table, “as much as i love you all i’m going to rush home to the wife and kids, i miss their little faces”

you all followed suit, collecting all of your belongings and saying your goodbyes, all of you raving about your week off plans. you walked to your desk, grabbing your bag and keys. you walked towards the elevator, pressing the down button, watching it slowly fall from floor 10 to floor 9, before tapping your foot, slightly agitated about how long it seemed to be taking.

you heard footsteps heading your way, small taps on sneakers on the slick marble floor, before felt a slight nudge at your side “you know, being mad at it won’t make it work any faster”

you chuckle looking up, making eye contact with spencer before giving him a small grin. “i’m just really ready to get home.”

the elevator doors open, spencer waved his hand up, allowing you to go first, before following you in and pressing the main lobby button. “you in such a rush because you have a hot date to get to?”

you looked up at him and grinned, you felt spencer’s hand move to your back, rubbing the center in small circles with your thumb. you felt your face get hot and you allowed yourself to slightly lean into his touch. the elevator stopped at the lobby, a small chime signaling the doors opening, and you felt spencer’s hand fall back to his side before you both stepped out of the box.

you both made your way to the parking garage, spencer walking you to your car before he headed towards the station to take the subway. you got to your car, unlocking it and throwing your purse inside before looking up at him with a slight smirk “text me when you’re on your way”

he shook his head and laughed as he gave you a small wave goodbye and headed towards the subway.

~~~

it had only been three days since you were given the week off, enjoying the company of spencer in your bed two thirds of those nights. he texted you the same night as the encounter in the parking garage, eager to see you in a private setting.

“look how pretty you look sitting on my cock”

you were straddling him, your head thrown back with both hands on his shoulders as you tried to keep a quick pace. he had his hands pressed deep into your hips, helping you move in a fluid motion. you felt him hit your sweet spot every time you made your way down, letting out tiny whimpers at the feeling.

“i love when you use me like this, getting yourself off like a good girl”

you couldn’t hold in the loud moan you had been holding, feeling your stomach flutter at his words. you felt a slight burning in your thighs and you knew spencer’s shoulders held tiny crescent shapes from how tight your grip had become. you felt one of spencer’s hands move to your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves.

he grabbed your chin, making you look him in the eyes. you looked at him and grinned, fucked out and eager before you felt a sudden surge against your cheek before he let his hand rest there, rubbing his thumb to ease the pain.

“you gonna cum for me angel?”

“fuck- yes spence, i’m so- so close” you couldn’t even hear the words coming out of your mouth, your heartbeat beating so loud your hearing going out.

you moved your head down pushing your forehead to spencer’s with your eyes tight.

“cum for me baby, wanna feel you tighten around my cock.”

you felt that tight feeling in your stomach, the mix of his skilled fingers and his thick cock rubbing against your walls caused your breath to stop in your throat, your release making you see stars. you stopped your movement, breathing heavily as you leaned down into spencer. you felt soft kisses on your head and face, peppering you all over.

“did so good for me baby, love watching you use me”

you smiled against his neck, starting to do your own kissing. you felt his breath hitch when you found the sweet spot behind his ear, the small mole behind it always guiding you to the exact spot. you took your time, sucking and biting at the spot, grinding your hips, ready to keep going.

spencer gave your thigh a quick tap, before telling you to bend over. you were quick to roll over, propping yourself up on your hands and knees before slowly wiggling yourself back and forth to him.

you felt a sharp pain on your ass, a slight stinging feeling before you felt a tight grip run through your hair. you felt your body being pulled tightly to his, his chest flushed against your back. he moved one of his hands to your chest, a his fingers glazing your nipple, his other moving to your neck, pushing his thumb and middle finger to just the right spot to apply pressure.

“i let you use me, now it’s my turn to use you angel” spencer had leaned down to your ear, kissing your jaw before pushing you back down onto the bed.

spencer leaned down slightly, gripping your ass with both hands before spreading them. he let a trail of spit fall to your eager hole, before he rubbed it onto your pussy, giving your clit extra attention.

you moaned and pushed back into his touch before you felt him enter you quick and unforgiving, your ass jiggling with every move of his hips.

“fuck- so fucking deep” you arched your back, begging your body to somehow take him deeper. you felt his firm calloused hands rub against your back before settling into a position on your hips, his thumbs pressing small bruises into your skin.

“taking me so fuck-”

spencer’s voice was cut off by his phone ringing, vibrating on the nightstand beside you, and you felt his hips slow down, letting out a soft sigh as he was considering stopping completely.

you felt him hesitate but needed him to keep going, pushing your hips back into his trying to keep both of your focus.

“spence, please don’t stop” your voice still unsteady, “just ignore it”

spencer pulled out of you, and you let out a whine as the loss of contact. you rolled yourself over, making yourself comfortable on the pillows expecting him to walk away to return the call.

instead he leaned back over you and pulled you into a deep kiss, holding your face in both hands. your lips parting slightly when you felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, allowing your tongues to meet.

spencer grabbed his dick, rubbing over your clit before he lined himself up with you, gasping when he pushed himself in.

“you’re so fucking perfect angel”

he pulled away, lifting your legs up to your shoulders and latching his hands to your thighs. he found himself moving slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt around him.

you moved your hands to play with your nipples, rolling the hard buds between your finger tips. he bent down, pushing his weight into you, almost like he was folding you. he pooled spit into his mouth before he let it go to your clit, moving his hand to the bundle of nerves.

“want you to cum again for me pretty girl, want one more before i fill you up”

you let out a moan, sighing before you went to speak “gonna fill me-”

you were cut off by the phone ringing again, the buzzing sound making you forget your thoughts. spencer dropped your thighs and leaned over before giving you a quick kiss before he reached over to grab phone.

“spencer do not answer that”

he moved his finger to his lips, making a shushing motion “it’s emily”

you rolled your eyes, ready to kick him out and finish yourself off before heading to bed when you felt him move again. he moved his hand to cover your mouth before answering the phone.

“doctor reid”

you felt yourself get wetter, the sound of your slick filling the room, your moan mumbled behind his hand. spencer’s motion was relentless, his pace quick and brutal, jabbing your sweet spot with every push.

“i thought we were getting the week off”

your leg was lifted up, making the angle even deeper and you felt your eyes roll back, out of pleasure or annoyance you couldn’t tell. there was no way you were getting called in.

“i can get a hold of her for you, i remember her mentioning something about having a date this week”

you grinned, giggling behind his hand before spencer moved the phone to hold it on his shoulder, letting his now free hand to move back down. he never took his eyes off you, holding a shit eating grin as he felt you squeezing him tighter, squirming at how close you were. you furrowed your brows and pinched your eyes shut.

“i’ll be there in an hour”

you heard the phone beep, signaling the call was disconnected. spencer moved his hand away from your mouth down to your neck, cursing as he heard you gasp.

“did so good for me pretty girl”

his hips stopped deep inside you as you felt his cock twitch, filling you up. he groaned as he felt you cumming again, keeping his thumb in place to help your orgasm finish and you let a loud moan out in response. spencer gave you a long kiss, nipping at your bottom lip before he trailed his lips down your neck. he pulled himself out of you, grinning at the soft sigh you let out. he kept his lips on your body, trailing them down your stomach before reaching your thighs and nipping at the sensitive skin.

he moved his tongue and licked a long strip up your pussy, sucking on your clit before pulling up to look at you, shit eating grin on his face. “we’ve got roughly 30 minutes, that’s enough time for me to help you clean up, right angel?”

#nev writes #prison spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

10K notes · View notes

sttoru · 1 year ago

Text

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. bragging about your oh-so-perfect boyfriend to your friends certainly has its (welcomed) consequences. . .

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff & smut. p in v -> unprotected. missionary. sweet but also nasty and condescending. creampie. body worship. size difference / - kink. nicknames ‘(little) princess, baby’. name calling once. not proof read bcs im sleepy. wc. 2k+

“right! he’s so thoughtful,” you sigh dreamily as you chat with your friends over the phone. you’re laying on satoru’s bed, kicking your feet up while you remove your make-up. of course, you had to call your girls to tell them all about the little date you just had with your boyfriend.

satoru’s in the shower, so you’re taking the time to relive the experience.

“here she goes again y’all,” one of your friends sighs dramatically, to which the others follow with giggles of their own. they know that you can go on and on about your partner. they’ve heard all of it before.

you grin and roll your eyes, rubbing the cleansing wipe over your lips, removing the light pink gloss you had on. you’re all giddy as you recall what satoru has done and given to you this evening. you’ve been pampered—spoiled rotten.

“hey! don’t blame me,” you retort with a chuckle. your friends laugh and urge you to go on since they’re only joking. the stories you tell are always either adorable or heartwarming, and thus they’re happy to listen. plus, debriefing you on your love life is free entertainment.

it’s not unusual for you to stray from the main story. you ramble about the restaurant you’ve visited, the pretty green scenery you’ve walked past, the museum you’ve visited, the way satoru paid for everything and how he made sure to pick activities you’re interested.

you get an occasional ‘aww’ or ‘cuteee’ when you mention your boyfriend’s loving gestures. from the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s gotten you, to the fact that he carried you back into his apartment the moment you told him your feet were hurting.

walking in heels wasn’t the smart move you thought it was, though luckily you had a thoughtful lover by your side.

“he’s just so handsome ‘n stuff. god—“ you squeal, not even bothering to dampen your excitement. you hide your face behind your hands for a split second, gaining a few fan girling squeaks from your friends as well. they’re happy that you’re being treated like deserved.

you don’t hear the door of the bedroom open since you’re too busy gushing about satoru. you’re focused on your small pocket mirror, careful not to forget a spot on your face. you notice that your friends have gone quiet, but you don’t question it.

“his gentle personality is honestly such a turn-on,” you mumble as you rub off the concealer from under your eyes, “and his subtle yet possessive touches? phew, don’t get me started.” you continue to babble on about how hot satoru is when he gets mad, unable to point out a flaw.

you’re about to comment on your friends’ sudden silence when a hand lands on your shoulder. you freeze and finally make eye contact with no one other than satoru—hovering over you from behind. he’s smiling down at you and mumbles a quick, ‘hey, baby’, before kissing your forehead.

you try to explain the situation, yet have no idea where to start. you can hear a friend of yours snickering and another faintly whisper an ‘oh, girl. . .’

before you have the ability to get another word out, satoru cuts you off, waving at your front camera for a second. his smile reaches his eyes and his dimples show;

“hey ladies, mind if i steal my girl from you?” satoru asks as he puts an arm around you. he places his cheek against yours, awaiting an answer. your friends are left speechless at the sudden turn of events.

the white-haired man appears extremely good on screen. he’s basically blessing them with his handsome looks. the towel hanging over his head indicates that he just came out of a fresh shower. there’s a visible vein running down his neck—nearly bulging out of the skin—as if satoru’s holding himself back.

once your friends snap out of their daze, they greet satoru and nod, exchanging quick ‘see you later’s. your boyfriend thanks them with another one of his charming smiles. he waves at the camera again, “bye bye, thank you.”

the call ends and the bedroom falls quiet. you stare at your screen which fades to black, completely dumbfounded. you quickly sit up—your mind a chaotic mess full of thoughts.

“satoru, i uhm, i didn’t know—“ you attempt to form an explanation, though you realise that it’s likely futile. satoru’s probably heard every word that left your mouth. you look up at him, your voice a quiet whisper, “how much did you hear?”

the sorcerer grins. he’s so enamored with you; everything you do is adorable. he grabs your hands and holds then into his larger ones—thumbs gently rubbing your skin. he pulls them up to his lips so he could place chaste kisses on your knuckles.

“everything, princess,” satoru hums, rotating your hands to place kisses on the inside of your wrists. there’s a subtle blush on his cheeks that even reaches his ears. no matter how calm and collected he may seem, he’s still but a complete sucker to your love, “talking about me to your little friends, hm? how cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine. you feel your tummy turn as you’re slowly guided onto your back. multiple kisses cover your body—from head to toe—like a canvas getting painted on. satoru’s taking his sweet time, admiring the art that’s your physique.

every piece of clothing that comes off is a step closer to the grande revelation. the masterpiece that is you. moving from one empty spot - filling it with his kisses - to another. sighs of content leave your lover’s mouth with each reveal, as if he hasn’t seen the sight of your naked body before.

“does this turn you on, baby? my ‘subtle touches’?” satoru mutters against your breasts, remembering your earlier words. his blue eyes stare up at you through his white lashes. not wearing his blindfold may overstimulate him due to his abilities, but he’ll risk anything if it’s to admire you the best he can.

he chuckles when you nod. your boyfriend kisses your hard nipples—taking his time to swirl his tongue around both of them just to feel your back arch off the mattress. your hands holding onto him for life is extremely thrilling. “it turns me on too,” satoru confesses quietly. his slender fingers reach the hem of your panties, “you turn me on so fuckin’ much.”

your breath hitches when your underwear gets tossed somewhere across the room. you’re dripping, obviously. there’s no way you couldn’t get turned on by the way satoru’s been worshipping your entire being.

you can also see the effect you have on him; he’s sweating. the vein on his neck seems to grow more visible when your cunt is revealed to him.

“there she is,” satoru grins in satisfaction. he seems to be in a daze for a second before he regains composure. he looks at you for a quick check, needing to know if he has your consent before he continues. the moment you nod, your lover separates your legs.

you sniff and try to hide your embarrassed expression behind a hand. satoru’s quick to pin your wrist above your head so you wouldn’t have the chance to do any of that. “keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he leans in to place a swift kiss on your lips.

“mhm,” you nod after returning the peck. the white-haired man utters a small ‘thank you’ and undoes his sweatpants with his free hand. he fumbles with his boxers—unable to keep himself from trembling in pleasure from the view alone.

your small body underneath him is a sight he’ll never get tired of. that face of yours morphing into one of pleasure whenever you’re intimate is one of his favorite things to witness. thus why the missionary is his go to position.

“c’mon,” satoru kisses your cheek as he manages to pull his erected cock out of his underwear. it’s standing tall, the tip pointing right at the place it wants to be buried at—your wet, warm and inviting pussy, “you were so loud when talking with y’r friends ‘n now you’ve gone quiet on me.”

satoru pouts, “it’s not fair. i wanna hear my princess too.”

you almost choke on your spit because of how whiny yet demanding satoru sounds. you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, firmly holding your hand down above your head. you’re still flustered by the entire situation. you open your mouth as tears gather in your eyes, “i’m sorry, i’m jus— ngh!”

you can’t even get your words out. the lewd feeling of satoru rubbing his tip between your folds completely catches you off guard. he grins, as if he planned on doing that the moment you tried to speak. he’s such a tease.

“shh, shh, i know,” satoru coos mockingly, acting like he’s not doing it on purpose. you can’t blame the man; he’s been rock hard ever since he heard you praise him so openly through the phone. your lovely voice speaking so highly of him was driving him nuts.

you’re so appreciative for all he’s doing and it makes the sorcerer want to spoil you even more. to give you the love and affection you deserve because of how precious you are—even if you don’t realise it.

he wants to give you more. more, more, more.

without thinking, satoru pushes his cock right through your tight cunt. he shudders at the sight of your poor, small pussy struggling to take his fat dick. he can’t hurt you, he knows. especially with the amount of times the bulbous head of his cock nearly bruised your cervix.

though, it’s difficult not to go all out. you’re so accepting of everything he does—satoru can see that by the way your eyes stare at him. it’s all love. the light reflecting in your pupils makes them sparkle beautifully. he cusses under his breath, “y’re so pretty, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck. y’re making it so hard.”

satoru tries his best not to plunge his cock all the way to the hilt. he reaches halfway with each thrust, the thwacking sound increasing by the second. your legs automatically wrap around his waist and your fingers squeeze his.

“toruuu, fmhh, so big,” you babble, the drool forming in the corners of your lips threatening to drip down your chin. each soft yet firm thrust seems to resonate within you, evoking a sense of pleasurable contentment.

satoru lets out a haughty chuckle at the sight of you going cockdrunk already. he’s still trying to hold his urges back by focusing on your satisfaction alone. “i’ll give you something else to brag ‘bout to y’r friends,” he pants with a confident smirk, kissing your jawline as he ruts into you,

you’re embarrassed by your current predicament. despite that, you find yourself enjoying every consequence that your actions have caused. your moans echo in satoru’s ears, each slap of your bodies connecting sounding twice as loud.

his thick cock is stretching you out so well. your cunt is working overtime to make space for every inch. your boyfriend gently bites your bottom lip, his breath faltering when you clench around him in response.

“‘re ya gonna tell them?” satoru asks through a guttural moan. his hips move non-stop, aiming to please you until you lose your mind. he’ll live up to the expectations set no matter what. he kisses the swell of your breasts, “are ya gonna tell ‘em how you let your ‘lovely’ boyfriend fuck you like this? how y’re a complete slut for his cock?”

you don’t know how to react to his dirty talk. it’s getting you wetter, that’s for sure. your thighs shake around his waist and your tummy feels like it’s doing flips. satoru doesn’t leave it there, “gonna tell them about how good i fill you up, yeah? dirty little girl telling all her friends about our private life, tsk tsk.”

it’s overwhelming. the sudden increase in dirty talk makes you want to cum on spot. you feel like you’re being degraded, however satoru’s touches make you feel appreciated and loved. his hand holding yours above your head never leaves you—a sign that this is still him making love to you.

“am—am not gonna,” you hiccup. the words simply roll of your tongue without much thought. you’re mindlessly responding to your lover. “am not gonna tell them anything,” you continue before cutting yourself off with a string of whiny moans when satoru plays with your clit.

satoru shakes his head, increasing the pressure and speed in which he’s pumping into you. he loves the view of you being so helpless—succumbing to the pleasure he’s granting you. “sureeee, i believe you,” your boyfriend snickers and pushes his pulsing cock in further. his tone is soft but condescending, “i’ll trust my little princess to keep her mouth shut f’me.”

you’re getting so close. your nails dig into his skin and your noises get louder. you’re right on the edge of euphoria. the clit stimulation along with the feeling of being filled to the brim is enough to make you see stars.

satoru nods at your desperate whimpers that alarm him that you’re close to climax. “i got you, baby. cum f’me—i got you,” he places sloppy kisses all over your face and rams his cock in and out of you in a stronger rhythm. there’s nothing satoru wants to do in this world more than to flood your insides with his cum.

his cock doesn’t stop prodding at your sweet spots and it’s making you approach that peak; the peak of pleasure that’s going to push you over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover and he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. “it’s okay, do it f’me,” satoru encourages you once again through a husky whisper.

you’re thankful that you have such an attentive partner. he can go from teasing you to comforting you and it’s the most reassuring thing ever. you’ve never had a man hold you so intimately while he’s balls deep into you.

“g’nna cum,” a strangled moan leaves your throat when you try to speak. your chests are pressed together and your heartbeats match—like the perfect pair you are. satoru feels his balls clench with an aching feeling, needing to release every last drop they have stored into your tiny cunt.

just thinking about the way you were bragging about him again, is enough. “take it—fuuuckk—take it all, baby,” the white-haired man takes a deep breath in and can’t help but bury his entire dick inside of you, that one last thrust making you yelp.

you reach your climaxes at the exact same time. your fluids mix as you feel satoru’s thick spurts of cum coat your insides a sticky white. your body spasms and your boyfriend instantly soothes you by rubbing your back. his own legs are trembling a little, but you’re far more important.

you don’t utter a word and simply focus on regaining your energy. all that you can say are incoherent babbles. “easy,” satoru kisses the corners of your eyes and relishes in the fact that he’s fucked you full of his cum. it’s a reminder of just how much he loves you.

a few encouraging words and hugs later and you’ve calmed down. you don’t fully grasp the reality of the situation until the adrenaline and other hormones drop down to a normal level.

you’re suddenly reminded by your previous words and this time, you succeed in hiding your face into the crook of satoru’s neck.

it’s certain that he’s greatly enjoyed overhearing you talk about him to your friends, but it’s still a somewhat embarrassing memory you wish to forget. “not a word, please. j-jus act like you haven’t heard anything,” you mumble quietly now that you’ve come down from your high.

satoru laughs softly. he can’t help but tease you after that—it’s a given. you’re still so caught up on what happened and it’s endearing.

however, satoru wouldn’t be him if he didn’t tease you about your little comments. without pulling out, he tilts his head back and stares down at you with a faint grin, “do i have to act like i haven’t fucked you silly just now too?”

“satoru!”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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rexhya · 3 months ago

Note

Your anul writings are sooo good like i got hooked

Like imagine anuls dad saying he found a wife for him and reader starts distancing herself because the potential wife heard about how obsessed he was with reader and threatened reader that if she listened or obeyed him she would have her father kill them

yandere!prince who is livid at his father, who wants to kill the woman who's supposedly going to be his wife. ( as if )

Anul doesn't even bother trying to pretend to like her, he continues as usual. What he doesn't know is how this wretched woman has been treating you.

You're sewing together fabrics of Anuls clothing, ever since he'd learned you know how to tailor clothes he's been insistent that no one else but you touch them, a button on one of his shirts had broken.

You of course noticed the woman approaching you, her luxurious gown could be seen swaying from miles away.

"You, maid girl." the woman sneered.

You turned upwards to where she was standing, her chest puffed out proudly. "Yes?" you gulped, she was obviously a noble, though one you didn't recognize.

"Stay away from The Prince , and I mean it. I know you think he loves you, but's he just using you. He'll understand you're nothing but a bug on the wall once he meets me." she flipped her hair waiting for answer.

"Okay." you mumbled looking down, this wasn't worth your trouble.

But the woman wasn't done, "Dont get cocky, do you know who my father is?"

You pricked your fingers while sewing, "I'm not—"

"That's right, you're not anything, stay away from him or i'll tell my father what you've done, and trust me you won't like that." she didnt wait for an andwer as she stalked away, leaving you and your bloody pointer alone.

It wasnt long after this interaction that you began avoiding Anul, excuse after excuse eventually led hardly any interaction at all, and it wasn't like you didn't enjoy seeing the prince from time to time, its was simply for your own safety.

The woman had been watching you like a hawk, ready to catch you near him so she could punish you, or even worse, kill you. You didnt take any chances and went to great efforts to stay away from him, seeing as he was constantly looking for you on a daily basis this turned out to be quite dificult however you'd made things work.

Untill they weren't of course.

Anul was deeply upset, you were so slippery these days, everytime he wanted to see you there seemed to be something of great importance interupting his much needed quality time. You hadn't slept in his chambers in over a week! This needed to stop, and it needed to stop now.

A week and 3 days, and 4 hours since you'd been avoiding him Anul decides he's had enough. He knows everything about your routine, he decides to set a trap. A maid girl leaves a letter in your locker to head up to the head of the maids office, your terrible nervous of course, because of Anul you hadnt been exactly the most present untill this past week, you hoped you wernet being fired.

That wasn't the case at all, "[Name], so you really are alive!" you don't have time to answer before Anul swoops you off your feet and into the air, twirling you around in a way that delightfully makes you squeeze onto him.

He sets you down gracefully and you peer up at him, " My prince, what are you doing here?" you try to pull away but he has his arms locked on your waist an deliriously lovesick expression on his face.

"I missed you my love," he sighs burrying his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

You warm, it was weird feeling the sheer power of Anuls body after being away for so long.

"But what are you doing here! I thought i was in trouble, Ms. Jalei, she—"

Anul suddenly pulled away, a cold and angry look on his face, "We'll that's because you are, you''ve been avoiding and ignoring me [Name], you should tell me why." despite the coldness in his voice he sounded awfully hurt. Had being away from you really hurt that bad?

"I havent been—" you tried.

"Dont, I'm not in the mood." he stared, and you began to crumble, his gaze felt like starting into a void of pitch black smoke.

"I–" you voice clogged, when you thought about the woman. "Well, it's just that there was this noble. I don't know her name—"

"She threatened you?" he narrowed his eyes.

You nodded, it was an obvious conclusion to come to. Anul knew of his admirers, he simply didn't care for them. Then Anul did something unexpected, he sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, I thought you didn't like me anymore. You would never abandon me, how silly of me."

You didn't say anything to this, letting Anul rub his nose into your neck, he hadnt said it aloud but he'd been misreable without you, running on 4 hours of sleep because he couldn't fall asleep right away, accidentally cutting of this knight boy he'd sparred with, and not to mention the drinking, god, it got so bad his father almost gave in and demanded you back to him. His moaning and wailing kept the entire palace up.

"Well, that solves everything then," he smile was as wide as you'd ever seen if before. "Don't ever do something like that again, okay? Tonight you sleep with me."

You nodded again, you should've expected this, Anul wasn't one to give up to easily. He finally pulled back and away to peer at your face, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. "You're so quiet, she didn't already touch you did she?"

You shook your head no again. Anul frowned. "Use your words."

"No"

He grins, "Good girl. My precious darling, It's been so long since we've last seen each other, I feel obligated to a kiss."

You blink rapidly, struggling to keep eye contact with the violet haired man, he loved it when you were flustered like this, "Well?" he whispered and softly your your lips open with a thumb, open-mouthed sucking on your tounge, you shivered, trying to ignore the prodding feeling between Anul's legs. He was just as flustered as you when he was done, crimson red coating his face.

"God, I can't believe I went a week without that, you're to never be away from me again you hear me? And don't worry about that woman, she'll be disposed of if it's the last thing I do."

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makeitworse · 1 month ago

Text

enjoy the silence

raising the baby w junho ! ⠀⚠︎ SPOILERS BELOW

after years of tunnel vision on tracking his brother down, untangling the rotten truth that’s left him sleepless— junho expected anything but this to be inho’s final statement. a baby girl, left with nothing but a player number and the bloodstained prize money.

was this inho’s child, trusted to her uncle to raise far away from her father’s true life? or perhaps this was a stranger’s child, saved by any surviving humanity left in the pits of his older brother’s heart? this poor girl, brought into the world amidst the circles of hell itself, and junho didn’t even know how to hold her properly.

he’d called his mother in a panic, stammering with the baby wailing in the background as if the building was on fire. though it was decades ago, his mother went through this twice, so it was muscle memory helping him out.

there wasn’t an explanation he could offer her though, since he hadn’t even wrapped his head around it himself. all he could say was that she wasn’t his, and she needed to be in the care of someone who knew what they were doing— even if the weight of her cradled in his arms had his heart beating like there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

you met junho in a grocery store: poking your head around the aisle when you heard panicked whispers and a baby blabbering. junho was cradling her awkwardly, squinting at the shelves like the baby formula was written in hieroglyphics— looking like he was two seconds from bursting into tears himself. you approached him with an amused smile and soft voice, offering a helping hand that he’s been forever grateful for since.

you lulled her with gentle rocks, demonstrating it to junho and then explaining how to pick out the right food. all the while, he can’t stop gazing at you in awe like you’ve got a golden halo above your head. he could not stop thanking you for your help— and one thing after another, you’re sat at a café after he insisted on treating you to a coffee (and his girl to a babyccino, per your suggestion).

junho’s extremely transparent with you, also to his own surprise. you figured as much that he was a single father who’d been raising the baby by google searches— but you’re taken aback when he admits that the child was bestowed upon him by his brother (“long story” he’d said) and not his own.

you can tell he’s been absolutely lost, dark circles under his eyes and unkempt hair. so when you offer yourself up to helping him navigate parenthood, he looks at you like he’s fallen in love on the spot. maybe he did.

and it’s not out of pity for him. it’s because you can see the exhaustion in his eyes— how he’s putting in all the effort to something he doesn’t even understand. and how he looks at the baby, like he’s terrified to fail her.

you become a regular at his apartment complex. at first, visits were just practical— feeding tips, changing diapers, practical how-to-parent tutorials. but the rhythm becomes something more natural, something without the need for a schedule.

you don’t pry: you don’t ask where she came from or why he has her when he needs this much guidance. but junho opens up anyways— slowly, one story at a time, like each one sheds a burden off his shoulders.

he doesn’t intend to fall for you, but it’s hard not to. you make things feel normal again. you don’t press about the past. you care for this baby like she may as well be yours. and he adores that about you.

the love sneaks up on him: during quiet dinners after you helped him rock her to sleep. through the way his stare lingers at your hands when you caress her. without realising he’s suddenly saying our girl in conversation with his mother. when she asked what you are to him, that’s when his mind had a blank.

somewhere between late-night movies after putting her to bed, that’s when it happens. a kiss on the couch. junho’s hand trembling slightly against your cheek. guilt’s written across his eyes, but so is relief. and you don’t pull away from him. you leaned in. (mindful not to wake her in the other room, of course)

junho is so painfully clueless, but he's all heart. he watches youtube essays on parenting like he’s preparing for a police exam. he keeps a list of her favourite foods in the notes app. neatly folds her laundry like it’s pure silk. you tease him, but it makes your heart ache how deeply he cares.

he always insists on being the one to rock her to sleep, even when it takes an hour. claims it “helps her trust him.” but you know it’s just as much for him, too. the first time she gets a fever, he doesn’t sleep. just sits beside her crib and watches her breathe, one of her little palms wrapped around a calloused finger.

he still carries the weight of everything he’s done. still wakes up some nights soaked in sweat, heart racing. but now he’s got you next to him. you don’t ask question, just hold him. massage his scalp while he shudders in your arms.

when his girl first blabbered an “appa”, he froze. stares at her like she split the sky open. then he excused himself to cry in the bathroom. with the life he was living before he met you both, he didn’t have the time to dream of starting a family. and now that he’s got one, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

🧸 mlist · taglist 〃 note. drinking for junhee tn

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @nicaeno @ferrarifinnick @loveesiren @madebybec @avsarchivez @frontwomann @szonyix6277 @namgyooner @thanosspills

#squid game x reader #junho x reader #jun ho x reader #squid game season 3 #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang junho #squid game spoilers #squid game fanfic #hwang jun ho

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cosycryptid · 1 month ago

Text

Something Real

One movie, one confrontation, and one shared bucket of popcorn makes Eddie start to realise that maybe he never really knew Steve at all—and maybe, just maybe, he wants to. Also on AO3 [Here]

Eddie Munson has been waiting for weeks for this movie to come out.

It’s a low-budget horror flick with a cult following and a killer soundtrack. None of Eddie’s friends were available or particularly interested in going, but that’s fine, he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He’s got his overpriced popcorn, a drink the size of his head, and a seat smack in the middle of the theatre. Perfect.

Or it is up until Steve Harrington walks in.

Eddie notices him immediately. It’s hard not to. He’s got that hair, that walk, the tiny moles on his face that make him look soft and a great body. The subject of Eddie’s most hopeless, pathetic high school crush. And of course, he’s not alone. There’s a girl on his arm, pretty in a polished, too perfect kind of way.

He watches, curious despite himself. Steve’s always been a bit of an enigma. Eddie’s heard the stories. King Steve. Heartbreaker. Every bit the stereotypical leader of the jocks, treating women like objects and everyone else like loyal subjects for him to look down on.

But what Eddie sees now doesn’t match up with those stories at all.

Steve opens the door for the girl with a soft, “After you,” and she brushes past him without a word. When she stumbles on the stairs, he catches her gently by the elbow, murmurs an apology for touching her without warning, and offers his arm for balance the rest of the way.

Eddie blinks. Huh.

They settle into their seats two rows down and directly in front of Eddie.

Of course they do.

The movie doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, not even trailers yet, but Eddie’s already more interested in the Steve Harrington Show than whatever’s going to be on screen. He feels like he’s getting a sneak peek behind the scenes into Steve’s world and it’s nothing like he imagined.

They sit. She shivers under the AC, and Steve immediately shrugs off his jacket and offers it to her. Then he offers to switch seats so she’s not directly under the vent.

Surprisingly, Steve’s the perfect gentleman. He asks about her day, offers her popcorn, and laughs at a joke that leans more mean than funny—though Eddie catches the subtle flicker of discomfort in his posture when she’s not looking.

He compliments her hair and outfit, asks what kind of music she’s into, and even admits to liking '70s rock. It’s something Eddie never expected to hear from him but can’t help respecting. It’s the kind of detail that makes Eddie pause, realizing with a jolt that they might have a few songs in common. And that’s unexpectedly disarming.

Steve even double-checks if she’s sure she’s okay with horror movies, offering to see something else if she’s not.

“Why? Are you scared?” she teases.

“Terrified,” Steve replies with a grin. “But I figured if I screamed, you’d protect me.”

Eddie nearly chokes on a kernel of popcorn.

That was smooth. Like, actually smooth. It wasn’t cocky or rehearsed. It was playful and self-aware. The line showed Steve didn’t take himself too seriously, a refreshing contrast to the image-obsessed popular kids Eddie had grown up resenting. He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a tricky riff. That line might’ve even worked on him. He’s always been a sucker for someone who knows how to be a little silly without losing sincerity.

“Huh,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his seat, suddenly more invested in this pre-show than the actual movie he’s paid to see.

But then the girl leans in, voice low and suggestive. “I didn’t expect you to take me on a date like this. When I said we should watch a movie, I thought we’d grab one from the rental store and watch it at your place. Or, you know… somewhere more private.”

She walks her fingers up his chest in a way that makes Eddie want to gag.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Here we go.

He braces for the shift; the moment Steve drops the nice guy act and becomes the player everyone says he is. The moment he starts acting like the stereotypical meathead jock who only cares about getting girls into bed and out again before they get too attached. God forbid a straight guy have actual emotions or care about someone beyond the surface.

But it doesn’t come.

“Oh,” Steve says, shoulders going stiff. He takes hold of her hand and moves it away from his chest but holds onto it gently. “I thought we could spend some time together. Get to know each other. This is just our first date, after all, right?”

“I guess.” The girl shrugs. “I just thought you were supposed to be into showing girls a good time. I’ve heard the rumors.”

Steve laughs, but it’s nervous. Hollow. His eyes flick toward the fire exit like he’s considering a tactical retreat.

“Yeah, uh… you don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “I was kind of a mess in junior year. I’ve learned a lot since then. Hookups were fun, sure, but they never really felt good after. I’d rather have something real now.”

“Hmm,” she says, unimpressed and takes her hand back, turning back to the screen.

Eddie frowns. Something about her tone grates on him. Dismissive. Like Steve just offered her a piece of himself and she tossed it aside without looking.

He shifts again, but this time it’s not out of amusement. His smirk is gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a faint scowl. He watches Steve fumble through the conversation, trying to be honest and vulnerable and getting nothing but attitude in return.

And it bugs him. More than it should.

Maybe it’s because he’s seen too many guys like Steve get away with being jerks. But here’s Steve, trying to be better, trying to be real, and this girl’s treating him like he’s a joke.

Eddie knows what that feels like. To be misunderstood. To have people assume the worst of you based on old stories and high school gossip. And it sits right on his last nerve to watch it happen to someone else.

The conversation shifts.

Not in a dramatic way. There are no raised voices, no sudden outbursts, just a slow, steady unraveling. It’s like watching a thread being pulled loose from a sweater.

The girl starts interrupting Steve. Not just once, but over and over. She talks over him, cuts him off mid-sentence, contradicts him just to do it. When he mentions liking a certain band, she scoffs and says they’re overrated. When he shares a memory about a summer job, she calls it boring.

Eddie watches it all unfold like a car crash in slow motion.

Steve doesn’t snap. Doesn’t even push back. He just absorbs the impact of it. Smiles tightly. Tries to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. He’s patient, too patient. Like he’s used to this and he’s trying not to make a scene.

Eddie’s scowl deepens.

He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much. Maybe it’s because he expected Steve to be the problem. Expected him to be the shallow one. But instead, he’s watching Steve try—really try—to be kind, to connect and make something work. And this girl is steamrolling him like he’s not even there.

It’s uncomfortable. And not in the way Eddie usually enjoys.

The lights dim. A hush falls over the theatre. The trailers are about to start.

And then she speaks again.

“Oh wow, look at that,” she says, pointing down toward one of the lower rows. Her voice is just loud enough to carry. “I bet they think no one can see them because the lights are off.”

Eddie follows her gaze.

Two men. Sitting close. Hands intertwined.

Something drops in his stomach.

“Gross, right?” she laughs, looking at Steve for agreement.

The sound is sharp. Ugly. It cuts through the quiet like a knife.

Eddie freezes.

He doesn’t know those guys. Doesn’t need to. Because he knows that feeling. The one where you let yourself believe, just for a second, that you’re safe. That you can be like the people who are allowed to love their partner openly. That you can feel normal, just for one precious moment.

And then someone like her reminds you of exactly what the world thinks of you.

His jaw clenches. His grip tightens on the armrest. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose and braces himself for the inevitable crushing blow of hearing his straight boy high school crush agree that men who like men are gross.

It doesn’t come.

Eddie cautiously opens his eyes.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. But Eddie sees the way his shoulders have gone rigid, the way his head has dipped slightly, like he’s trying to disappear into the seat. And that’s when Eddie knows.

This isn’t just secondhand embarrassment. Her comment hit him somewhere deep.

The girl leans in again, not picking up on Steve’s body language silently screaming at her to stop, voice low but still audible. “I mean, it’s just weird, right? Why do they have to do that in public? It’s not like anyone wants to see it.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold.

Steve shifts. His hands curl into fists on his knees. Then, quietly but firmly, he says, “Shut up.”

The girl turns, startled. “Excuse me?”

“I said shut up,” Steve repeats, louder this time. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He watches the girl recoil, stunned, and then scoff like she’s the one who’s been wronged. “What crawled up your ass all of a sudden?”

“They’re just two people who like each other,” Steve says. “They’re trying to enjoy a date. How is that any of your business?”

Eddie’s breath catches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the back of Steve Harrington’s head like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Steve had said something. Not just something, he had stood up - loud and clear and without hesitation - for two strangers. For people like Eddie. Eddie’s heart is pounding, but not from fear this time. It’s something else. Something warmer. Fiercer.

“Because it’s weird.” The girl doubles down,

“You wouldn’t think it was weird if it was those two people over there who were holding hands.” He gestures toward a man and woman sitting together near the front of the theatre.

“That’s different.”

Steve turns to her fully now, eyes sharp. “How?”

“Because it’s two men. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting,” she says. “I’d say the same if it were two women.”

Steve flinches hard, like he’s been physically hit.

There’s a beat of silence. Heavy. Final.

“I’m very close to someone who’s gay. And they’re smarter, kinder, funnier, and better than you’ll ever be,” Steve says, voice low and steady. “This date is over. Don’t bother calling me.” He goes to stand, but the girl shoves him back down and rises from her seat instead.

“You don’t get to walk out on me, I’m walking out on you,” she snaps. “I only came on this stupid date because I was bored, and I thought you’d wanna fool around like you supposedly do with all the other girls anyway. Turns out you’re a disappointment.”

She grabs her purse, mutters something under her breath, and storms out, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Steve doesn’t watch her go. He just stares straight ahead, jaw tight, hands still clenched on his knees.

Eddie swallows hard.

He wants to say something. ‘Thank you for saying that,’ maybe. Or ‘that was brave’. Or even just ‘hey’. But all he can do is stare, stunned and a little breathless, because Steve Harrington just shattered every expectation Eddie ever had of him. And now Eddie’s sitting here while a laundry detergent commercial plays loudly in the background, heart in his throat, wondering how the hell he ever thought he had this guy figured out.

Steve puts his face in his hands and exhales deeply, like he’s trying to calm himself down. He seems tired now, defeated. Something about that doesn’t sit right with Eddie after what he just witnessed. It spurs him into action. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He just knows he can’t keep sitting there without saying something.

So, he stands. Walks down the steps. And stops at Steve’s row.

Steve hears the footsteps and looks up, startled. His expression flickers—confusion, then recognition, then something like wariness.

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice low. “Mind if I sit?”

His heart is hammering out a beat that would rival the work of the drummers in his favourite metal bands. He’s still mentally preparing himself for this Steve to disappear and be replaced by the jerk that had existed in his brain for the past few years.

Instead, Steve blinks at him, surprised. “Uh… sure? Eddie, right?”

“That’s what all the legends call me,” Eddie confirms, dropping into the seat beside him. There’s a beat of silence. Then he turns to look at Steve and “You okay?”

Steve lets out a breath, a small smile appearing on his face. “Yeah. I mean, not really. But I will be.”

Eddie nods. He doesn’t push. Just lets the quiet settle for a moment. Then he says, “So that was a lot.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Not exactly how I pictured the night going. I assume you heard everything?”

“Yep. She sucked,” Eddie says bluntly.

Steve snorts. “Yeah. She really did.”

Another pause. Eddie shifts, glancing sideways at him. “You didn’t have to say anything,” he says. “But you did.”

Steve shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Didn’t feel like a choice.”

“That’s kind of the point, though,” Eddie says. “Most people would’ve just let it slide. Pretended they didn’t hear it. You didn’t.”

Steve’s quiet for a second. Then he says, “I’ve let too much slide before. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Eddie studies him. There’s something in Steve’s voice, something tired, but solid. Like a line’s been drawn and he’s not stepping back from it. And Eddie feels that twist in his chest again. That strange, warm ache.

“I meant every word I said,” Steve adds, softer now. “I have a close friend, more like a platonic soulmate really, who’s gay and the best person I know." He looks wounded. “And hearing someone I put enough trust in to consider dating basically call that person gross and disgusting and wrong... I couldn’t just sit here and listen to that crap.” His fists clench. “It’s one thing if it’s me she’s saying those things about but-”

He turns to face Eddie, his eyes wide and hands shaking as he realises the implications of what he said.

And Eddie knows that feeling.

He’s worn that same expression before. In locker rooms. In hallways. In classrooms where someone said something cruel under their breath and everyone else just laughed. But Steve Harrington? King Steve? He’s not supposed to know what that feels like.

Except he does.

Eddie nods slowly. “It’s okay. I figured.” He admits as casually as possible to try and ease Steve’s panic, although he’s still reeling over the events of the past few minutes. “You’re safe with me,” he promises.

Steve’s tense shoulders deflate, and glances at him curiously. “You?”

Eddie meets his eyes. “Yeah. Me.”

There’s no shock in Steve’s face. No judgment. Just a quiet kind of understanding.

“Cool,” Steve says. And he means it.

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then he grins, crooked and a little shy.

“You know,” he says, “you’re not what I expected.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re kind of a dork from the bits of conversation I overheard before things went bad.”

Steve laughs, and it’s real this time. “Takes one to know one.”

They sit in silence for a moment longer, their eyes lingering on each other, then Steve fully relaxes into his seat and turns to face the screen. “Well, no sense in wasting my ticket,” he says, then he holds his popcorn bucket out to Eddie, who’s only just realised he left his behind. “Wanna share?”

Eddie grins and grabs a handful. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—————————

It’s the most fun Eddie’s had in a while.

Steve leans into his space every now and then, whispering snarky commentary about the characters’ terrible decisions and even worse fashion choices. He especially tears into the asshole jock character, which catches Eddie off guard in the best way.

Eddie starts leaning in too, throwing in his own jabs, and before long, they’re trading quips like they’ve done this a hundred times before. At one point, one of them says something so ridiculous that they both dissolve into laughter. It’s the kind that’s breathless and uncontrollable.

Someone turns around and shushes them, loud and annoyed.

They immediately straighten, whispering apologies like guilty schoolkids. But the second the person turns back around, they catch each other’s eyes and grin, barely holding back another round of hysterics.

Steve nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own, playful and warm.

Eddie nudges back.

If the small, friendly gesture sends goosebumps up his arms, well—that’s for Eddie to know and nobody else to find out.

Then, near the end of the film, the tension ramps up. The music swells. Eddie’s leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowed, when a sudden jumpscare hits and Steve gasps. Before Eddie can even register what’s happening, a larger, warmer hand grabs his.

Eddie freezes.

Not because he’s scared of the movie—though the jumpscare was decent—but because Steve Harrington is holding his hand.

Tightly.

Warm fingers wrapped around his own, palm pressed flush against his. It’s instinctive, a reflex, but Steve doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it at first.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. He’s not sure if it’s the shock or the fact that his heart is currently trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he’s rooted to the spot.

Then Steve seems to realize what he’s done. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he glances sideways, eyes wide, a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Eddie turns his head slowly, meets his gaze. Steve’s face is flushed, his expression somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. Eddie could make a joke. He could laugh it off, tease him.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he gives Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You can hold on if you want.”

Steve blinks. His eyes search Eddie’s face for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s serious. Then he smiles, small, grateful and a little shy. It warms Eddie to his very core.

He doesn’t let go.

They sit like that for the rest of the movie. Their shoulders brushing, hands clasped between them and fingers intertwined, the flickering light from the screen casting soft shadows across their faces. Eddie doesn’t even remember how the movie ends, but he remembers the way Steve’s thumb brushed lightly over his when the final girl shared a kiss with her love interest.

And he knows, without a doubt, that something’s changed and shifted between them. It’s something small, but at the same time monumental.

As the lights come up, Steve sighs. He gives Eddie’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and standing to stretch. Eddie’s hand falls to his lap, suddenly cold, and he stares at it for a second like it might still remember the shape of Steve’s fingers.

He already misses the warmth. The weight. The quiet reassurance of it.

“Did you drive here?” Steve asks suddenly.

Eddie blinks, caught off guard. He expected this to be the end. He expected they would just awkwardly part ways in silence after this, try to lose each other in the small crowd exiting the theatre and then avoid each other for the most part. Maybe they would share a nod or a half-smile the next time he wandered into Family Video, but that’s all Eddie had hoped for.

He hadn’t hoped for this, for Steve waiting for Eddie to stand too, still looking at him like he wants to keep talking.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “My van’s out back.”

Steve nods. “Cool. I parked a few rows over. You wanna walk out together?”

Eddie’s heart stutters. He stands slowly, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

They fall into step as they exit the theatre, the buzz of the credits still echoing faintly behind them. The lobby is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers and the hum of vending machines. Outside, the night air is cool and quiet, the parking lot bathed in soft yellow light.

For a moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Steve glances over, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Thanks for sitting with me. I didn’t expect… well, any of this.”

Eddie shrugs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, me neither. But I’m glad I did.”

Steve smiles back, and it’s that same small, shy one from earlier. It makes Eddie feel like he’s standing too close to a bonfire, especially now with the glow of the streetlights illuminating Steve’s features. They reach the edge of the lot where their cars are parked a few rows apart. Eddie slows, not quite ready to say goodbye.

Steve hesitates too. Then, almost nervously, he says, “Hey, uh… are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, slower this time, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Steve’s face lights up, just a little. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. It’s not fancy, but they’ve got decent fries and terrible coffee.”

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

The pet name's out before Eddie can stop it.

His brain short-circuits the second it leaves his mouth. His eyes go wide, and he immediately wants to rewind time, shove the word back down his throat, and pretend it never happened.

Shit.

He curses himself silently. Nicknames have always slipped out like second nature around his friends, bandmates, even the occasional stranger. But this? This is Steve. And this moment feels different. More fragile. More real.

He risks a glance at Steve, fully expecting confusion, maybe discomfort.

But Steve’s just looking at him with that same soft smile. A little surprised, sure, but not upset. If anything, he looks… pleased?

“Sweetheart, huh?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

Eddie lets out a breathy, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a reflex. I swear. I’ve called random people on the street ‘darlin’ and the guy working the counter at the gas station ‘babe’ before now.”

Steve hums, clearly amused. “Didn’t say I minded. But now I’m a little jealous of the guy at the gas station.”

Eddie blinks. “You didn’t? …You are?”

“Nope, not at all. And yeah, I am.” Steve starts walking, hands in his pockets, glancing back over his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. “Thought I might’ve been special for a second there.”

Eddie wants to kiss that look right off his face, but he reels that thought in fast. Steve’s probably just joking. Just sharing friendly banter with a guy he knows won’t hurt him for it. Who is Eddie to deny him that experience or make it awkward by assigning a deeper meaning to it?

“What can I say, Steve?” he shrugs. “The man sometimes gives me discounts on my favourite brand of cigarette. How can you compete with that?”

Steve bites his lip, clearly trying to stifle a smile. Eddie’s eyes lock on his mouth.

“I can think of a few ways,” Steve says, voice low, suggestive and just a little nervous as he sways into Eddie’s space. He gets close, so close Eddie’s stomach swoops.

Then a devilish grin curls at the corner of Steve’s lips.

“Last one to the diner pays.”

“Wha—” Eddie starts, dazed.

But Steve’s already taken off running, his laughter echoing behind him.

“Hey! That’s no fucking fair! You’re rich!” Eddie shouts, already breaking into a sprint.

Steve turns, running backward for a second just to flash him a grin. “Better catch up to me then!”

Eddie cackles, wild and breathless, as he chases after him. He sees the moment Steve realizes he’s gaining fast and the flicker of panic that crosses his face. Steve hadn’t counted on the fact that Eddie Munson has years of experience running from trouble.

Trying to push his legs to work faster turns out to be a fruitless effort for Steve because Eddie manages to catch him around the waist and spin him away from the front door of the diner just as he’s about to reach for the handle. They almost end up sprawled on the ground together from the momentum of it, but Steve manages to grasp Eddie’s forearms and fix their footing as the metalhead leans against his back and laughs uncontrollably.

They stand there for a second, tangled up in each other, catching their breath. Eddie leans into him, still chuckling, and Steve can’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and giddy.

“You’re fast,” Steve says, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re slow,” Eddie counters, grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “You tackled me.”

“I redirected you,” Eddie says, mock-offended. “With grace.”

Steve turns in his grip, still holding onto Eddie’s arms, and they’re suddenly face to face. Close. Closer than they’ve been all night. The laughter fades into something quieter, softer.

Eddie’s eyes flick to Steve’s mouth for just a second. Steve notices.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then the diner door swings open behind them with a loud ding, and a couple walks out, chatting loudly and breaking the moment. Eddie steps back, clearing his throat. “Guess we should, uh… go inside before they run out of terrible coffee.”

Steve nods, still smiling. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

————————

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re basically a single parent to six?”

They’re sat in a booth in the back corner, chatting animatedly and occasionally stealing each other’s fries even though they got exactly the same thing. They’d foregone the crappy coffee for milkshakes though, Steve’s strawberry and Eddie’s chocolate.

“Seven if you count Erica, Lucas’ little sister,” Steve corrects him. “But jury’s still out on whether she’s actually a child or whether Lucas is just living with the consequences of feeding a mogwai after midnight.”

“God you are such a nerd,” Eddie laughs, delighted. “’Mogwai’? You didn’t even use the incorrect term - ‘gremlin’ - like most people would. You just went straight in there with ‘mogwai’.”

Steve grins, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I take my pop culture references seriously.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re a walking contradiction, Steve. You look like you should be quarterbacking some all-American football team, but you talk like you’ve got the entire catalogue of Family Video memorised.”

Steve sips his milkshake, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I do.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Steve shrugs, all faux-casual. “You’ll have to hang out with me again to find out.”

Eddie’s caught off guard for a second, not by the words, but by the way Steve says them. Like it’s not a joke. Like he means it. Eddie, who’s spent most of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, finds himself hoping just a little that maybe this time it won’t.

He smiles, softer now. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how does King of the jocks and certified lady-killer Steve Harrington become an actually decent and interesting guy with a brood of little lost ducklings?”

Steve leans back in the booth, fingers idly tracing the condensation on his milkshake glass.

“It’s a long story, but I guess I just got tired of pretending I wanted the same things I used to,” he says. “Back in high school, it was all about the image. The parties, the girls, the reputation. I thought that was what I was supposed to want. What everyone expected from me.”

Eddie watches him, the teasing gone from his expression.

“But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t want to keep chasing something that never really made me feel good. I started figuring out that what I actually want is something that feels real. Something that lasts.”

He glances up, meets Eddie’s eyes. There’s something open in his expression. It’s unguarded, but cautious. Eddie’s heart does something strange in his chest, tightens and softens all at once. He reminds himself that shouldn’t be reading into things; Steve might just be getting used to having someone he can talk to about all this.

He nods slowly, voice quiet. “Yeah. I get that.”

They share a soft, secret smile.

“So,” Steve says. “You like metal, right? I don’t think I’ve ever listened to that before. What do you like about it?”

It’s a hard pivot in the topic of conversation, but Eddie allows it. Mostly because the fact that Steve seems to realise how important music is to Eddie and makes a point to ask him about it. Eddie’s eyes light up at the question, and he sits up a little straighter.

“Oh man, where do I even start?” he says, grinning. “Okay, so it’s loud, it’s chaotic. But it’s also honest. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. It’s raw and messy and emotional, and it doesn’t apologise for any of it.”

Steve watches him, chin propped on one hand, milkshake forgotten for the moment.

Eddie continues, more animated now. “And a lot of the songs are about overcoming adversity. About going through hell and somehow still fighting and persevering. It’s about taking back power when the world is trying to crush you. It makes me feel confident for a change, like I could take on anything. And people complain that it’s just noise but that’s so far from the truth. It takes so much talent and years of dedication and-”

He pauses, his eyes flicking to Steve’s, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “No, I like it. You talk about it like it’s more than just music.”

“It is,” Eddie shrugs, a little sheepish. “It kind of saved my life, y’know? When everything else felt like it was falling apart and I had nowhere I belonged, metal was the one place I could just be and feel accepted. No masks. No pretending.”

Steve’s expression softens. “That makes sense.”

There’s a beat of quiet between them, not awkward, just full. Like the air’s thick with things unsaid but understood. Then Steve leans forward, a playful glint in his eye. “So, if I wanted to dip my toe into the world of metal, where would I start? What’s, like, the gateway drug?”

“Really? You want to give up your metal virginity?”

“Didn’t have to put it like that,” Steve says, his face scrunching up in a way that’s far too cute to do anything good for Eddie’s heart.

“Okay, you’re coming over to my trailer as soon as possible and I’m going to play you some songs. I’m already mentally writing a list. This is gonna be so good.” Eddie laughs ecstatically and rubs his hands together deviously. “We’ll make a metalhead out of you yet, Steve.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Steve replies, his expression so open and honest that it gives Eddie pause.

Eddie’s demeanor turns softer. “You don’t have to like it though, y’know. I won’t be offended.”

“I know,” Steve meets his gaze, steady. “I want to understand the things that matter to you.”

Eddie’s caught off guard again. His heart does that weird fluttery thing, and he has to look away before he says something stupid.

“Cool,” he says, voice a little rough. “Yeah. Cool.”

They go back to their fries, the silence between them now warm and companionable. Outside, the neon sign of the diner flickers softly, casting pink and blue shadows across the table.

——————————

The bell chimes above their heads and a nice, middle-aged lady calls out a, “Thank you for coming, be sure to get home safe,” as Eddie holds the door open for Steve and they step back out into the cold night air.

Steve sidles up next to him. “Thank you for getting the door for me, Sweetheart,” he says, teasing.

Eddie groans loudly. “You are not going to let me forget about that, are you?"

“Never,” Steve beams.

They settle into a comfortable silence as they walk. Their shoulders touch once, then again, and neither of them moves away. Their hands are so close that they constantly brush against each other and it’s driving Eddie mad. All he would have to do is reach out a little and he could be holding Steve’s hand again. He isn’t able to summon the courage for that because he’s still not quite sure if Steve feels anything more than a budding sense of friendship toward him.

They walk in step down the quiet street, the night air crisp and laced with the scent of damp pavement and distant woodsmoke. The town is mostly asleep, windows glowing softly in the distance, the occasional car humming by like a lullaby.

Their hands brush again. This time, Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his fingers linger just a second longer than before. Eddie’s heart stutters.

He swallows. “Hey, uh… you don’t have to say yes or anything, but would you ever want to come to a show sometime, like one of the local gigs I play or even just hang out while I practice? Hear some live music.”

Steve looks over at him, eyes warm. “I’d love that.”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I want to see you in your element. I bet you look cool as hell on stage.”

Eddie laughs, a little breathless. “I mean, I do, obviously. But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

They stop next to Eddie’s van. Neither of them moves to leave just yet.

Steve rocks on his heels. “Thanks for tonight. I had more fun than I probably had in years if I’m being honest.”

Eddie nods, his voice soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a pause. Neither of them moves.

Then Steve clears his throat and pulls one hand free, fishing around in his back pocket. “Before I forget,” He pulls out a pen and the crumpled diner receipt, scribbles something down, and hands it to Eddie. “My number. For whenever you want to hang out or just talk.”

Eddie takes it, fingers brushing Steve’s. He looks down at the messy scrawl of digits, then back up, heart thudding. “Thank you. I’ll definitely call you to set something up soon, and let you know as soon as I know when the next gig’s going to be.”

“Cool, I can’t wait,” Steve smiles.

He hesitates for a second, then steps a little closer, his gaze drifting to Eddie’s lips. “Also, I’ve been thinking about doing this all night.”

Eddie barely has time to process that before Steve leans in and kisses him.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, like a question asked in a language neither of them is fluent in yet. Steve’s lips brush against Eddie’s with a kind of reverence, like he’s afraid to push too far, too fast. But Eddie’s breath catches, and instinct takes over. He leans in, closing the distance, answering the question with a quiet certainty.

His hands find their way to Steve’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like they’ve always belonged there. Steve’s hands hover for a moment before settling gently on Eddie’s shoulders, grounding them both.

The world fades. The cold night air, the hum of a distant streetlamp, the faint creak of the van’s metal frame, all of it disappears. It’s just them. Just this.

Steve tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and Eddie feels it like a spark down his spine. It’s still gentle, still careful, but there’s something more now. It’s something that says ‘I see you’ and ‘I want this’. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When they finally part, it’s slow, reluctant. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at Eddie like he’s trying to memorize every detail of his face.

“Was that okay?” Steve asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie blinks, dazed, lips tingling, heart pounding. Then he grins, wide and a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.”

Steve lets out a soft laugh, relief blooming across his face. “Good.”

They linger there, close enough to feel each other’s breath in the space between them. Steve leans in again, slower this time, and kisses him once more. It’s just as soft and just as sure. It’s the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a one-time thing.

“I’ll call you,” Eddie says, still smiling as they hesitantly move away from each other. “God, it might even be as soon as I get home after a kiss like that.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Steve replies, stepping back slowly, like he’s reluctant to go.

Eddie watches him walk away, heart pounding, fingers still curled around the scrap of paper like it’s something precious.

Steve turns back to face him and, he’s smiling, nervous, but genuine. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s frozen for a second, then grins, wide and a little dazed. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

They part ways, both of them feeling a little lighter than before.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #my fics #started writing a minific #got carried away #bon appetit

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lolab4t · 3 months ago

Text

off duty - part two | 18+

MINORS DNI

ᝰ.ᐟ this is part two of off duty! the first part didn't include smut, but this one does, so please keep that in mind.

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x fem!avenger!younger!reader summary: days after the tipsy night on the couch, you're left wondering what it meant... especially with bucky acting infuriatingly normal. the tension leads to a steamy exchange between the two, where bucky seems to let go of his gentleman manners for a bit. word count: 8.2k warning(s): 18+ explicit content warning, smut, mature themes, light swearing, some power dynamics, alcohol consumption/intoxication (references to past use), fluff, use of nicknames, age gap, mutual confusion a/n: if you saw the original part two before i deleted it... no u didn't :) i was so shocked by the love of the first part and was super unprepared to make a second, so i made a few indecisive choice lol. i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please feel free to like, comment, or reblog! <3 also, requests are open!

art deco - lana del rey

a few days had passed since that night on the sofa. it was almost as if it had never happened. you were spiraling, wondering if you had imagined it during your drunken haze. you kept replaying that night on the couch, unsure if it was real or some alcohol-fueled fantasy. the only confirmation? the team’s constant teasing.

but bucky? that asshole was silent as ever.

bucky never reacted. he simply ignored the comments. even when the group had found you on the couch and battered you with questions, his expression remained neutral, as if he had no reason to feel awkward. the amount of comments made by tony that he just brushed off was impressive. you, on the other hand, were a flustered, hungover mess.

not to mention you hadn’t really talked to bucky much since then.

well, you had… technically. a few "good mornings," maybe a nod across the gym… nothing that really counted. nothing that explained any of the tension. maybe he was just being friendly, and you misread it. but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different in the way he acted around you. he started sitting closer during movie nights… he'd taunt you and give you a playful smirk every time you so much as tripped on a training mat. it was such a stark difference to how he treated you before that night. he was treating you like a friend, which made you consider whether you wanted him to treat you as something more or not. whether you wanted his hands on you again…

now, you found yourself still in your gear after a mission, standing in front of your mirror. you had been struggling with the straps of your vest, too exhausted to deal with any of it. the fabric was tight, and the clasps just wouldn’t come undone.

you hadn’t even realized bucky was standing in the doorway, watching you, until he stood in front of you.

he likely had heard your grunts of frustration and came to check on you. perfect asshole.

"having trouble?" he gently started removing the straps, helping you out of your gear slowly.

was he doing this on purpose? could he not tell how your breathing became more shallow when he did shit like that? maybe he was torturing you.

"why do you always seem to be helping me out of clothing?" you asked, not realizing how dirty-minded it actually sounded until he snickered, causing your face to go red.

god… he's so hot when he makes that smug ass face.

"you know what i mean—" you rushed to clarify, but he was already smirking.

"you mean those pretty little heels from the other night?" he chuckled, putting your gear away. he turned back to you, closing the distance a little, "you remember that?"

so, you hadn't imagined it. it had actually happened. all this time, he had thought you didn’t remember… you felt a little relieved.

how could you NOT remember? you couldn't look at him all week without feeling yourself get hot.

the adrenaline from his closeness caused your head to swim a bit, "of course i do, 'doll.' i was tipsy, not blackout drunk," you smirked, meeting his gaze, refusing to look away.

bucky grinned, watching you with an amused expression.

"really? you could've fooled me. i thought you forgot the whole thing, or were pretending to."

"what's that supposed to mean?" you narrowed your eyes, still smiling subtly.

you would've never wanted to forget it.

he hummed, "i dunno. you've just been acting kind of distant since that night. you're a little young. thought i might've went too far."

went too far? hell, he didn't go far enough.

you scoffed playfully, tilting your head, "you scared of me or something, old man?"

you didn't think your next words through, unable to stop yourself from just saying what you were thinking, "you didn't go far enough…" your voice came out as a whisper.

you could see that cocky look in his eyes start to break. he bit his lip, shaking his head, "you're killing me, doll. here i am trying to be a gentleman…"

his smirk returned as he stepped closer, "unless you'd like me to stop trying."

all you had to do was give him a nod before his lips smashed onto yours.

the kiss was heated and rough. his hands were roaming all over your body, your fingers tangling into his hair.

he groaned into your mouth, one hand gripping your hip while the other wrapped around the back of your neck like he’d been dying to do this for weeks.

"this what you wanted, doll?" he murmured against your lips. you could feel the smirk.

"i want more," you breathed, gripping onto his shoulders.

his metal hand slid beneath your combat gear top, fingers tracing up your spine. cool against the heat of your skin. his touch was teasing. almost maddeningly slow.

"you sure you can handle more, sweetheart?" he whispered into your neck, lips brushing skin with every word. "you're already shaking."

you were. damn it. the adrenaline rush was affecting you physically.

"shut up," you muttered, trying to push at his chest — not really meaning it. “asshole.”

“that’s more like it,” he grinned. “that’s my girl.”

my girl.

your breath caught.

he noticed. of course he did. you could practically feel his cocky smirk against your neck.

bucky pulled back just enough to look at you again, eyes flicking across your face. you could see the restraint in his eyes… like he was holding himself back, waiting for a sign.

so you gave him one.

one hand slid under his shirt, palms grazing the lines of his abs. your other hand fiddled with his belt. you leaned in, kissed him slow, more deliberate this time. no rush. no panic. just want. desire.

he responded instantly, like he’d been waiting for this since that night on the sofa. his hands gripped your waist, walking you backward until your shoulder blades hit the nearest wall.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, voice ragged.

you didn’t. obviously.

instead, you dragged his shirt up over his head. that vibranium arm came to rest on the wall beside your head, bracing him, and you, as he pressed closer. the cool of the metal contrasted with the heat of his body, and it made you shiver.

he smiled against your jaw. “still shaking.”

"still an asshole." you snapped back, slightly breathless.

his hand traveled under your top again, “you’re not wearing anything under this,” he muttered, almost like he was scolding himself. “young people these days…” he joked, grinning again.

“then don’t waste time,” you said breathlessly, tugging at his belt.

that did it.

sloppy make out. hands everywhere. your shirt joined his on the floor.

he guided you to the bed, carefully, like he was still asking permission with every step. even in the heat of it, he was gentle. attentive. like if he didn’t handle you right, you’d vanish. still a perfect gentleman.

once there, he wasted no time. he helped you out of your pants, pulling your panties off with them. hovering above you, he moved down, closer to where you needed him most.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmured into your inner thighs, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“bucky—” you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair again as you felt his tongue on your clit.

the way he moved was practiced, but not detached. it was about you. every reaction he pulled from you only made him more desperate, more focused. it wasn’t long before your voice was breaking on his name, back arching off the mattress as he took you apart with nothing but his mouth.

when he finally came up for air, pupils blown, lips swollen, hair messy from your fingers… he simply smirked.

god... he was killing you.

“still want more?”

you nodded, dazed. “god, yes.”

he crawled back over you, leaving a trail of gentle kisses on your skin in his wake.

and when he finally sank into you — need seemed to claw through the both of you, hot and impatient.

not rushed, but there was urgency.

it built slowly until you were unraveling in his arms, and he followed with a groan against your throat.

he held onto you like he had done on the couch that night. when you had fallen asleep in his arms.

for a while, you just lay there, both letting out laughs of disbelief.

"guess chivalry is dead," you joked, flashing him a mischievous smile.

"oh, really?" he gave you an amused grin. "i tried to be a gentleman. you told me to stop trying."

thanks so much for reading <3 requests are open!

taglist: @delfitaylorsversion131989 @planetzeidy @weniswow @moinblack @slutforsr @winchestert101

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itzpookiepooh · 3 months ago

Text

Who?

Mentioning a random name to him

You came home walking past Raf, who is sketching, kissing his cheek. He hums leaning into it his eyes closing, taking it in. You put a bag on the counter making him turn around to you.

“How was your day?” He asked with hazy eyes. You smile almost feeling bad for what you’re about to do to him. Almost.

“I went to training with Enzo and then we went to get lunch.” You explained putting away what you bought. Rafayel cocks his head back as you said the name so effortlessly.

“I’m sorry, who?” He asked crossing his arms and leaning on the counter.

“Enzo?” You question as if it were nothing. Rafayel blinks harshly at you like you had 3 heads.

“I’m sorry I’m just confused.” He says cocking his head to the side. “You come home talking about an Enzo who I never heard of or met! Then he takes you to lunch?” He asks in shock making you shrug.

“Absolutely not.” He stands up leading you to the door. He makes you put your shoes on and you turn to him.

“What are you doing?” You ask with your arms crossed. Rafayel gawks at you before mimicking you.

“We’re going out to lunch. I won’t be outdone by some random man you met at work.” He explains making you laugh.

“You’re pranking me aren’t you?” He deflates making you snort and nod. You both still go out to lunch and he complains to you how you’re giving him heart problems.

You and Xavier were spending the evening together. You were going to have dinner and catch a movie. He had been looking forward to this all day that he’s well rested. You both were walking down the street hand in hand, finger intertwined when he asked you about your day. You smiled brightly at him.

“It was good! I’m tired though, I went to the bookstore with Alexander and we chatted there for a bit.” You explained your day to him. He quirked his eyebrow at you. Who is Alexander?

“Who?” He asked looking over at you. You look at him with an innocent smile. “Alexander! He’s my friend.” You say cheerfully.

Xavier was confused since he’s never heard you speak about him. He was also upset that you spoke so cheerfully about him. He started to pout thinking about how ‘Alexander’ was able to make you smile like this.

“I’ve never heard of him.” He mumbles, his footsteps slowing down.

You chuckle watching him obviously become glum about the situation. You sigh, “We don’t get to hang out much.”

Your sigh sounded sad to him as if you were missing Alexander. You turn to catch a glimpse of his face when you froze and saw how sad he looked. You pouted feeling bad for your bunny before you stopped walking. He faced you his big eyes filled with sadness and confusion.

“I feel bad. I was just joking you don’t have to pout.” You say sadly as you hold his face. His body relaxes into your hands.

“I’m glad. I thought you rather be with Alexander instead of me right now.” He explained holding your hand that was on his face.

“I’d never want to be with anyone more than you Xavier.” You coo as you kiss his nose. The blush creeps up his neck and to the tips of his ears as he lets you hold him there.

Zayne was off today and wanted to treat you to an afternoon together. He missed you considering he worked overtime all week. As soon as he got home Friday he slept for over 12 hours. Today he was refreshed and ready to be with you. He asked how yesterday was for you as you both walked to the destined area for your date.

“It was fine. I went to get a sweet treat with Cassian so that was fun.” Zayne wasn’t usually the jealous type but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He tensed up slightly squeezing your hand.

“Did you now?” He tried to sound intrigued. You nodded softly. He decided to bite the bullet and ask.

“Who’s Cassian?” His voice not wavering. You turn to him and smile softly.

“My friend. I’ve known him for a while.” You explain to him as the walk turn silent once more.

You’ve known him for a while? How long is a while? He couldn’t be friends with you since adolescence because there’s only been Zayne and Caleb. The gears were turning in his head until he came up with the conclusion that Cassian is someone you met through your other friends or work.

“I can hear your gears turning Zayne.” You tell him. He looks at you waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve never heard of him so I suppose I’m worried.” He tells you making you quirk your eyebrow. “Worried?”

“Yes, I don’t particularly like sharing your affection. I also worry about your safety.” He says not looking at you as his ears turn red. You almost squeal at him.

“No one can take my attention away from you.” You tell him squeezing his hand in reassurance. You kiss his cheek softly as he melts into you.

You were visiting Caleb in Skyhaven this weekend and you decided why not trick him a little? He was out doing his training with the fleet today so what’s a more perfect time. Don’t get it twisted you had friends in Skyhaven however, making up a story sounded better considering you didn’t want to leave the house today. Caleb came home and he was still in his workout attire. He smiled seeing you as he asked how your day was.

“It was good! I hung out with Adrian today. We’ve been trying to reconnect forever.” You tell him as you laugh. Caleb’s smile falters as he stares at you.

“Adrian?” He asks moving closer to you. He’s never heard of this dude before and Caleb knew all your friends. “I’ve never heard of him.” He leans on the back of the couch behind you. You tilt your neck up to look at him as he looks down at you.

“He’s a friend I met through Simone.” You explain making him nod his head slowly. He licks his lips thinking to himself.

“What else did you guys do?” He asks his pointer finger tapping the back of the couch. You glanced at it before looking back at him.

“Had lunch but then he had to go so we’re doing a rain check for…” You check your watch, “Next week.” You smile at Caleb. He felt this nagging irritation.

“That’s nice.” His smile is tight lipped as he stepped away. “Maybe I’ll meet him next time.” His voice low as he walks to the fridge.

You were scared to tell him you were joking. Maybe this wasn’t the best person to play a prank on considering how he gets.

“Where did you meet him? Work or?” He asks fiddling with something in a drawer.

“Caleb.” You call to him as he hums in return not looking at you at all. “It’s a joke.” You say calmly, he turns to you as if he wasn’t just acting menacing.

“You’re not funny, pips.” He tells you shaking his head. You stare at him like he was crazy when he sits next to you pulling you in.

“You do know you can’t just kill people right?” You tell him as you eye him suspiciously.

“Who said he’d die?” He tells you as he snickers. You hit him with a pillow a few times to teach him a lesson.

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!” He yells shielding himself from your fluffy attacks.

Sylus usually doesn’t fall for your pranks. He can see right through you except for this one time. You made sure your prank was in line and perfectly executed. You came home from a mission and walked straight into Sylus’ bedroom. Sylus usually woke up when you came home from work so this was more than a perfect time. He was sleeping on his back, hands on his stomach, breathing softly.

You glided onto his chest peppering kisses on his face. He groans before stretching as you hear cracking beneath you. His red eyes flutter open and catch yours making him smirk. His hands fall on your waist as he chuckles. This was the best way to wake up a sleeping dragon. He half expected you to be late today so this was a great surprise.

“Hi sweetie. How was your day?” He asks his voice groggy from sleep. You were so close to calling the prank off but where was the fun in that?

“It was fine. I did so well today I got Damien to buy me lunch.” You smile innocently as you put your chin on the backs of your hands that lay on Sylus’ chest. His eyebrow quirks at your statement.

“Lunch?” He questioned almost as if he didn’t hear you say ‘Damien’. He lifts up slightly waiting for you to continue.

“Yeah. I was starving.” You whine to him. He blinks at you before replying.

“Are you still hungry?” He asks making you lift up off of him. You shake your head softly.

“Damien fed you well? Then should I do the same to Damien?” He asked you as if this were a loving question but you knew those eyes like no other. That tone had an underlying meaning to it.

“Uh—“ You stutter, Sylus chuckles before leaning closer, whispering in your ear, “I can make him disappear. Like that.” He snaps his fingers with a spark of his evol.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laugh nervously as you push at his chest. He gets close to your ear again before whispering, “Next time you try to prank me make sure you’re not being watched.” His gaze shifts to the mechanical crow.

“Wait til I catch you.” You point at Mephisto and narrow your eyes. Sylus chuckles holding you close.

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stxrrywoo · 21 days ago

Text

BLISTERING HEAT ── j.wy

synopsis ; you started to notice changes in wooyoung's behavior, it was as if he was avoiding you entirely. he was going into a rut and kept trying to push you away, but you'd be dammed if you'd let him go through it alone.

pairing(s) ; wooyoung x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 3.7k ☆ ── genre ; hybrid!au, fox hybrid!wooyoung, human!reader, a small bit of fluff, smut (honestly just pure filth I'm ngl) ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, wooyoung goes into his rut (obvi.), clit play, unprotected sex, dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, big dick!wooyoung, rough and messy sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, messy makeout, petnames (baby, babydoll, sweetheart, pup...), biting/marking, licking, blood, slight degradation and praising, EXTREAM breeding, possessiveness, manhandling, dumbification, subspace mentioned, dirty talk, derogatory names (cocksleeve), knotting, creampie, slight cockwarming, reader does say no but only because of pleasure (everything is consensual!), hair pulling, choking, slight breath play, dacryphilia, begging, slight pain kink, forced orgasm, lmk if I missed anything!!

You sat at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea in your hands as you watched the doorway, a distant look in your eyes. Wooyoung had been acting weird for the past week. It started with him not wanting to be within a certain distance of you, to avoid you at all costs. He even stopped sleeping in the bedroom with you and would lock himself in the guest room without so much as a word. You had tried to talk to him and ask if there was anything wrong, but he would brush you off, saying he was fine.

It was some time after twelve that you saw him creep into the dining room, his fuzzy ears twitching as he looked around. As soon as his eyes met yours, he quickly averted his gaze, trying to push down the overwhelming heat that was building in his gut.

“There’s food on the stove.” You told him, trying to offer him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Thanks.” Wooyoung felt horrible that he was treating you like this but he’s never dealt with a rut when he was around another person, much less a human or someone he loved dearly. He was worried that he would scare you off.

You let out a deep sigh when he disappeared through the kitchen door. You wanted to understand what was going on, but he was making it hard when he wouldn’t even speak more than two words to you. Setting your now lukewarm tea down on the table, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your cardigan. You were determined to determine what was going on, whether or not he’d tell you.

Wooyoung slipped past you once more with a bottle of water in his hand, his gaze filled with guilt when you wouldn’t even look up at him. Swallowing thickly, he walked out of the dining room and made his way back to the guest room, where he would lock himself in for the next few days.

Opening your phone you went to the first person that you could think of that might have the answers you’re looking for. Hitting the green button you placed the phone against your ear, listening to the rings. After the third ring you heard the line connect before her voice flowed through the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hey Leila, it’s y/n.” You greeted her with a smile; it had been a while since you’d heard her voice.

“Y/n! How are you?” Leila asked, a chirp in her voice as you heard her rustling from the other side of the phone.

“I’m… okay. I actually had a question.”

“Is everything okay? It’s not the hunters again, is it?” She asked a sense of urgency in her tone to which you quickly reassured her that it wasn’t the hunters, that they hadn’t shown their faces in a while.

“It’s actually Wooyoung.” You started to explain to her everything that had been happening for the last week, and by the time you were done, she had let out a short burst of giggles. Confused, your eyebrows scrunched together, “What’s so funny? I’m actually worried something might be wrong, and I want to help.”

“Babe… he’s starting his rut.” Her words left you stunned because why hadn’t that crossed your mind? But what stunned you even more were the new few words that left her lips, “If you really want to help, the best you can do is offer yourself to him.”

–

Later that night, after getting out of the shower, you walked into your room with your towel wrapped tightly around your body. Just as you were about to grab your shirt, you heard a loud bang from the other room. Panic filled your veins, and you completely forgot about your clothes and darted out of your room.

“Wooyoung, are you okay?” Your voice shook as you knocked rapidly on the guest bedroom door, but there was no response. Listening carefully, you could hear his labored breathing from the other side, which only caused you to worry even more. “Wooyoung, open the door.”

“Go away, y/n.” His voice was stern, but you could still hear the pain underneath. He had to have been fighting this off for a while now and it made you feel guilty that you didn’t notice before.

“I just wanna help Woo.” Your tone softened as you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, but you knew right away it was locked when it wouldn’t budge.

“You can’t help me; just go back to– ugh!” He was cut off by a groan, and you acted quickly, rushing back to your room to grab the spare key before going back to the door.

“Stop being so stubborn, and let me help!” You scold the boy through the door as you knock, wanting to give him a chance to open it himself before you barged in. However, he didn’t give you a response, but you could hear his low growls. “You have three seconds to open this door before I open it myself.” You tried to sound authoritative, but there was still a slight tremor in your voice from the worry that was digging its claws into your spine.

You heard him grumble something from inside the room but couldn’t quite make it out. Giving him a few more moments, you started to insert the key into the keyhole.

“One.”

“Stop, y/n, I don’t want to hurt you.” You could hear the pain in his voice before the sound of another crash was heard, causing you to jump.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Woo. I trust you.” There was a softness in your tone that lured the fox to the door, his hand resting on the doorknob as he fought his inner turmoil. What if he really did hurt you? Would you forgive him? What if he scared you away? He didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if he did, but– “Please, Wooyoung.”

At the pleading tone in your voice, the last bit of his willpower faded away, and he unlocked the door before tearing it open.

A gasp fell from your lips when he appeared in front of you. His raven hair was a mess, and his ears sat flat on his head as if he were awaiting your lecture. His eyes were trained on your face, a small scowl resting upon his features, but despite all of that, you reached forward, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“God, you’re burning up.” Your voice was soft, your thumb brushing under the skin of his eye. Wooyoung closed his eyes, a low purr emitting from his throat from your touch. Until another sudden wave of heat rushed over his body, and he doubled over.

You cried out his name before rushing to his side, worried that this might just be something more than his rut. Yet when he raised his head, you almost had to step back from the borderline predatory gleam in his eyes. That was also when he noticed that you were in nothing but a plain white towel that barely reached mid-thigh.

Inhaling deeply, you moved closer to him as he rose back up, his eyes never leaving your form. With shaky hands, you reached down for his hand before bringing it up to your neck. Wooyoung’s pupils dilated as he felt your quickened pulse under his fingertips, almost salivating at the thought of biting into your skin. Marking you officially as his and his alone.

“I want to help Youngie.” The slight whine in your tone caused him to let out a low growl before his fingers wrapped around the delicate skin of your neck, pulling you closer to him. A choked whimper fell from your lips as you looked up at him, fingers lazily wrapping around his wrist but making no move to pull him away.

His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was unbridled lust and need. Leaning his head down just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, he spoke in a low, growly tone.

“Are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. No matter how much you beg.” His words send a shiver down your spine. The simple thought of him being so lost in his animalistic pleasure to the point where he’s completely ruining you made your core ache.

You bring your face just centimeters away from his, looking deep into his hooded eyes, “Ruin me then, Woo.”

Those words were the straw that broke the camel's back. His lips surged forward, crashing into yours at a bruising speed. He was moving so quickly that you could barely keep up with him, even as he released your neck.

“Woo…” You breathed out as he snatched the towel from your body, letting the cool air of the room nip at your bare skin. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. His nose pressed right against your jugular as he inhaled deeply, fingers tracing the curves of your body until he got to your hip.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He growled against your skin as he moved further down, cupping your bare heat in the palm of his hand. A small whimper fell from your lips as he parted your folds, tracing his fingertips along your slit before pressing down on your clit. “Oh, you’re already soaked, babydoll. Does the thought of me ravishing your body turn you on so much?”

“Woo– fuck! Please.” You begged the fox, staring up at him with needy eyes, causing his dick to twitch in his pants, the last bit of his sanity slowly melting away.

Without so much as a word, he lifted your body from the ground before walking over to the bed and throwing you down onto the soft mattress. As soon as your back hit the mattress, Wooyoung was all over you, slotted right between your thighs. His lips traced every curve of your body, licking, nipping, and marking any part of your skin he could reach until you were withering underneath him.

“Youngie.” You whined, fingers threading through his soft locks until you met with the base of his ears. A low growl seeped from his throat as you gently tugged on one of his ears.

“I need to be in you, babydoll. I need to fuck your slutty little cunt until you’re filled to the brim with my seed. Until I’ve bred you properly.” His words came out in a low tone as he bit at your collarbone, slightly harder than before, nearly drawing blood. The sweet sound of your whimper went straight to his cock that was straining against his sweats.

His words left your mind spiraling. The thought of being so full of just him had your aching cunt clenching around nothing. A soft moan fell from your mouth as you pulled him back up to your swollen lips, sealing them with his in a hungry kiss.

“Yours.” You breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he pulled away, “All yours, Woo, please.”

It was then that the last bit of his sanity flew right out the window, his instincts fully taking over as he quite literally ripped his clothes from his body. Your aching cunt quivered at the sight of his throbbing cock, standing proudly against his lower stomach.

“Gonna fuck you so good.” He growled as he took his cock into his hand, using his precum to slide up and down the length. “Everyone will know you’re mine. All mine.”

You barely had time to process what was happening as he grabbed your legs right behind your knees, pushing them up against your chest before you felt him probing at your entrance. A choked moan fell from your lips as he pushed into your needy cunt, his eyes watching as you swallowed his dick whole before he pulled back out.

“W-Woo–” You were cut off by a loud cry when he thrust back into you with an unimaginable force, nearly sending your mind into orbit.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” He repeated to word like a mantra as he fucked into your tight cunt, barely leaving you any room to breathe. He pressed down on your legs even more until you were damn near folded in half, the smooth tip of his cock pressing right against that spongy spot in your cunt with every thrust.

Tears were streaming down the sides of your face as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, fingers curled into the sheets. A broken mixture of curses and his name rolled off of your tongue, eyes rolling back as you become overtaken with pleasure.

“Your body was made just for me.” Wooyoung groaned, leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing together as he continued to fuck into your tight hole. “Perfect for carrying my kits.”

You clenched around him as he spoke those dirty words against your lips, swallowing all of your pretty noises. His nails dug into your thighs until they broke the skin, a trail of crimson blood flowing down the side of your leg before dripping onto the sheets. The mixture of pain and pleasure suddenly had you toppling over the edge, your back arching off the bed as a loud moan tore through your throat.

A deep animalistic growl reverberated from Wooyoung’s chest as he fucked you through your high, but never slowing down. Stars danced across your vision as he seemed to pick up the pace, his thrust growing even more harsh.

“W-Wooyoung!” You nearly screamed when his lips latched onto your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. There was no way that you were going to come out of this without any bitemarks, but you weren’t really in the right state of mind to complain.

Your hands flew to his back as soon as he latched onto the junction of your neck, his canines sinking deep into your skin. A sharp cry fell from your lips at the stinging sensation before he withdrew his fang, licking over the wound. Your nails racked against the skin of his back, causing him to hiss, his hips stuttering just slightly but never losing rhythm.

When his low, throaty groans started to turn into high-pitched whimpers, you knew he was close, just needing a little more. Trailing your hand up his back, you ran your fingers through his hair before gently taking his ear into your palm.

“F-Fuck!” He moaned loudly in your ear as he came, shooting thick, hot streams of cum deep inside your walls, his pace slowing just a bit.

Your head fell back against the soft mattress, eyes fluttering shut as his lips continued to wander the skin of your neck and shoulder. You thought he would knot you like he always had before and would call it good, but when you felt him pull away without knotting, your eyes snapped open.

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” His voice was deep as he cocked his head to the side, the blackness of his pupils nearly overtaking the whites of his eyes.

The air was knocked out of your lungs when he flipped your body effortlessly, laying you flat on your stomach. His hands were quick to find your hips, pulling them up until your back was arched the way he wanted.

“I still have so much more to give you, baby.” He chuckled darkly as he pressed his tip against your twitching hole, watching as you eagerly sucked him in. You buried your face into the sheets as he pushed into you with one sharp thrust, his tip pushing right against your cervix.

Tears stained the sheets underneath you as he relentlessly bullied his cock into your abused pussy, his hands tight on your hips. Muffled cries and moans were the only sounds that emitted from your body. Your cognitive function to form words flew right out the window.

“Such a good little cocksleeve,” He cooed, leaned down until his back was pressed against your chest, his lips finding the back of your shoulder. “Taking everything, I give you like a good girl.” The mixture of his derogatory names and praises made your body melt, and if it wasn’t for his hold, you would have surely fallen flat on the mattress.

“Y-Youngie!” You cried out, fat tears falling from your eyes as he continued his relentless pace until your whole body was shaking. “Cumming! ‘M cumming!” Your voice cracked as he fucked you through another orgasm, but once again, his ministrations never stopped, much less slowed down.

White spots started to cloud your mind when he stood up straight once again, using your hips as leverage to fuck into you. Choked sobs left your lips when your body fell into a state of overstimulation. Every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Moving one hand from your hip, Wooyoung trailed it down the length of your spine before threading his fingers through your hair. With a harsh tug, he pulled your upper body off of the bed, eliciting a strangled moan from your parted lips.

“Look at you, babydoll, such a fucking mess on my cock. Is this what you wanted? Me to fuck you completely dumb? Until the only thought in your pretty little head was my cock? Hmm?” His harsh tone had you quivering in his hold, eyes squeezing shut as you felt another orgasm building up. Letting go of your hair, he grabbed your jaw harshly, turning your head until you were looking at him. “Answer me, pup.” He growled, lips brushing against yours as you whimpered in his hold.

“Y-Yes, I want you to fuck me stupid, Youngie.” You choked out before all the air was stolen from your lungs when his lips crashed into yours. His hand fell from your jaw down to your puffy clit causing your whole body to jolt. “No, no, no, stop Wooyoung! I feel weird.” You cried out as a different type of pressure built up in your lower gut, but he didn’t stop; if anything, your broken pleas only spurred him on.

White spots clouded your vision as that coil in your gut finally snapped, and your release gushed all over Wooyoung’s fingers and cock, even soaking the sheets below your body. It felt like your soul had been detached from your body as he continued to work you through your orgasm, coaxing more and more of your sweet release out of your body.

“Look at the mess you made, sweetheart,” His teasing tone rang in your ears as your head fell back on his shoulder, legs quivering underneath your weight. He moved his hand away from your throbbing clit, allowing you just a moment to breathe before that same hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.

A choked sob tore through your parted lips as he pistoned his hips into yours mercilessly. Your brain felt like it was turning into mush from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. Wooyoung’s fingers tighten around your throat as he buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all swollen with my kits.” Wooyoung licked a stripe up the back of your neck, “such a perfect mommy.” He cooed as he nipped at your skin, feeling another orgasm of his own creeping up.

“W-Woo…” You whimpered in his hold, your head empty except for the thought of his cock buried deep in you until he was sure his seed would take.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He growled before unexpectedly biting down on the nape of your neck as he came. The sudden infliction of pain pulled yet another orgasm from your spent body, your walls fluttering around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was worth.

Pulling away from your neck, he watched with proud eyes as his mark started to bleed, your sweet crimson blood coating his lips. Your mind was beginning to blank as you slowly came down from your high, only for that peace to quickly be ripped away from you when the fox hybrid pulled out of your cunt.

A small whine emitted from your body when he bent you over once again, pressing your face into the covers. Your jaw fell slack as he pushed his still rock-hard length back into your aching cunt, the mixture of yours and his cum making his movements more fluid.

“Oh, we’re not done yet, baby,” He chuckled darkly, pistoning his hips into yours. The brute force knocked all of the lungs from your body, and all you could do was lay there and take it. The only thought in your mind was Wooyoung’s cock and how painfully good it felt, nudging against your sweet spot.

Wooyoung didn’t stop until you filled to the brim before finally knotting you; the stretch had you cumming for the nth time that night. His arms wrapped around your body as he buried his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. A small pur reverberated from his chest as you ran your shaky fingers through his hair. The world finally felt like it was coming back to you as your body lay there, soaking in each other’s warmth as if you hadn’t been doing that for the past few hours.

“Thank you, baby,” His voice was low as he peppered kisses along the expanse of your chest before resting his chin right between your breasts. You hummed, still not fully trusting your voice, and he smirked before his fingers playfully crept up your side.

“W-Wooyoung!” You choked out his name at the ticklish feeling causing him to chuckle before groaning slightly when he felt that familiar heat bloom in his chest. Noticing the sudden change, you looked down at him in worry, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck. “How much longer will this last?”

Wooyoung took a moment to respond, trying to settle himself before he lost control. He then glanced back at you with worry and borderline guilt, “probably for the next week.”Your head fell back as your eyes fluttered shut, a small groan falling from your lips. This was going to be a long week, but you couldn’t complain. You did offer to help him after all, and by the looks of it, now that he had his hands on you, he wasn’t about to let go.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

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millers-girl · 4 months ago

Text

fallout

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: you and your sister plan to spend the day at Pitt Fest but instead spend the night in the hospital, and Jack is left to pick up the pieces.

warnings/tags: mentions of an active shooter, gun violence, ptsd/trauma response, grief and loss, implied survivor's guilt, slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, mild language

word count: 5.1k

a/n: oops accidentally made this love story my entire personality

Jack rushed through the sliding doors of the ED, the familiar, sharp scent of antiseptic welcoming him back. His eyes were locked onto his phone screen, thumb twitching over the messages he’d already sent.

As soon as he’d heard it on the police scanner—“Active shooter at Pitt Fest. At least two confirmed dead. Unclear how many injured”—a sick, crawling fear had taken hold of him. It was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling, and one he couldn’t wait to get rid of.

He’d been trying to get a hold of you. Calling. Texting. Over and over.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Please answer.

I’m in the ED. Come straight here if you can.

He forced himself to pocket his phone when Robby started rattling off the hospital’s mass casualty protocol to the group, but he made sure to leave the ringer on – just in case.

When the first wave of patients came in, it was like muscle memory took over. Like he’d slipped back in time, to when he was stationed in Afghanistan, boots hitting blood-streaked dirt.

Assess injury. Slap a colored band on. Treat until stable. Repeat.

A girl, maybe sixteen, sobbed as he wrapped gauze around her bloodied thigh. Her hands were shaking.

A man in his forties was wheeled in, gray from blood loss, gasping.

He sutured a gaping wound left by a gunshot on another boy’s arm.

He couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let himself stop.

Somewhere, beneath the routine and urgency, he was antsy, just waiting for you to walk through those doors.

And then – you did.

When you were gurneyed through the entrance, the fluorescent lights that usually hummed quietly in the background now felt blinding. Each flicker seemed to stab into your corneas. Your ears rang, your hands trembled, and for a second, it was all white noise. You barely registered Dr. King’s voice asking you questions, her hands checking your vitals.

You weren’t looking at her. You were scanning the frenzied room.

And then your gaze caught his.

Even amidst the chaos––screams, alarms, blood––his eyes found yours. Jack stopped mid-step near the nurse’s station, the world narrowing for him in an instant. The clinical buzz of the ED faded. He beelined toward you like gravity itself had shifted.

“Jesus Christ, you fucking scared me.”

His voice was sharp, but familiar – comfort laced with adrenaline. He shouldered Dr. King aside and immediately began assessing you himself. You tried to push his hands away, your injury the last thing on your mind. His hands swatted yours back, frustration flaring into the way his brow furrowed.

“Jack,” you whispered past trembling lips. He froze, and when his eyes met yours again, they softened. You reached for him without thinking, shaking arms curling around his neck, clinging.

And he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t care who was watching. He wrapped you up, hand cradling the back of your neck, and let out a deep sigh.

You weren’t sure what kind of fight-or-flight response you had that knew being held—feeling safe—would be exactly what you needed then, but you were glad for it.

“Are you okay?” he murmured into your matted hair, voice tight with restrained panic.

You nodded against his skin, though the movement was hesitant, slow.

“I’ve been trying to reach you. Why didn’t you answer?”

“My phone got knocked out of my hand in all the chaos. I didn’t even realize…”

You leaned back, and found worry still clouding his features. You released him enough to let him do his job, finally letting him examine you.

His touch was careful, but you felt how tightly he was wound – how his hands lingered too long on your skin; how he exhaled when he saw the swelling in your ankle.

Dr. King stepped back in, clearing her throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Kinda nauseous… dizzy. I don’t know, the lights are making it hard to concentrate,” you mumbled.

The two doctors shared a look.

“Mild concussion,” Jack said, gently wrapping his fingers around your ankle and rotating it. You winced. “Sprained. Scrapes and bruises on knees, elbows, forearms.”

He slapped a yellow band on your wrist.

“Ow, Jack,” you muttered, tugging your hand back.

Any other time, he would’ve rolled his eyes and teased you – made a quip about how dramatic you were.

But not today.

Today, his fingers immediately rubbed over the spot soothingly, and his voice was soft as he apologized.

When he reached to slip a patient tag onto your wrist, he glanced up again. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s fine,” you said. “Just had a scraped arm, bruised ribs maybe. She went to help Emery in the OR.”

He exhaled quietly, then moved efficiently – pillows under your ankle, ice pack secured, orders rattled off to Dr. King. “Acetaminophen and Zofran in an IV bag. Don’t get it mixed up with ibuprofen – she’s allergic.”

Dr. King brought the requested bags and kindly offered to hook you up to them, wanting to help in some way. Jack ignored her, still locked in his quiet rhythm as he began treating your wounds. Stopping the bleeding. Cleaning the cuts. Dressing them carefully.

You stayed silent during the whole thing.

And it unnerved him.

Normally, you’d be rambling about something––telling a story, cracking a joke, flirting with him––to distract yourself. But now, you just watched him, eyes distant.

He didn’t push.

As he was finishing up, someone called out for him. “Abbot! Need you in the red zone!”

“Coming!” he shouted back, eyes never leaving you until the very last second. “Hey,” he said softly, “I know it’s crazy in here right now, but try to get some rest, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Wasn’t even near the shooter. Just got trampled in the crowd… Others had it worse.” Your gaze flicked to the burgundy splatters on his surgical gown.

Jack cut you a look. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “You still got hurt. That matters. And I’m gonna fix it. Okay?”

You nodded, just to keep him from worrying more.

“And keep that ankle elevated,” he ordered. As he turned to leave, you caught his hand in yours.

“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call Eleni.”

He hesitated, then pulled the phone from his pocket. When you reached for it, he tugged it back. “One call, then you rest,” he bargained.

You nodded again, the device cool in your hand as he disappeared down the hall.

Dr. King smiled kindly before saying, “Okay, you should be good for now. I’ll come check up on you in a bit, too. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

“Thanks.”

When she left, you dialed Eleni’s number. It only rang for half a second before she was picking up and frantically asking, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Relief hit the other end of the line like a wave. You could practically hear her collapsing into relief before relaying the good news to the rest of the team.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just a little knocked up.”

She paused for a second, then said, “Knocked up? Wow, that Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody sure works fast.”

You huffed out a weak laugh. It felt forced. Hollow.

Eleni meant well. That was her way of checking if you were really okay. So, for her sake, you tried.

“Can you do me a favor?” you asked, looking around the chaotic room.

“Anything.”

“Get the team to make some food for the ED. For the survivors, their families. Staff. Anyone who needs it.”

“Yeah, that’s a really good idea. How much do you need?”

“Everything we’ve got.”

A beat of silence. “Everything…? Is it that bad?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly.

She didn’t hesitate. “We’ll get started right now.”

You thanked her, hung up, and slowly slid further down the gurney, resting Jack’s phone against your cheek like a comfort blanket. It was nice to have a piece of him with you.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But somehow, your body finally gave out. And, when you woke again, it was to Dr. Mohan’s voice ringing out from a few feet away. “Need help with an airway!”

Your bleary gaze tried to focus, mind swimming through fog as Jack and Robby rushed to help her.

“GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy. Can’t intubate him – probably hit the carotid,” she explained.

You blinked heavily, watching Jack attend to the bleeding and shout out orders in that commanding voice of his.

But it was the needle taped to his arm, feeding a blood bag wrapped around his ankle, that really caught your attention. Without lifting your head, your sleepy eyes shifted to it.

“Are you donating?” Dr. Mohan asked.

“O-neg, yeah.” As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glanced your way, one of his eyes dropping in a wink. “Thought I’d be more useful as a two-for-one today.”

“Show off,” you muttered weakly, rolling your eyes.

He grinned, eyes focused on the patient before him as he put a Foley in. As he was working, he called to Perlah, asking her to get you a juice box when she got a chance.

“Can you make sure it’s not apple?” he asked after her. “She hates apple.”

Despite everything, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest at that.

When Perlah brought you a juice box––fruit punch––you sipped it quietly, eyes on the trauma around you. The blood. The screams. The ones who were being saved – and the ones who weren’t.

Jack returned after stabilizing his GSW patient. He didn’t say anything at first, just placed a warm hand on your forehead, thumb brushing lightly at your hairline.

“You want some more juice?” You shook your head. “But you’re good?”

You force a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you, but he didn’t force the truth out of you either. Just made sure to watch you more closely as he continued working around you.

Sometime later, Eleni arrived – along with half the staff from Francesca. They came bearing trays of food: warm bread, hearty pastas, fruit, rice dishes, sandwiches, coffee, cookies.

The smell alone grounded people. Nurses grabbed bites between patients. Survivors’ families cried when offered plates. Even doctors paused to say thank you.

You watched it all from your bed, barely speaking – your throat tightened.

Santos, who stood beside Jack, asked, “Is that the black cod from Francesca?” she asked, oblivious.

Jack’s eyes flicked to the food in the familiar light pink bags, then to you.

It wasn’t the fact that you’d gotten food for the entire floor that caught his attention – it was why you’d even thought to do it. Even banged up, bruised, barely functioning – you’d wanted to look after everyone else.

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, with new eyes. Like maybe, despite your young age and optimism when it came to seeing the best in people, Jack could still learn a thing or two from you. And maybe that was what he admired most.

When he managed to find a minute to be back at your bedside, he didn’t say anything. Just offered you the food on his plate, making sure he saved you that sandwich you raved about so much.

He sat beside you, in quiet solidarity. And, for a moment, in the middle of one of the worst days either of you had lived through, something in the chaos finally felt still.

When Jack left again to attend to more patients, the chaos didn’t remain still. Instead, it slowed – in the worst way.

You finally stopped moving. Stopped reacting. And, just, took it all in.

The crying, the gurgled pain, the rushed footsteps, the overheard codes being called. You can see every little thing – the crimson on someone’s shirt, the way a nurse’s gloved hands shook, the metallic scent in the air.

Someone shouting for gauze. Another for a crash cart. A kid screaming down the corridor, clutching his broken arm, blood smeared along his cheek.

And it was all muffled, happening in slow motion. Dull in your senses, leaving only an ache. In your bones. In your ribs. Behind your eyes.

And then you saw them.

Robby was towering over a gurney, hands pressed tightly to a teenage girl’s chest – desperate, shaking. Her bra was soaked through. A pool of maroon darkened the sheets she was lying on.

She was already still. Limp.

And a teenage boy was sobbing her name. Leah.

You vaguely remembered his face – Jake, Robby’s sort-of adopted son.

He’s just a teenager… meaning Leah is too.

Was too.

You silently watched Jack touch Robby’s shoulder once, gently, but Robby shrugged it off. Muttered something over and over. Continued with chest compressions everyone knew wouldn’t help.

You could see it in the eyes of the practitioners around him. In the way they hesitated before trying to help. In how nobody called to see if an OR was open. Still, they didn’t want to pull him off her. Not yet.

And something about the quiet truth of that moment sliced deep through your gut.

Before you could process it, you were pulling the IVs from your arm and sliding off the gurney. Your knees buckled for half a second, and your sprained ankle throbbed, but you forced yourself upright. Moved down the hall. Didn’t realize where you were going until your hand was on the bathroom door, pushing it open and locking it behind you.

The silence inside felt oddly louder than the overwhelming med bay.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection. Skin smudged with soot and scarlet blood, small cuts along your hairline, a big bruise where you’d fallen and hit your jaw.

You turned the tap on, splashing ice cold water on your face. It did nothing.

The tears came suddenly and in volume, blurring your vision, and causing you to sink. Down to the floor, knees against your chest, arms hugging.

You dropped your head, trying to focus on the sterile scent of disinfectant as it stung your nose. But all you could see was blood. The stillness. The way Robby cradled Leah’s lifeless body like she might wake up at any moment.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that. Ten minutes, two hours – time had gone strangely elastic.

A knock sounded once. Then, a key card swipe.

You flinched as the door eased open and Jack stepped inside, gait soft-footed. His brows pulled together when he saw you there, folded into yourself.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door gently behind him and sat down beside you, back resting against the wall. His outstretched knee brushed your good ankle.

You could tell he was itching to say something, to get you out of this funk. But you didn’t speak until you were ready, and he respected that.

A long time passed before you looked up at him, and your chest cracked wide open.

“How come nothing happened to me?” you asked quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

“That kid – Robbie’s kid – his girlfriend, she…” you trailed off. Shook your head. “And I… I’m here, right? I’m breathing, and I’m good, and I’m gonna have some really badass scars and a hell of a story – ”

The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted comfortingly. “Did I leave any scars when I sutured up your thumb?” You shook your head. “Then, what makes you think I’m gonna leave any behind for you to remember this by?” he tried, lightheartedly, almost teasing – but your face didn’t soften.

You were somewhere else entirely. A million miles away, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“I don’t want you to remember this forever,” he admitted, correcting himself.

“I think I will,” you whispered. “Even if I don’t have any physical scars to remind me.”

Jack looked at you for a long time. Then, slowly, he pulled you into his lap, pressing you gently into his chest. You didn’t resist. Just leaned in. Let yourself fold into him like you had no bones left.

He felt safe, even if the world didn’t anymore.

His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and his voice came low, almost gravelly.

“Sometimes surviving feels heavier than dying,” he said. “But you’re here, and that counts for something. Even if you don’t know what yet.”

You closed your eyes, let the silence swell between you, thick and full and terrible. His heart beat steadily against your cheek, and yours slowly synched to his.

For the first time all day, you let yourself breathe without holding back the sob.

When your breathing eventually evens out again, your sobs subside into hiccups, but Jack still doesn’t move. Not until your fingers unclenched from the fabric of his scrubs and you shifted slightly in his arms, blinking up at him through lashes sticky with salt.

“Let’s get you back, huh?” he murmured, thumb brushing gently against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “Before King starts paging me panicking because she lost you.”

At that, a genuine single laugh escapes past your lips.

You nodded, letting him help you stand, steadying you with one hand at your elbow while the other rested at your waist.

You weren’t shaking anymore, but your body felt like it had been wrung out, nothing left but raw emotion and a dull, aching tiredness.

Back in the med bay, the gurney felt too open, but you climbed back into it anyway. Jack hooked your IV back in, checked the monitor, adjusted the pillows under your ankle and tucked you in, grabbing extra blankets because he knew how cold you got here.

Every time he passed when moving from patient to patient, he paused. Asked you if you wanted something more to eat, another dose of pain meds, or the chance to change into a fresh set of clothes.

He led you to a new bathroom, helping you change out of your bloody top and jean shorts. As he pulled the hole of an extra t-shirt he kept in his locker over your head, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead, without ever saying a word.

Back in the gurney bed, now in his t-shirt and sweatpants, you felt a little calmer. By now, all the food from Francesca was gone, but he offered you a half-eaten granola bar from his scrub jacket pocket when your stomach growled loudly.

And each time he left the absence of him left behind a cold draft against your skin.

The night dragged on. The chaos outside finally slowed, like a storm passing. Wounds were closed, departments and rooms assigned. The steady beeping of monitors became the background noise of recovery, not disaster.

It was sometime past midnight when Taylor led you into an assigned room not far from the nurse’s station. When you were settled into the room––overhead lights dimmed just how you liked it and a cup of cold water at your bedside––you caught sight of Jack outside your door.

He talked quietly to another nurse for a few minutes, then handed over a clipboard he held before making his way into your room, checking your progress.

“Are you busy right now?” you quietly asked.

He glanced down the hallway, then decided, “I got a minute to spare.”

Yout throat felt dry, the words nearly catching a little as you spoke – even after everything you two had been through in the past few day. “Can you come lie down with me?”

Your voice sounded so small, how could he ever say no?

He blinked once, then shut the door behind him.

The bed was barely wide enough for one person, but he made it work. Shrugged off his stethoscope and climbed up carefully. His body curled beside yours, both of you on your sides, facing each other in the dim glow. He tucked one arm under your head, the other hooking around your waist to pull you closer.

You let out a deep exhale, murmuring against his skin, “Pretty sure there’s a HIPAA violation about doctor-patient contact somewhere here.”

Your voice wasn’t light. You didn’t smile.

But the joke still landed.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, eyes rolling before they settled back on you. The hand on your waist rose to cup your cheek. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he whispered, before his lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss that reassured you you were going to be okay.

The silence that followed when you pulled away was full of the words neither of you had to say out loud. His hand found yours under the blanket, your fingers tangling naturally.

And, for a little while, the horrors of the day faded into something softer.

The first days back home after the shooting felt different.

Your bedroom felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. But, it also felt comfortable, familiar. Nothing bad had ever happened here, and nothing bad ever would.

Jack drove you home that first day. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to. He just kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and his gaze flicked over to you every few minutes. He ended up staying until his next shift, never leaving your side unless he had to.

You trailed him around the house like a shadow – when he brewed tea for you, made you breakfast, shifted through his backpack by the door. You weren’t even sure what you were so afraid of, only that when he was near, it all felt quieter. Bearable.

An hour into being back home, the two of you had settled into the couch with some show playing low in the background. You didn’t remember what it was, only the way Jack’s eyes started to flutter closed. He fought sleep longer than he should’ve.

You tugged gently at his hand, coaxing him into your room. He didn’t protest, just let you lead him, half-asleep. His body sunk into the bed, melting into sheets that smelled like you.

You couldn’t sleep – couldn’t really calm your mind when your ears were suddenly so sensitive to the noises around. Dogs barking. The garbage truck coming to pick up the recycling. A car backfiring.

Each one pulled your body taut with unease.

Instead, you watched Jack sleep. He looked so peaceful, long eyelashes brushing against soft skin. His forehead wasn’t crinkled in worry for once, even though you could tell he was running on empty this last shift.

You reached out to gently run your fingers through his hair and it made him sleepily shift toward you on the bed, his head nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The warmth made your chest ache.

When his alarm went off, he began to stir but you tightened your hold on him. Not ready to let him leave or face a cold, desolate existence without him for the next 12 hours.

Eyes still shut, he gently teased, “Clingy much?” But the softness in his tone showed you he didn’t mind it one bit.

Not when your bare feet padded lightly right behind his as he walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, nor when he got in the shower and you followed in after.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, you avoided looking in the mirror. You didn’t need to. You could already feel the bruises blooming, their soreness serving as quiet reminders. You stared down at your arms, your collarbone, at the places where the pain still lingered, where the memories came to life – gunshots, screaming, smoke in the air.

You flinched when Jack shut the bathroom door, the sound too loud, too sudden. He didn’t notice… or maybe he did and just didn’t say anything.

When he was packing his camo backpack for work, his movements froze for a second, hesitating. Then, wordlessly, he pulled out your bloodied clothes from Pitt Fest, folded in a ziploc bag. Before you could even process what he was doing, he’d quickly stuffed them into the laundry machine and ran a cycle.

After he had pulled his jacket on, he approached you while you were slowly picking at the sandwich he’d made you for supper. His hands gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” he asked softly.

You nodded, though it felt like a lie. Still, he pulled you into a hug, pressing your head against his chest, and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Call me if you need anything. Or if you get bored and wanna get your ass kicked in chess.”

That coaxed a real laugh out of you, unexpected and bright. Before the shooting, you two had been engaged in a seriously competitive match over GamePigeon. Jack had accused you of cheating more than once. You missed that.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, patting his chest when you leaned back. “Might let you win this time. Keep that fragile ego intact.”

He smirked, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Be good today, okay?”

“Yes, Dad,” you groaned with exaggerated disdain. The wording made his brows raise and sent a shiver down his body.

“That and the age gap… you’re gonna give me a complex,” he groaned, watching the corners of your lips tug upwards before you reached up on the tips of your toes and wrapped your arms around him.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll forget all about it when you’re elbows deep, rearranging someone’s guts,” you easily teased, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Rather rearrange your guts,” he mumbled against your lips, cupping a hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss.

When you pulled back, you tilted your head.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m rubbing off on you.”

He opened his mouth again, likely to make another suggestive remark about rubbing something else off on you, but you cupped a hand over it before he could.

“Don’t you have lives to save?” you asked, gently shoving him out the door.

You knew the house wouldn’t be empty for long—Jack and your sister had alternated shifts so someone could always be with you—but you still missed him.

Only thirty minutes passed between Jack leaving and your sister coming home. But in those thirty minutes, the washer went off and you thought you could manage the simple task of transferring your clothes to the dryer.

After all, they were just clothes. Just pieces of cotton and thread, no longer cakes in soot and blood. They were fresh as new.

So why couldn’t you touch them? Why did you leave the washer door open and just stare into the tub where they sat, soaked?

By the time your sister walked in, the clothes were long gone – dumped in the trash bin outside. It was the only thing you could bring yourself to do.

You were curled up on the sofa when she found you, TV flickering across your face like nothing had happened. She didn’t ask. She just sat beside you, and that was enough.

That’s how the days passed. Evenings with your sister – watching TV, talking about what happened, processing. Mornings and afternoons with Jack, who brought over puzzles, crossword books, a physical chess set… even a spare toothbrush which now sat happily beside yours in the bathroom. It made your heart ache every time you saw it.

You slept a lot, but even when you were awake, you were tired. Even inside the comfort of your home, you were still hyper-aware of all the noises outside, and any large crowds that passed by, voices raised.

Yet, somehow, those hazel eyes you’d grown to find comfort in had convinced you to step outside, start going on walks. Take in fresh air again.

It wasn’t easy – you barely made it around the block, nails digging into the back of Jack’s hand from how tightly you held it – but it was progress.

In a week’s time, you even returned to the restaurant. You were ready to face the hustle and bustle of Francesca, ready to put your mind to work and focus on something positive for a change.

What you weren’t ready for was running into Jake by the entrance.

“Hey,” he said softly, remembering you from Robby’s stories and also vaguely recalling seeing your face on that unspeakable day.

“Hey,” you echoed, voice just as strained. “What are you doing here?”

“Mom asked me to pick up dinner.”

You nodded silently, sunsure what to say next. “How are you?”

He shrugged. “You know…”

You did know.

“My mom’s got me talking to a trauma specialist,” he said, not sure why he was telling you. “At the hospital.”

“Yeah… Jack – Dr. Abbot – he’s been trying to convince me to go, too.” You hesitated. “Is it… helping?”

Another shrug. “A little, I guess. But.. I don’t know – she wasn’t there. She doesn’t really get it.”

You reached for a napkin on an unoccupied table, finding yourself scribbling your number down before offering it to him.

“You can call me… if you want. I get it.”

He held the napkin between his fingers, staring at the numbers. Then, he tucked it into his pocket with a slow nod. “Thanks.”

You couldn’t let him leave without saying the next words at the tip of your tongue. “Hey… I’m sorry about your girlfriend. She seemed… pretty. I’m sure she was – I’m sure she was really great.” You found a lump forming in your throat.

He paused a minute, then said quietly, “She was.” After a beat, he added, “You know, I told her about you once.”

You were shocked to hear that. “What?”

“I was telling her one of Robby’s stories, about the first time he ever came to visit this place, and he got to brag to the people at the next table about how he knew the head chef. And when they asked you how you came to be there, you said by – ”

“ – by being brave,” you finished for him, feeling tears lining your vision.

Jake nodded. Then, as if he knew you needed to hear it, he said, “Leah would want you to be brave now… about all of it.”

That stayed with you until the restaurant closed, and you drove home, and laid in your bed for the night, getting the first restful sleep – no nightmares – for the first time in a long time.

And when you woke, it was to Jack crawling into bed beside you, rays of sun filtering through the blinds and lighting up his face.

His hand found yours under the covers, like it always did, comforting and warm – and you sighed in contentment.

“I wanna stay like this forever,” you mumbled against his skin. “Can we?”

“Yeah, baby… as long as you want.”

read part 3 here !!

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