#i want to write and draw and make gifs and read and watch a show. and also ***
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haztory ¡ 2 months ago
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bias.
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masterlist | part two
— jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but assumption is reader is late 20s and up while jack is mid-40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, angst, character harassment (from an original male character), mentions of grief, mentions of jack's late wife, mentions of racism against staff, sexual content (mild), mentions of death, protective jack abbot, medical inaccuracies, mentions of needles, these two taking care of each other without realizing, ohio slander (srry!)
— word count: 11k
— summary: A week on the floor with Dr. Jack Abbot. Or: The multiple shifts in which Dr. Abbot's bias towards you shows.
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SHIFT ONE, Sun-Mon, 4:15 AM:
“Did you tell Reno you were going to shove your foot up his ass?”
You pause your charting at the rolling cart outside of North 12 and look over your shoulder. 
Jack stands behind you, arms crossed, with a raised brow and his lips pulled thin. Not sternly— you're familiar with what that looks like, have been on the receiving end of that a few times. This is a tempered concern, one he pushes down lest he get too involved.
“Yep.” You answer, simply. You return to your charting, fingers clacking loudly on the keyboard as the truth buoys in the air. 
He huffs a breath, heavy. An attempt to roll out the strife that comes with the burden of being an attending. “You trying to make my Monday shitty?”
“Trying to keep you on your toes, old man.” You return.
He steps in beside you, leaning his good shoulder against the wall as he faces you. He keeps his gaze beyond you, scanning the movements of the ER.
“You wanna tell me why?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
“I don’t.” He agrees. 
“So, why are you asking?”
“Morbid curiosity.” He admits, dryly. Hazel eyes fall to you, swimming with a suppressed amusement that only a poet could accurately describe. “And he wants me to write you up.”
A sigh escaped your mouth, heavy and inconvenienced. You turn to him. “He told Anna Maria to spend less time speaking ��her language’ and more time speaking ‘ours’ so she could fulfill his orders.”
His lips flick downward, heat infusing with the twitch. “You see it?”
“No. Caught her in the stairwell crying and she told me. Apparently, he’s been picking at her all night. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t the first one he said this to. So, I told him if I ever see him speaking like that to one of my nurses I’d take him to the parking lot and shove my foot up his ass.”
Jack nods. It’s weighty and slow as he digests your words, but there is otherwise no conflict on his face. The heat from before extinguishing. No shade change, no visible opinion. Resolute, resound, completely normal, when he says, without much effect, “Okay.”
The typical smart quip dry remark remains nowhere to be found.
He steps away from you and walks the short distance to the front desk and settles behind it. You watch him quietly, clueless as he grabs a post-it note from behind the desk and a pen from the cupholder and begins writing something. Completely unable to read the man.
“Okay?” You probe, drawing closer to him. 
“I believe you.” He says. 
A beat passes, filled with the low hum of the moving ER and the faint sound of his pen scratching on the paper. He puts the pen back into the cup holder then folds the paper up, tucking it into the breast pocket of his scrubs. It’s a simple thing yet the charged silence makes it feel like a great epic.
The fated paper written on account of your words. His face makes no betrayal of its contents. Even in your own obvious glance down to the paper then to his eyes, he makes no movement to provide clarity.
“I’m not apologizing.” You say after a minute. 
“I didn’t ask you to.” Jack tilts his head to the side. “Would’ve done the same damn thing.”
Silence stretches, long and heavy as your eyes hold on his.
“I don’t like him.” You explain, as if that could help anything. Jack nods and this time you understand it to be one of agreement. 
There’s no doubt of the new transfer’s value as a knowledgeable doctor, just as there is no doubt that PTMC needs another night shift doctor on the rotations. But within those resounding truths comes another of equal importance.
Dr. Maxwell Reno, the new fellow on the floor transferred from Cleveland three months ago, is a dick.
“Neither do I. But I don’t like anybody.” A flicker of understanding sparks in his eyes. “I’d pay good money to see you take him in the parking lot, though.”
A smile finally breaks onto your face. “Give me Friday off and I’ll do it right here.”
“Yeah, and get stuck with paperwork? Try again, city girl.”
“Worth a shot.” You shrug and he shakes his head. Only a slight downturned smile gracing his face..
A steadied quiet fills the space. The ER only slightly awake tonight with the small troubles. A young boy who had fallen off his bunk bed, a teenager on fluids from a stress induced migraine, and some other small plights that have trickled onto the floor. It’s hardly ever like this, the forbidden “quiet”. Usually a storm falls in shortly after but tonight, the quiet has been just that. Quiet.  
There’s a slight wariness in everyone, the other shoe dangling from the ceiling that everyone keeps glancing to. Waiting for it to teeter, maybe even thud violently against the floor. And yet, nothing. For once, it’s a nice thing to wade into, because it leads to moments like this. Pleasant exchanges and generous smiles from the man usually averse to those.
“I can tell Anna Maria to come talk to you.” You supply, only to make his life easier. 
He shrugs, considering it. “Sure, only if she wants to. But you handled it. Should be fine.”
“You gonna do it?”
“Write you up?” He asks. You nod.
He walks around the front desk, his slow gait bringing him before you. “Do I look like a school principal?”
“Grey hair had me convinced.”
He glares. The edge of your grin cracks wider. “I can’t professionally condone fellow-on-fellow crime—”
“—You have got to stop hanging with Shen—” 
“—but you’re my only brawler on the floor and we’re running low on those. So no.”
“Brawler? It was one time!”
“You tackling that 37-year-old meth addict is a fan favorite.”
“Is that why you’re keeping me around?”
“It’s not because of your suturing, I can tell you that.” He leans comfortably against the desk, and for all the quiet murmurs that have gone around about Jack and his hard sarcasm and no-bullshit attitude, he is wildly comfortable in this moment. Eased, despite the constant glancing at the other shoe. Joking, at your expense. As he settles into an easy tease and his body relaxes, you find that you don’t mind him poking at you all that much. Not if it gets him like this.
You raise a brow at the mention. “Didn’t realize you all were thinking about it that much.”
“Every night before bed. Your screams help me sleep.”
You hit his arm playfully. “You’re so morbid.”
“Wait ‘til you see what I use to meditate.” 
You feel, then, the tingling sensation of an audience on you. Glancing up, you see the quick scurrying of some nurses pretending to be occupied. The whites of their eyes seen at the very last second, just as they pull their stares away from the quiet moment. 
“You should get out of here before the peanut gallery starts accusing you of bias.” There’s a thrum of dismay that pulses through you at the suggestion. The feeling of a good moment ending that you unknowingly try to cling on to. You stampen it out before the possibility of it shows on your face. 
“Bias? Of what? I don’t like you that much.” The tone is dry, wholly Jack, and yet his eyes make home to a low burning whim of trouble like it always belonged there. “If anyone says anything, I’ll just take it from the expert and shove my foot up their ass.” 
He taps his hand on your desk, a finalizing drum before he departs. 
“Hopefully the metal one.” You call after his retreating figure.
“You know it.” He says without looking back.
The sound of your laugh resounds through the halls.
SHIFT TWO, Mon-Tues, 9:17 PM:
Meredith Sakman, a 67-year old woman who fell off her kitchen chair as she was trying to clean her kitchen light, sits before you in the examination room as you suture the superficial laceration sustained to the right side of her head.
Her hands, wrinkled with age and wisdom, fiddle with each other incessantly. Passing from twiddling with her wedding ring to drumming on her thighs as you weave thread through skin.
Sensing her discomfort, you fill the space. “So, Mrs. Sakman—how long have you been married?”
She seems startled out of the fog of her head, ”Oh, uh, 42 years.”
“Wow. Congratulations.” You hum, sincerely. “What’s the secret?”
“I don’t know. All these years and he’s still the person I look for when I walk into a room.”
“Must be an outstanding man.”
“When he wants to be. He’s a little bit of a grouch, but he makes me laugh.” She laughs, and the wistfulness of her voice grounds the room. You smile inadvertently at the details of her love.
 “Are you dating anyone?” She asks curiously, just as your forceps tie one end of the suture.
“Uh, no. I am not.” Saying it isn’t a confession of fault. It’s fact. 
The priority has always been your career. School first to get you to the good job that can get you to the rest of your life. You weren’t made for much of the troublesome youth, a fortunate detail your parents never took for granted. Smart head on your shoulders that got you the New York residency for three years, that led you to pursue the Pittsburgh EM fellowship—year one of two already knocked off your belt. 
Dating—as desirous as it could be on the lonely nights—didn’t fit much into that picture. The type of men that were interested in dating you didn’t fit into that picture. 
“Well that’s odd.” Mrs. Sakman heaves, truly stunned by your admission. “You’re a beautiful young woman. And a doctor. They should be rushing to snatch you up.”
“Well, you know. Guys my age tend to find that intimidating and often can’t measure up.” You explain simply and the older woman scoffs. 
“You need an older man.” She smiles knowingly. “One who knows a couple of things and can be your match. I’ve had my fair share of them and they were quite the memories.”
You don’t settle too long on her words, no matter how much you agree with them. Have always been told that you needed someone mature, like you. 
You move on. “I bet you were a hot gun back in the day.”
“Still am, sweetheart.” She giggles. “You know, my son is single.”
You give her a deadpan stare from above, halting the thread of your needle to meet her gaze. 
“Mrs. Sakman—“ You scold and she holds her hands up in defense.
“He’s a very smart man! Has his own accounting firm, very sweet and I’m not saying that because he’s my son. He’s 40 and you’d make a good match. And with that face of yours, you’d give me beautiful grand babies.”
You laugh, tying up the final knot in the suture and setting the forceps on the cart beside you. The excess thread is cut off with your scissors. “Unfortunately, I’m not in the habit of dating anyone related to my patients.”
“Then I’d like to see another doctor, please. So that way I’m not your patient.”
You shake your head with a smile. “You are a trip, Mrs. Sakman.”
The exam room settles into a comfortable silence, filled with the overheard sounds of the life of the ER around you. The small chatter in the curtained room beside you, the hum of machines, the occasional shout or laugh from the nurses desk. 
Just as you finish up your dutiful matters to her laceration, slipping the gloves off and directing your attention to her to explain proper suture care—
—she’s calling out to someone over your shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir! Can you be my doctor?”
Turning around, you see Jack is caught mid-stride walking past your room. His face scrunches in concern. 
“Everything alright?”
“Mrs. Sakman—“ You begin hastily, mortification burning through you as he steps into the enclosed space. 
Mrs. Sakman, in her rosy glory, plows on. Meeting the man with an effervescent grin that gives no cause for caution. “Oh yes, your doctor here is lovely and has taken such good care of me, but I’d like you to be my doctor.”
A brow raises, his eyes flicking to yours for explanation. 
You flounder for a moment, your mouth opening and closing repeatedly. The chagrin you feel is red hot and there is little hope that it doesn’t reflect obviously in your face.
“Dr. Abbot—” You sigh, begrudgingly, fingers at your forehead as you try to rub the embarrassment away, “Mrs. Sakman is trying to set me up with her son but as I said, I do not date relatives of my patients.”
“Ah.” He takes the information in stride, nodding his head with latent interest. Cool, calm, and collected while you fluster over the discussion of your dating life.“You trying to take one of my doctors from me, Mrs. Sakman?”
“If you’ll let me.” She smiles
“You don’t have to put your son through that torture. Order me a pastrami deli sandwich and I’ll give her to you for free.” Jack tilts his head to the side, grabbing a pair of gloves from the wall. He pointedly ignores the loud offended gasp you emit. 
“Let’s take a look at you.” Sliding the gloves on and stepping up beside the older woman, he begins a gentle survey of the laceration. Fingers slightly touching the wound, turning his head this way and that in review. 
“Sutures look good. CT clean?”
“Not even a hairline fracture.” You present, “She’ll be tired, maybe a bit dizzy, but otherwise she’s good. Anticoagulants have been prescribed along with tylenol for the next couple of days. Gonna keep her for another hour for observation before discharge with a wonderful guide on how to clean her sutures.”
“Good.” Jack nods. “Well, unfortunately, Mrs. Sakman, there’s not much more for me to do that your current doctor hasn’t. So you will have to stay in her care.”
“You can’t make an exception for a poor woman?” She sweetens. 
“Your flirtations won’t work on me, young lady.” He issues, low and exceptionally playful.
Mrs. Sakman giggles akin to a teenage girl, her face turning rosy as she waves Jack away. 
“Besides—” Hie head gestures to you as he speaks to Mrs. Sakman, “—we call this one Rambo behind her back. We give her up, we gotta spend more money on security and that’ll come out of my paycheck.” 
Jack takes off his gloves and tosses them into the bin, giving you a long, knowing look. Mirthful and wry, it holds against your dry, scolding one. Waiting for you to make a rebuttal, calculating the moves and ways it would come out of your mouth for him to counter. You anticipate it, depriving him of the reaction that he’s looking for despite the way his eyes dig into yours, searching for it. Looking like he couldn’t stop looking for it, like it would make his whole night if you just caved.
You stick your tongue in your cheek and he watches, fixated—the ghost of amusement casting over his face as he sidesteps you by the curtain’s opening. 
Your eyes trail after him, doing so well in withholding until he tilts his head at you. Beckoning. Your lips quirk upward then, and it’s all he needs.  
He breaks the prolonged charge with a sweet goodbye to your patient. “Have a good night, Mrs. Sakman.” Then, to you, he innocently says. “Holler if you need me.”
And then he’s gone, leaving from whence he came. The crater of his weighty presence settles in the room. 
You turn to Mrs. Sakman, with a shake of your head and an exasperated smile on your face. “And that is why you don’t want Dr. Abbot as your doctor.”
“Is he seeing anyone?” She laughs. 
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a daughter you want to set up, too.” You admonish.
“No. But you should pursue that one. That look, I’ve seen that before.”
It’s a splash of cold water over the heat that was simmering within you. At the embarrassment, at his teasing. A voiced thought that has no place for existence in this room—in this department, in this moment, in your life.
(A voiced thought that has infiltrated your own a time or two. That has wiggled its titillating fingers into the wayward dream, made a mountain out of a molehill, leaving your chest heaving, your thighs clenching, and the thought of Jack Abbot vivid on your mind.)
You push on, clearing your throat and detouring before your embarrassment escalates to humiliation. “Alright, Mrs. Sakman. I’m going to print out a guide for you that tells you how to take care of your sutures.” 
“I’m serious. Rules be damned, life’s too short. And he’s too handsome.” She insists just as you mean to step out of the exam room. You see only sincerity and genuity in her features. “I can see you with someone like him.”
Your mouth opens to find a response only to be met with the drying of your tongue. Words suddenly hard to connect, meaning difficult to find. 
Finally, with little resolve and even less polish, you mutter, “Be back soon.”
SHIFT THREE, Tues-Wed, 12:05 AM
“Hey! You think you can take my shift, sunshine?”
Ellis’ voice stops you from your walk from the bathroom and into the break room where she and Hilly gaze curiously back at you. The resident and the nurse are two of your favorites on the night shift, stopping for them is akin to stopping for air. 
“Rambo, brawler, sunshine. I’m getting all the nicknames this week.” You lean against the doorframe, peering at the two women who smile easily at you. “When?”
“Next Tuesday.”
“Can’t. I’ll be on vacation.” You tell her with pity. 
“Oh shit.” Her voice is light despite the disappointment. A welcome refresh on the night shift. “Where you going?”
“Florida.” The excitement is barely contained in your words. The prospect of a long vacation—away from the noise, away from the stress, away from disinfectant and in the sun—is a long overdue one. That excitement is shattered upon Hilly and Parker’s audible groan of disgust. Your mouth drops in shock as you defend. “I’m visiting my sister!”
“Don’t get eaten by a gator.” Hilly mumbles.
“Or a disney adult.” Parker pokes and you roll your eyes.
“I will be at the beach, thank you very much. A whole week with a piña colada in my hand and a tiny bikini on.”
Parker stands from her seat at the break table and fills up her thermos from a water bottle in the fridge. “If you come back with sun poisoning, I’m gonna laugh.”
“I’m a pro at tanning.” You insist. 
She raises a brow. “Even with a tiny bikini on?”
“Especially with a tiny bikini on.” You assert. 
She shrugs with a smile. “We’ll see.” 
“Talk to Abbot.” You tell her, returning back to the topic, “He might cover it.”
It’s almost comical the way Parker and Hilly’s faces scrunch in unanimous uncertainty. 
“Not today.” Ellis says. 
“It’s one of those days.” Hilly supplements. You nod in understanding, not entirely faulting the reasoning. Warnings were issued throughout the crew the minute the shift started. Steer clear. Dr. Abbot woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. 
Or maybe he didn’t sleep at all.
“Unless you wanna ask him for me?” Ellis counters, curiously.
Your brows furrow. “Why me?”
“Because you would get a much different answer than I would get.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” You insist, off put by the implication that you have any kind of weight to you in respect to Jack. Jack doesn’t lean on anything, for anyone. He doesn’t waver, he doesn’t reconsider. He’s a straight shooter, calling things like he sees it, having answers before the situation even arises.
If anything, your familiarity and comfortability with him makes you more prone to being at the short end of his sticks. Voluntold for things less than appealing—like picking up more shifts, by his steadfast hand.
“He’d say the same thing to me that he would to you.”
Hilly and Parker, in another feat of supernatural alignment, look at one another. A silent discussion translated in the look before they return to you.
“Sure.” Hilly nods. 
“Whatever you say.” Ellis supports. Your guffaw is met with Hilly’s boisterous giggles. 
That is, until her laughter is unceremoniously shot dead. An arrow to the heart, a quick and frigid silence encompassing the room. A glance at her reveals widened eyes fixated on something over your shoulder. 
The man in question stands behind you, lips in a thin line as his gaze bounces between the three of you. 
“Are we a hospital or a talk show, now?”
The two women quickly make their excuses, shuffling out of the room in a speed remarkably unlike either of them.
“Nope, on the way out now—”
“—I just remembered I’m so busy—”
Leaving only the two of you to occupy the break room. You half expect him to throw a comment out to you, expelling you back to the trenches of the ER but he doesn’t. He steps into the room with a low mutter. Unintelligible and gruff, resounding of the ire that has become him since the night started. 
The smell of his aftershave wafts past you. A cool mist twined with a musk. Inexplicably, him. Resonant of the stoic confidence that emanates off of him. Resounding man.
He’s tense as he approaches the counter, pulling a mug out of the cupboard and flicking on the coffee machine. It’s visible in the way he carries himself. The stance of a soldier back on war grounds, eyes skirting, glancing over his shoulder, listening for something. Not the sound of an incoming ambulance, not the sound of an intern struggling during a procedure. Something almost quiet, imperceptible. Known only to him, familiar to the memories that live in the lines of his face. A call with no name. 
A call that will bring back all that he’s lost. 
“Ellis needs her shift covered next Tuesday.” You toss the test balloon out, wondering if it’s enough of that kind of day for him to shoot it down with a precise blow dart or if there’s enough gentility in him to at least let it float by. 
“Sounds like an Ellis problem.” He mumbles.
“Just throwing it out there. In case you happen to have a solution.”
He looks over his shoulder, his eyes clearly bounce between yours, digging for a moment, before he turns his attention back to the coffee machine. 
“I’ll see.”
Floating by, it is.
“Everything good?” You ask his turned figure. Stepping further into the minefield, seeing what lands, which foot you place will step on the mine. “You’ve been working all week.” 
He snorts, but there’s no humor to be found. “So have you.”
“Yeah, but I’m off for a week starting Saturday. When are you off?”
”Saturday.”
A quiet hangs in the air, filled with your expectancy. ”…that’s it?”
“And Monday.”
“You need more than that.” 
One shoulder raises in a shrug. The smell of ground coffee fills the air as the pot bubbles to toil with the brew. Nothing particularly interesting and yet his attention is fixated. “Not dead yet.”
You hum, suspicious enough. “Rough night?” 
“What makes you say that?” 
The edge to his tone, that’s identical to the edge in his posture, that’s exactly like the edge in his attitude. Any and all of the above.
“You’re wired, today.” 
The observation isn’t groundbreaking. It doesn’t shatter windows, or break the sound barrier. It is a recognized truth that sits in the air with little disruption. He says nothing. Only pours the pot of black coffee into his mug. 
He’s not wearing his ring. 
The black one that has stayed permanently fixed on his left hand, third finger. 
There’s only been a handful of shifts in your year at PTMC that you’ve seen him without it—and they all felt like this. Rough. Tense. Like someone is one misstep away from receiving the glare that maims the career.  
It’s not a secret that Dr. Abbot lost his wife to cancer a few years after he was medically discharged from the Army. Just the mythology that lingers in the air like antiseptic. It’s easy to piece together that the days of his rigidity happen to coincide with whether or not his ring is on. 
And maybe that’s why you’ve been able to gravitate towards him. Not out of pity, but understanding. Respect. Admiration. Anyone with two eyes can tell that Jack carries himself with a significant weight—a testament to the life he’s lived, all that he has learned and lost. It’s a quiet confidence, an assumed burden that shows in his gait. A shining light that draws the helpless to him.
It’s hard to not be drawn to someone like him. 
So, you try. Out of some loose notion of affinity, respect, out of some desire to give back, you push where you know you probably shouldn’t. 
“You know…if you ever want to talk— about life, your day, what you ate this morning, something stupid you saw—” Your voice falters, hesitant for a moment before you find your steel commitment and push. “—grief. You can always talk to me. I’m here. At work. Out of work.”
His body goes still. Rigid. And stupidly, you wonder if this was the call he was listening for.  
“I won’t pretend to know. But, I can listen. If you want me to. Just ask.”
You don’t think he’ll ever take you up on it. In fact, it’s laughable to think that your attending—the man leagues above you in experience, and knowledge, and wisdom, would willingly stoop down to his fellow’s standing and talk about his feelings. Men like him compartmentalize. It’s what makes him an excellent doctor. The immovable rock under the beating current of the river. The beacon in a rushing trauma room.
But a foolish part of you tries because… well, because you want to. 
Because it’s Jack, at the end of the day. Battlin’ Jack with the edge in his eyes and the razor on his tongue. The first one you look for in a busy operating room, the last one you spot as you're packing up for the night.
Hazel eyes turn over his shoulder and find their spot on you with immediate precision. Boring a hole into you. Analyzing, configuring, understanding. He stares at you, in a charged stillness, almost like he were doing all three things at once and coming up empty on whatever he was trying to find.  
“…Sure.” 
You understand in the hesitancy that there is something hidden that he’s not wanting to share. You try to reason that his answer, as vague as vague comes, is a good thing, if only to save yourself from the disappointment of realizing that your attempt for connection has met a stoned wall. His words ring of finality, his signal to end the conversation. 
It’s here where the berth between you two feels so enormous, the difference in your stages of life. Not in the quips of the shifts, not in the jests of your being his junior and your teases of his age. Not when you’re beside him manning a procedure and working in tandem with the makings of a well-oiled machine as though you were always meant to work with him. But here, where you catch Jack in the hush and see glimpses of the man under the doctor is where the reminder is so pointed.
Signed, sealed, and delivered with red tape in your line of sight. Caution, written in his crow’s feet. Tread lightly, in the wrinkle of his smile lines. Warnings you should heed.
And yet, keep pushing, echoes in the beat of your heart. 
You nod, a small, resigned smile crossing your face. Leaving well enough alone. 
“Okay.” Tapping a hand against the doorway, you begin to take your leave from the room.
“Oh!” You stop yourself, turning back to him only to find that his eyes are still trained on you. “Uh, your patient in fourteen said he was experiencing a burning sensation in his penis when I walked by.”
“He’s in for heartburn from eating a shit ton of takis.” He says, diffident. 
“Guess he didn’t lick all the dust off his fingers.” You shrug. 
“Sounds like it.”
You take your leave and in the wake of your absence, Jack takes a harrowing breath.
His therapist’s voice lingers in his head. 
Doesn’t have to be the whole fleet. Doesn’t have to be announced. Just one is enough. Just a status update is all they need. All you need.
And maybe it's because he knows the sincerity behind your words, the invitation doesn’t feel like a hanging noose like it usually does. The prospect of talking about it—giving the status update—is akin to a standing death sentence for a man like him. Giving the unnamed a name, voicing it into existence, giving it the power to consume. 
He’s getting better at it. Giving the small doses in the official setting, where it's him, four beige walls, and a man with a PhD. Taking it outside of there, though, is still the battling challenge.
But—when you say it, when you offer—  
He pushes past it, doesn’t try to think too hard about it. Stocks it up on a shelf out of reach. Something to handle later, to forget about when he remembers to toss it out. Or, if the mood catches him just right in the safety of Dr. Mott’s office, he’ll bring it up. Discuss what it means, what he should do about it.
He doesn’t know. Only knows that a door has been left ajar, breadcrumbs of care and comfort leading a trail through and to you. Cracked open by your gentle hand.
Only knows that in the dormant hold of a wounded man and the slow becoming of a new one that he’s pushing himself to, Jack finds himself feeling the faint pang of hunger for something other than self-inflicted guilt and shame.
He eyes the breadcrumbs you left behind. Wondering, deep in the recesses of his conflicted mind, how they would taste.
He chugs his coffee, burns the taste buds on the tip of his tongue. Hopes that it erodes the want right where it began, cripples the potential to even try.
(It doesn’t.)
Thurs-Fri, 11:35 PM:
Jack is two forearms deep in the cracked thoracic cavity of an intubated 46-year old woman performing an EDT when the doors to Trauma One open. 
“Dr. Abbot, can I speak to you?” Dr. Reno, communal night shift’s bane of existence and general nuisance, shouts into the operating room. 
Jack has no more of an issue with the man than he does with anyone from Ohio—a general sense of pity coupled with a scrutinized squint of the eyes at some unsavory opinions that tend to come from the Buckeyes, particularly when the Steelers are playing—but the general opinion of the team’s feelings are not lost on him. 
He’s heard the whispers, seen the way the crowd parts like the Red Sea when the man is around. Jack keeps his head down, for the most part. He’s not Robby. Aside from the general check-in and check-out, he doesn’t want to manage people. Personalities exist, but they don’t matter in the heat of the moment. He leaves them be, pointedly making quirks and general tendencies a side effect of the job. Pointedly makes it not his business.
Until it is.
“Don’t know if you have eyes, Reno, but I’m kind of busy.” Jack responds, quick and cool, before turning his attention to Ellis’s intubation, “Drop the left lung and pump another three CC’s. Pericardium is getting cut.”
“Find me after.” Reno says briskly, the doors shutting loudly. 
Something vile and uncouth springs to his mind, annoyance cutting through Jack like a stabbing knife at the summoning. Something inappropriate, unprofessional, mildly threatening on a good day. Its sentiment is met in equal parts with Ellis’ mumble of “dick” which only makes Jack feel slightly better. 
Scissors cut through the thin wall of the heart’s membrane and quickly spot the torn ventricle that’s spouting blood profusely. 
“Found our geyser.” Plugging the hole shut with his finger into the rupture, he looks over to Walsh. “Ready to stop twiddling your thumbs, Dr. Walsh?”
“About time.” She rebuts, moving in beside him and beginning the suturing of the heart. 
Then a moment later, as her forceps pull thread through delicate tissue, she says, “You should handle that.”
He doesn’t need clarification to know what she means. “And you should handle this.”
“I’m doing my job.” She pushes. “Do yours.”
12:05 AM
“I’m concerned about your other fellow.”
If time could be rewound, he’d go back to this morning and let the phone ring into oblivion. Ignore the call asking him to come in tonight and spend the rest of his day watching the Pirates play the Yankees. Would rather watch his team get their asses handed to them than have this conversation—knowing where it’s going, knowing who it's about. The regret of his decisions only grates him further.
Dr. Abbot doesn’t find Dr. Reno. Dr. Reno finds Dr. Abbot—contrary to the directive that interrupted the procedure in South-13.
Just as he’s stepping out of the OR and chucking his bloodied gloves into the trash bin, Maxwell is on him without preamble. That stabbing feeling—the unabated annoyance— creeps up his neck like a fucking burn. So much so that Jack has to roll it out before even looking at the new fellow. 
His eyes flick to the man, deeply unimpressed at how dogged the man appears to be. He continues his path towards the workstation. Dr. Reno follows after him, quick on his heels. 
“Her charts and prescriptions are suspect.”
“What, is there not enough work, man? You’re reading other doctors’ charting notes?”
“She and I have disagreed too often about standards of care.”
“Then leave it as a disagreement and move on.”
“Just—” Dr. Reno grabs onto Jack’s arm, halting him in place. It earns the man a putrid glare, Jack’s eyes boring into the hand that lingers on his bicep until Dr. Reno takes the hint and quickly removes it. “—look at it, Dr. Abbot. I’m concerned.”
Reno holds out a folder, one that Jack fights the urge to grab and chuck across the ER. There are no niceties when Jack takes it, his ire blatant as he yanks the folder from the man’s hand. 
Your name is the first thing he sees on the document. A usual tender, easing thing within him that Jack refuses to draw attention to—the sight of your name below his on the schedule set for the same shift, the pop-up notification of your name in the work group chat whenever you send a text. Something he would continue to dutifully ignore were it not for the fact that the notes labeled as “suspect” are notes you’ve made on a patient dated a week and a half ago. 
He scans the timeline, red quickly filling his vision. Steel becomes him the minute his gaze flicks up to Reno, finding the man looking back at him expectantly.
“This is your smoking gun? Really?” Reno nods, emphatically. Jack grits his teeth. “Get back to work, Maxwell.”
“The patient was coughing up blood and complained of chest pain. CT confirmed it was a pulmonary embolism which should’ve resulted in a cardiac catheterization.” Reno insists, bulldozing past the point of professional restraint.
“Not if it wasn’t severe enough.”
“It was enough for the patient to be transferred for admission and OR to take care of it. This is a clear case of delay in proper care.”
“You’re upset that one of our doctors isn’t trigger happy with a knife? That she—” Jack looks to the chart record again, spotting a note that makes him more irritated, “That she correctly prescribed and provided anticoagulants that reduced patient discomfort and clearly instructed the patient to follow up with their PCP the next day.”
“And him being on the schedule for the upstairs OR today?”
“A week and a half after the patient’s visit to the ER. Clearly not admitted through us and yet treated in our hospital. Wonder what that could mean.” Jack bites sarcastically. “Oh yeah, that the patient followed up with their PCP and it was decided to remove the clot.”
“Dr. Abbot—“
“Stop following up on other doctors' charts. Focus on your patients. And don’t bother me with this shit again unless it's serious.” The folder is shoved unceremoniously into Reno’s chest. “Whatever beef you got against her, don’t bring it to my floor.”
It’s when Jack is halfway down the hall that another remark is called out.
“I didn’t realize you were so biased.” 
His leg aches in the socket of his prosthetic, a sign of his lowering threshold. The pulse of blood felt worse in the stub more than anywhere else. Turning, his eyes narrow.
“Excuse me?”
”You should’ve written her up. You know you should’ve.” Reno explains as Jack steps—stalks—closer. “It was a threat against another doctor. Management won’t be happy that you’ve overlooked it.”
Abbot stands before him, his chin tilting up just as his jaw clenches. “I didn’t overlook anything. I’m well aware of what happened and I’m choosing to handle it differently.” 
“You handled it wrong.”
Jack's eyes narrow. A long steadied exhale is released, like a bull catching sight of the red. “You caught me on a good day. Take a walk, Dr. Reno. If you can’t be a team player and get your shit on straight, then consider this permission to get out of the ER for the night. Your choice.”
“You can’t—“
“Make. Your choice. Before I make it for you.” 
12:17 AM
You’re on the back of a motorcycle with the wind in your hair when a phone call interrupts. Opening your eyes is like pulling yourself out of tar, but the caller ID does the hard work of taking you out of the depths of your REM cycle.
“Hello?” You ask, voice groggy and tired. 
“Sorry to be calling you so late. I know it’s your day off.” Hilly’s voice sounds on the other end of the phone. “Any chance you can come in and work an 8-hour?”
“Why? What’s going on?” You’re already sitting up in your bed, the decision to head into work practically made. 
“Reno had to head out for an emergency. We’re short one.” 
“Oh shit.” You mutter. You raise the heel of your palm to rub into your eye. “I didn’t realize I was next on the rotation.”
“You aren’t. Dr. Abbot asked for you.”
If the decision wasn’t made before, it was made now. “I’ll be there in thirty.”
“You’re the best.” Over the line, you hear from a familiar but faint voice in the background, “She coming in?”
“Yes!” Hilly calls, before turning her attention to you. “Dr. Abbot gave a thumbs up, but it was a grateful one. I can tell.”
12:52 PM
“What took you so long?” Jack calls over his shoulder, seemingly already knowing you’ve entered the ER without even glancing backward. 
You watch as the back of his head tilts up to the status board, then back down to his notes. You saddle up beside him, placing your bag onto the nurses desk for shoving into a locker later and lean against the workstation. 
“Yankees beat Pirates ten to four. I should be out on the town. You’re lucky I’m here at all.” You push back and he tuts, annoyed. Whether at you or the game, you’re unsure, but it brings a smile to your face. 
You peer into his notes. If he minds, he makes no visible sign of it.
“I’m delighted, truly. Nothing screams lucky more than watching the unit crash and burn while we wait for you to grace us with your presence.” He retorts, but there’s no venom to his bite. 
“You’re smart, Dr. Abbot. You can handle it.”
”Yeah? Then what do we pay you for?”
“PTMC needed the city flair.” You smile widely at him. 
“The shitty one?”
“The New York state of mind. The wins and all. You’ll understand when the Pirates finally fix their offense in the outfield.” 
“Don’t forget the stellar humility.” He hums, noncommittal. “And leave the Buccos out of this.”
You tilt your head at him. “You don’t like me because I’m humble.”
“Like implies affection.” He replies, easily. “Tolerate is more accurate, city girl.”
“Whatever you say, old man.” You sigh. “I get to leave early tomorrow though, right?”
“Extortion.”
“Tit for tat.” 
An announcement rings over the intercom. An inbound GSW, four minutes out. The room turns then, those settling in the front half of the floor preparing in an orchestrated chaos for the arrival. Jack grabs a pair of gloves from the box affixed to the wall, tossing them over to you before grabbing and slipping on his own. Jack finally looks over to you, his eyes doing a quick once over of you before he settles back on your face—readied, but easy. 
Seamless and still anticipation constructing your features, determination filtering in through the artful weave of your calmness. You stand sliding gloves onto your hands welcoming the impending disaster like it were an old friend.
If there were nerves to be had on you, he couldn’t find them. 
It only compounds the ridiculousness of Reno from earlier. Only furthers Jack’s unwavering lack of doubt when it comes to you. You stand awaiting the incoming trauma like you hadn’t just woken up half an hour ago, like you’ve been standing beside Jack the entire night when it should be Reno, and relief hits him like a truck. 
A semi that’s caught him like a deer in the headlights, loosens the strain that’s fixed permanently in the column of his neck, makes the ache in his shoulder pointedly less. One held breath away from feeling. 
“Thanks for coming in.” He says, suddenly serious. 
Thanks for coming when I asked, he means.
It startles you, the turn. The unexpected stoop into sincerity. Eyes bounce between his, unaware of where it comes from. He stares back, unabashed with the earnest yet otherwise unreadable. 
Nonetheless, you take what he gives you. 
“Yeah. Of course.” There is equal genuinity in your voice. You nod your head, softly. “Anything you need.” 
He nods, once. Then turns to watch the loading bay doors. “Make me proud tonight and I’ll think about Friday.”
“Getting soft on me, Dr. Abbot.” You tease, but it holds no real feet to fire. It’s not ribbing, nor is it a condemnation. Just an observation that sits between you two like a shared secret.  
“Yeah, well.” Jack shakes his head, but there’s no concealing the way his lips twitch upward. You both decide to leave well enough alone.
Turning in time with him, you pull on his surgical gown and tie it at the back. He ties your own, his hand lingering on your back when he finishes.
SHIFT FOUR, Friday-Sat, 8:47 AM:
You don’t get to leave early. 
You take a sip from the porcelain mug of lukewarm coffee you’ve taken from the breakroom and continue your endless stare into the slow revival of the world. 
The dark of the sky begins to dilute with the morning rise, the cold breeze of the spring air a welcomed remedy to your flustered skin. The benches at the park beside the hospital are uncomfortable, pointedly so. The longer you sit, the further the aches in your back that made their wonderful appearance halfway through your shift demand your attention—but this is what you need. 
A tether to reality, a removal from the endless spirals of a hurried mind. A way for your feet to finally settle on the firm, stable ground. No running, no long stretches of standing, no burning in the flex of your calves. Just dirty sneakers on the gravel, feeling some semblance of stillness even as life begins to slowly wake up around you. Hands feeling the fading warmth of the drink you hold tightly.
Birds chirp melodically as streaks of orange break up the sky. Your chest starts to feel like it isn’t on the brink of collapse from the erratic beat of your heart. You can finally breathe. 
The new day, in. The old one, out. 
“It’s not the worst of vices to have, but a sixth cup of coffee is pretty drastic. Even for my standards.”
It’s rather difficult to align your inner chakras when Jack’s voice grows closer to you.
The heavy sigh you exhale conveys exactly how you feel about it. “I’m not in the mood, Jack.”
“First name, huh?” The sound of his voice is another stabbed knife into the pantheon of wounds that decorate you today. 
“Off the clock. Formalities be damned.” You return, annoyed.
He steps in beside you, his steadied gait and imposing figure filling your periphery. A vision cladded in black scrubs that you refuse to look at. He makes no further movement, surveying you with a neutral look on his face. Not a new thing from him, and certainly not for the first time it’s happened tonight. 
Jack has a staring problem. Always watching, hawk eyes knowing things before they reach his ears. A dutiful sentinel on the floor and the subject of the running joke you have with a few of the nurses about the amount of eyes he has on the back of his head. Lisa and Hilly think there’s at least four, one for each cardinal direction. You’ve got money on the table that there’s eight pairs, minimum.
It’s his job as attending to be tuned in to everything that happens on his shift but it’s uncanny the way he notices everything. 
(“Military.” Ellis had said simply, eyes focused on charting. 
“X-ray vision.” Shen chirped with a shrug and a sip of his iced coffee. You nodded in agreement.)
It’s not a hunch, or a theory, or a girlish fantasy to say that all eight pairs of Jack’s eyes were on you tonight. He appeared out of thin air when things went sideways on your cases. Seemingly easy patients turning chaotic within the blink of an eye and each time, he was there. Beating Ellis and Shen to the punch, pulling gloves over his hands and giving his assessment in steady confidence and simple authority as he fell into step beside you.
Assisting you with perfect timing the first two times your patients coded, leading the procedures for the next one, and taking over completely on the final one. 
With his backpack slung over his shoulder and his hand shoved in the pants of his scrubs, Jack does as he’s done all night long and stares at you. Deeply, intently, unnervingly. His face betraying no tangible thought as he keeps you within his line of sight. 
And just as you’ve done all night, you keep your gaze in front of you. Fixated on the park before you.
There’s no telling if he watches out of concern for your wellbeing or others. Determining if you were a complex puzzle needing to be solved or maybe a potential bomb needing to be diffused. 
He’s got a morbid connection to the latter. All the more reason for him to stay away. 
In standard Jack fashion, he doesn’t. 
“That bad, then.” His words are light, almost blasé. It fuels a fire that you were unsuccessfully trying to stampen out. 
You scoff. “Yeah. Pretty fucking bad.”
He moves, then. Shrugging his backpack off, he places it beside the bench and sits next to you. Close, too close. Out in the open and away from the confines of sterile white walls and yet you still feel like you’re cornered. Drowning in the nearness of him, in the substantial feel of his presence.
He takes a breath before finally saying, quietly, like a man trying to tame an angered animal, “It wasn’t personal—”
“Felt personal.” You bite back, bitterly.
“You were clouded.”
Finally, your head snaps to him. Disbelief furrows in your brows. “That’s bullshit.”  
Your heated and sharpened fury meets his stoic and anchored one, looking at him for the first time since you were pushed aside in trauma three. No betrayal of guilt resides in the lines of his face, only true honesty and sincerity. 
It only makes you angrier.
“You undermined me in the middle of a procedure. In front of interns, in front of residents. This isn’t my first time around the block, Jack. It was a resection. I can do those in my sleep and you know that. This was no different.” Your head shakes incredulously, the frustration surging forward with little reservation. And while the anger is there, simmering deep in every crevice of your words, pinching your lips and narrowing your eyes, the hurt bleeds through, try as you might to hold it back. 
“You might as well have just told the whole team you think I don’t know what I’m doing. That would’ve been infinitely better than telling me to step aside.”
The corner of Jack’s lips flick downward, a sign you’ve come to understand as his clear disagreement. They purse forward as he thinks for a second. Registering the extent of your words.  
He leans his elbows on his knees. Thinking for another moment, until he says, “This isn’t New York.”
Your head pulls back in offense. “What the hell does that mean?” 
“It means you’re not alone in a department doing drastic shit by yourself because you have to, anymore. You’re here, we’re a team and in case you forgot, you’re my senior fellow. My responsibility. And I’m not going to let you drown.” 
“I-I wasn’t drowning. I had cases, they got resolved and I moved onto the next one—”
“You had four codes today.” He interrupts. “You don’t just move on from that.” 
Your breath hitches. It’s the actualization of the heavy weight, the one that’s been sitting on your chest all night. Constricting your breath, keeping your feet moving, and hands fidgeting. Somewhere in between keeping your head down and switching from one patient to the next, it hadn’t registered that he would have tucked the information away as something other than a performance metric.
A stupid notion, one clearly without any semblance of thought, because it’s Jack. 
(The Jack you’ve had all week, the one who teases as a means to compliment, who has quietly deferred to you when questions arose during procedures, who has given approving looks from the doorway over the course of the week. Jack that has brought you coffee on random occasions when the lulls have kicked in, in the mug he knows belongs to you, the one you sip at now. Jack who knows you’ve entered a room before a word comes out of your mouth. 
Jack, who is both a breath of fresh air and the halting cause of your own when the hazel of his eyes fall on yours from across a hectic room. Concern etched in the irises, a quiet check-in, a quick review of your status, before moving on to the next thing.
Jack, Jack, Jack—whose name fits too well in your mouth, that you’re too keen to speak out loud just because you want to.)
He says the truth simply. Without blame, unlike the raging guilt that courses through you. Without lecture. Words uttered incredibly soft for a man forged from fire and brimstone. 
“None of them were easy and none of them were your fault. Just really bad fuckin’ luck that they landed on you. It’s enough to weigh on anyone.” 
“My day had nothing to do with that procedure. I’ve been through worse, I can handle it.” You lie, stubbornly.
“It had everything to do with it.” He continues, holding your gaze dutifully. As though he could stare his truth into you—make you physically see his meaning. “I saw that look in your eye. You were gonna hack at that man’s body if it meant a single chance of survival.”
“Because there was a chance, Jack. If you had just let me—“
“Sepsis from secondary peritonitis. The bowel was necrotic. There wasn’t.”
“Then let me find that out! You push Shen, you push Ellis, I’ve seen you push Mohan. I get one bad day and I’m treated with baby gloves? I get kicked off a procedure? I’m a fellow, Jack. I should’ve been allowed to do my job.”
“I push when there is something to learn. He was gone the minute he rolled in through those doors. There was nothing to learn in that.”
“So I get punished for wanting to try?”
“I stepped in because you weren’t doing it for the betterment of the patient, you were doing it for yourself.” 
He renders you speechless. Your face falls from tense anger to a shattered hurt. You fall against the backing of the bench with defeat. The throat tightens in that familiar way that it’s been doing all shift. Your eyes start to sting with the swell of tears that you try to swallow down, force away before they threaten to spill. 
Still, Jack watches. Assessing, preparing, readying himself for the fall that he’d seen coming from the beginning. 
“This isn’t a question about what you can do.” He says quietly, a whisper in the wind. A reassurance uttered in the safe space between you, broken only by your shuddering breaths. “You’ve been off kilter on me since you got that little girl. I get it. No one blames you for that. You went into this one hoping you could get a save after the ones you lost. And if you want to pretend there was a chance, fine. You can sleep knowing that I made the call on this one. That this falls on me. Not you.”
And you’re smart enough to read between those lines. 
It was never about competence. It was a staged intervention. Jack’s way to release some of the pressure off of the cooking chamber that has been you all day. To place part of your burden on his shoulders.
Making sure that the four codes you were responsible for tonight didn’t turn to five.
The heat of your bruised ego simmers low, water poured onto the embers and leaving a smoking ash of your tender and fragile heart. Heavy with the stress of today, fraying from the guilt that eats at you. You turn to him, your eyes red-rimmed and burning with unshed tears that only inch forward the minute you meet his gaze. 
His focus on you isn’t intimidating. It’s a familiar shroud of comfort, a soft place to land. He listens, watches, waits. Beckoning you into him, wanting you to let go. 
“It was just like New York again, Jack. It felt like everyone I touched died.” Your voice breaks at the admission. “I can handle it, you know, when it’s bad. It sucks, but I can put it away and keep going. But today it was—these were simple ones.”
Your breath catches when you feel him move closer to you, his thigh intentionally pressing into yours. Another tether to the ground. 
You rub your hands against your face roughly. “Like what— what do you mean I lost an eight-year old to pneumonia? That’s routine, we go through that all the time. I did a year in peds for fuck’s sake. I had her— for a second I had her.”
An incredulous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Absurdity is hardly a humorous thing and yet, it escapes with the fall of a tear that you quickly wipe away. “Then it was the dad with the DVT who just dropped on me. He was ready to be discharged. I was on him for two hours and nothing.”
“Then the car accident came in and I—I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t shake them from me. It was just one after another. And I tried but…just wasn’t good enough.”
He interrupts quickly, leaning in close to you. His voice fusing with a well-meaning reprimand, “Don’t do that. That doesn’t do anyone any good.” 
You sigh, tearfully and look to him. He’s close, close enough in your space where his shoulder is touching yours and you see how the lines on his face deepen with his intentful stare into you. It only capitulates the need to fall. 
“I know Reno’s been looking at my charts. And I know he brought it up to you.” You tell him. The careful composition of the man made of stone fractures, then. Surprised, aggrieved, almost furious. “And I guess—I don’t know. When you told me to step aside, it felt like you were believing him a little bit.”
The speed in which he dissuades the thought is comforting. “That wasn’t what that was. That’s not why I took you out.”
“I know.” And you do. But it still felt like it. 
Jack shakes his head, drilling truth into you with an emphasis that could hardly be missed. Needing you to understand exactly what he meant. “Whatever Reno thinks about you, fuckin’ forget about it. It doesn’t matter—”
“I don’t care what he thinks. He’s an idiot. And he’s from Ohio.” You scoff. “I care what you think.”
It’s his turn to be rendered silent. Not out of shock or stupor—but at the need to hold back everything that creeps up in that moment. Tiny gospels that bang against the caverns of a hollowed heart, carved empty from the brutal grip of a world that has taken too much. Truths that beg to be let out. The unnamed that claws up the soft tissue of his throat that begs to be given a name, to be heard. 
The truth is that you had been thorough all night, fast on your feet, a helping hand where needed. A forceful hurricane blazing through the trauma bay with a proficiency that justified your standing as a fellow. And Jack had an eye on you all night not because you were cracking but because he had to make sure you were still standing. Still breathing. Not as part of his job but because—
He needed to. 
And the minute he saw the slight waver, saw the way it was beginning to seep into you, he became a man of two minds. No longer able to compartmentalize. His eyes focused on the patients in front of him, his ears attuned to the sound of your voice on the other side of the room. Listening to the rises and falls like a hymn, reverent in his pious focus.
How his only way to fix all that was wrong for you was to be involved himself—handle it himself. Wedge into the web of you that’s been stretched thin and mend the cracks, bring you back to steady and safe ground. 
Bring you back to him. 
He doesn’t say any of that. Restrains the flooding thoughts with a wrangled rope and ties it hard enough to cut circulation. Ties the yearning before it makes an ample fool out of everything. 
Instead, he goes for the standard. The known truth, the easy one that lives beneath the dry teases and offhand remarks. 
“If it matters that much, you knocked it out of the fuckin’ park today. You touched more patients today than anyone else on the floor, gave excellent care in the chaos. You did damn good, today.”
Your nod is empty, tired. Dry of any attempt at human dignity. And it humors you that just a few days ago you were the one offering him comfort. 
“How’d you know how many I was on?” You ask after a moment. 
“…I was keeping count.”
“Really?”
”You drink more when you’re stressed. Like caffeine will make you focus harder.” He huffs at the surprised look on your face. “Told you. You’re my responsibility.”
“MD, therapist, dietician, and babysitter.” The laugh that comes out of you is wet. You sniffle. “Sucks to be you.”
“Most days, but not today.” You huff out a laugh and his smile slants. He flicks his head to the side. “C’mon. You need to sleep. Florida’s calling your name, God knows why.”
He stands with a grunt, working out a knot in his neck before turning and holding a hand out to you. You take it, allowing him to lift you from the bench with your own pained sigh. 
You rub at the ache on your back. “I’ll try but I’m five coffees deep—“
“—six.” He corrects.
“Six.” You repeat, feeling gently warmed at his record keeping. “Don’t think my buzz is going to let me sleep. Try to get some shut eye for me, though.”
“Don’t waste your wish on me. I don’t sleep much.”
“Do—do you wanna get some breakfast, then? I just—” The words come out before you have much cognizance to reel them in. Exhaustion and guilt and all of its disarming siblings pushing the request out. “I’m not ready to go home yet.”
Just as they hit the air, you realize how silly it is. You don’t expect him to take you up on it—too aware of the gap, the existing berth that lives loudly in between you two. 
“Yeah. Of course.” He interrupts. Says it as sure as the air he breathes. Says it without hesitation and even less reservation. As if you couldn’t have asked anything more obvious. 
“Anything you need.”
And in your colored shock, in the repeat of the words that were once aimed at him, here—that’s when you see it. Or rather, feel it. The charge, the shift, the inkling of something else.  
Something beyond your attending. Beyond the stature of the leader who knows everything, who can impart wisdom just as much as he could take it away. Beyond the monolith who pushes you to be better, that draws the lines firmly in the sand of duty and obligation, of giving it your all and knowing when to let it go. 
There, in the softness of his hazel eyes settling on yours and the small tilt of the corner of his lips pulling upward, is a man. A gentle one, with something soft wedged in the center of his steel chest that he’s torn down a wall and unlocked just to show you. 
Only you.
Something on the precipice of becoming sweet, almost ripe for picking. 
Something you don’t know the name to, yet, but can feel deep in parts previously unknown to you that you desperately want to learn more of as the sun rises on the two of you. 
SHIFT ONE, Tues-Wed, 6:48 PM
“Look at what the cat dragged in.” Dana’s smile bleeds into her voice as you step onto the floor. “Smelling of coconut and looking sunkissed.”
The familiar smell of sterile sanitizer and disinfectant is a welcome one. The pat of your sneakers on the tile floor is a familiar anthem as you enter the ER. 
You hold your hands out and bow to your awaiting crowd, “In the very flesh.”
“Surprised you don’t have a flower in your hair.” She teases, her smile growing warmer as you draw in closer.
"Thought about it but I figured that’d be bragging.”
“Indeed it would.” Dana busies herself with the final details in preparation of handoff. You come up to the desk, leaning your elbows against the surface. A quiet moment before your shift starts. “You get to stay at the beach?”
You hum, pleased. “All week. In the tiniest bikini known to man.”
“Atta girl.” She smiles.
“There’s sunshine.” Ellis calls from down the hall, and you see her approach the workstation looking like she’s already gotten a head start on her rounds. “Welcome back. How’re the nieces?”
“Too stinking cute. I got some photos you’re gonna die for.” You sigh, wistfully. “I missed them.”
“Not gonna leave us for Florida now, are you?”
“Ask me at the end of my shift.”
“Nah, she won’t.” Dana coos, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and giving your arm a loving rub. “Pittsburgh won’t force our sunshine out just yet.”
“Abbot would put a stop to that before it even started.” Ellis jests, and you raise a brow.
“What?” You ask. 
Dana ignores you, directing her stare to Ellis. “Maybe even get some people written up.”
“Maybe even put some people in a disciplinary hearing.” Ellis returns.
Your eyes bounce between the two. “Okay, what the hell don’t I know?”
“Nothin’.” Ellis smiles, turning on her heel. 
Dana pats your arm, lovingly. “Happy to have you back, sweetie.”
7:47 PM
“Hilly, I’m going to put in an order for an EKG for Mr. Breyer. You mind making sure that he’s bumped up on that one?” You tell the nurse as you both exit the exam room.
“Can do!” She chirps. 
“Oh! And—“ She turns on her heel at your call, looking at you curiously. “Did something happen while I was gone?”
Her brows furrow. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something with Abbot.” Understanding floods her face.  
“What have you heard?” She asks, voice dipping low.
”Just a comment. Something about a disciplinary hearing.”
”Oh my god, I can’t believe no one’s told you.” She crowds near you, excitement radiating off of her. “Not confirmed, but heavily suspected because Anna Maria heard it from Jesse who heard it from Perlah who saw Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot talking about it. But— Dr. Abbot got Reno suspended.”
“What?” Shock raises your volume, which Hilly quickly shushes you. You lower your voice in apology, “For what?”
“Harassment. Unprofessional conduct.”
“Against who?” You ask, already suspecting the answer.
“Four people. Three nurses—” 
“Three!” You gasp. You had only known about the one incident, heard some things about from the others. But the extent remained only in what you saw in the stairwell with Anna Maria.
“All Latino. They all went to Dr. Abbot. Apparently he was keeping notes on certain racist comments made.” Your mind flickers to the image of the note he tucked into his breast pocket, and its unsurprising then that he would’ve known about it all along. 
Eight pairs of eyes always watching.
“And the fourth?” You ask, curiously.
Hilly’s eyes seem to gleam brighter when she says, “You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Dr. Abbot raised it up to Dr. Robby who raised it up to Gloria and so on.” 
“Harassment against me?” You ask again, unbelieving.
“Yeah. Something about sabotaging your performance. Depending on the source, some say he talked about some of the comments he’s heard Reno say to you or the arguments he would start in the operating rooms.  But everyone agrees—” 
Hilly pauses for a moment—whether for dramatic effect or to convey the extent of the magnitude of her next. Either way, you remain fixated on her. Waiting, watching for her. 
“—they’ve never seen Dr. Abbot angry like that.”
9:51 PM
You don’t get the chance to talk to him—officially. 
Only make him out in the background of the hectic shift, see him at the bedside of an incoming trauma before rushing into an OR, stepping in beside him and slipping the gown on to assist. 
There’s the sly comment about your absence—Hope you didn’t forget how to do your job, city girl. 
One you meet in equal time—Watch and learn, old man. 
Sly smiles exchanged, the meeting of tender glances, the return of the familiar. Into the feeling. 
He catches you at the rolling cart outside of North 12 again. A moment finally spared in the frenzy of the night that he willingly decides to lean into. He puts his good shoulder against the wall, surveying you with a steadied eye. 
“How you feeling?” He asks, but you can make in the tone that something belies the words. A veiled test, the subtle making of your person upon return to work. A gauge of what you’ve heard. 
You meet his test balloon with an easy smile. Happy, content. 
“Good.” You say to him, true and meaningful, “How are you?”
He watches for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “Good.”
There’s not much to say about what may or may not have happened while you were gone. At least nothing you trust to not lay waste to the goodness of the moment. There’s nothing to explain or be explained. 
You know why he did it. He knows you know why he did it. You both decide to leave well enough alone. Trusting each other like second nature. 
A beat passes. “D’you relax? Take photos?” 
You nod, emphatically. “Yeah. I gotta show you the ones I got from this alligator farm we took my nieces to. You’d get a kick out of it.”
“So long as you skip over the bikini ones.” A smile etches on his face. Loose and light, the same familiar song and dance. 
“C’mon. You don’t even want to take a peek?”
“Not unless you want to keep me up at night.” He raises a brow. “You can keep your Florida sunburns to yourself.”
“Well, just picture my screams, then. That always puts you to bed, right?”
“Not this time, it won’t.”
You take it to mean that the image of your body will scar your attending, which forces a scoff out of your mouth. Rolling your head to him, you intend to make faux hurt known. But, in meeting his gaze, you see something else entirely. 
A toiling knowing that runs the quip on your tongue dry. It’s that something from before, tainted with a depth that you haven’t seen from him. 
The air heats slowly, flint to stone igniting the mutuality of piqued interest. 
For a second you realize that maybe, the heavy gap that you’ve always figured lies between you two wasn’t so hefty from the extent of the said differences in life and experiences—but heavy for another reason altogether. For all the things left unsaid.
It brings an image to your mind—one that has entered into the realm of consciousness on nights where alcohol has made you too loose and latent desires infiltrate the privacy of sleep. 
An image of you and him.
Rough, calloused hands running over flustered skin. Tugging shirts off, stripping pants down, pulling panties to the side to take a peek. The heat of his breath fanning over the side of your neck, the pads of his fingers swiping through the wet. Circling, playing, a tease whispered in a husky tone just before he—
Your breath shudders. 
“Welcome back.” Jack says lowly, turning on his heel and trekking down the hall. 
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a/n: of course it would be a a traumatized forty-nine year old man that would break my eight month hiatus. my first dip into this man, and i want more
let me know your thoughts!
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yumeyuyumeyume ¡ 2 months ago
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💖 REVERSE SELFSHIP AU IMAGINES 💖
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imagine your f/o...
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🌟 giggling, fanning, squealing or just making happy noises whenever you show up
🌟 saving TONS of images, videos, edits, fanfics and new official content of you (you're the reason why their storage space is running out lol)
🌟 creating a s/i, persona, oc or just draws themselves to ship them with you
🌟 listening to music and songs that remind them of you or their selfship, maybe even making music playlists of them!
🌟 starting to like so many things, even their least favorite thing became their favorite just because you like it
🌟 making moodboards, collages, stimboards and just pinterest boards of you
🌟 making headcanons about you and looking for more made by others
🌟 buying figures, plushies, keychains and just merches of you
🌟 getting jealous and yearning for merches of you (if they can't afford them)
🌟 drawing you a lot, writing fanfics about you or commissioning artists and fic writers to do them
🌟 making bracelets, paper plushies and crafts inspired by you
🌟 crying over your angstiest moments, or just uncomfortably smiling if they repress their feelings
🌟 getting all giddy when they see anything related to you, even the smallest things such as colors and words/names
🌟 finding comfort and happiness in you (you're the light to their darkness as people say)
🌟 listening to asmr of you, but if fan asmr videos make them cringe, then they listen to their favorite asmrtists and imagine you in their place (if they like asmr)
🌟 having a shrine and an itabag of you
🌟 filling their phone with widgets of you, decorating their phone case and anything with stickers of you and whatever reminds them of you
🌟 having your name or face tattooed (if they're the type to tattoo)
🌟 gushing about you in paragraphs and paragraphs...
🌟 buying a box of chocolate that reminds them of you on valentine's day and either imagining themselves giving them to you or eating them imagining that you gave them to them 🌹🍫
🌟 having a selfship blog/account dedicated to you
🌟 (if they're non-sharing) getting very jealous and blocking anyone else who selfships with you, they can't stand doubles 💢
🌟 editing screencaps of you by giving you accessories, face stickers, new clothes/hairstyles and just having fun making photo edits of you
🌟 having all your lines and even your voice memorized in their head, even that one specific sound of your breathing...
🌟 daydreaming/fantasizing about you every day and every night 💭💖
🌟 wearing a piece of clothing or accessories just to match yours. you like wearing this one specific top? they'll wear it too and imagine that you gave it to them
🌟 joining a forum or server of your source for content of you
🌟 stealing some of your mannerisms or aesthetics
🌟 going through so many websites to find more content and fan works of you
🌟 infodumping about you and how much they love you, whether it be verbally or not
🌟 watching character analysis videos about you or reading them
🌟 lucid dreaming about you or really wishing to if they aren't able to, the same with soulbounding
🌟 defending you with all their might and immediately blocking anyone who hates on you (if they have no self restraint, they might not hold back against those haters and a fight may or may not break out... 👀)
🌟 enjoying life more the moment they fell for you
🌟 editing themselves, their oc, their persona or their s/i as this Rentarou's speech panel from 100kanojo and writing about how much they love you in the speech bubbles (okay this one's highly specific)
🌟 JUST LOVING EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT YOU!!! 💖💖💖
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feel free to add more if you want! ( ゝω・)/°.✨️
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junnieverse ¡ 18 days ago
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STRAWBERRY KISSES ➳ N. RIKI
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➙ synopsis: you decided to hop on the latest trend where your boyfriend, riki, does your grwm voiceover, but he on the other hand has other plans in mind for you both.
pairing: non idol!nishimura riki x fem!reader
genre: fluff, crack, slightly suggestive
word count: 0.9k
warnings: briefly proofread, riki jokingly calling reader a thief/kleptomaniac
a/n: i would like to say i was inspired to write this with my own little spin after reading a jake fic similar to this awhile back that i found so cute, tysm to that author <3
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“Yo yo yo, what’s up guys.” his deep voice croaks into the mic as he turns his gaze to you.
“Is this on?” Riki asks tilting his head to the side, whilst the video of your makeup routine was paused on the screen of the laptop.
You nod before giving him a thumbs up to get started.
You had been wanting to post more content on your social media lately and you thought joining along the whole “boyfriend voiceover” trend would be perfect for you and a fun activity for both you and your silly partner.
“Okay so my lovely girlfriend asked me to do the voiceover for her makeup ‘get ready with me’ video because for one, she’s obsessed with me- ow!” he groans rubbing his arm as he chuckles after cheekily after you swatted him seeing as he successfully teased you.
“I swear she loves me. And uh secondly, I have two sisters so I think I should do well knowing a thing or two about these kinds of stuff.” he continues with a confident smirk.
Clicking play on the video in front of you, you silently watch beside your boyfriend as he closely follows along, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“I will never understand how and why she needs all of this stuff to begin with. I for one think my girlfriend is insanely beautiful the way she looks now, bare face and all. Like a cute kitten.” he rambles seemingly wanting to go on and on about how perfect you are—before you abruptly remind him of what he needs to be doing.
“Okay let me lock in, sorry. So first up we got moisturiser. Yep, gotta keep the skin hydrated ofcourse.” he says nodding along as you show your entire process, step-by-step.
“Next we’ve got… uh, some gel like clear substance..? Why are we adding goo to our faces now?” he mutters the last part with a deep chuckle into the mic as you side eye him.
“It’s primer Riki.” you whisper but still loud enough for the mic to catch.
“Tch, I knew that.” he sneakily remarks sticking his tongue out at you, only for you to roll your eyes in response.
For the most part your boyfriend knew what he was talking about which shocked you, but his overall confidence in his knowledge also annoyed you.
Although you could say the things he didn’t know did have you quietly laughing away from the mic a couple of times.
“Then that is some sort of make up stick? And we’re blending it in. Woah it made your jaw look sharper too. You’d swear you were mewing.” he says in awe of your contouring skills making you laugh softly, once again.
Watching you draw your eyeliner with the pencil with ease, Riki claps softly amazed by what he called “sheer talent”.
“This has to be the one of the very few products I’m most confident in and that’s the eyeliner. Any girl that can pull off making winged liner look so effortlessly straight has my respect. Shout out.”
“And then we’ve got… THATS BLUSH! I knew what that was!” he says excitedly with a proud smile having underestimated his prior knowledge for a second.
“Okay and now lipgloss. My personal favourite because I get to tas-“
“Riki!” you cut him off knowing exactly where he was going as you hit his arm once again.
“Okay okay my bad. God forbid a man talk about how he loves kissing his girl.” he huffs into the mic as the video continued rolling.
Shaking your head, you gently pinch his cheek making him pout as you smile, “focus on the video, oh my gosh.”
“And lastly we have… is that like some sort of mist? What is that? Wait don’t tell me I’ve seen you use it before- it’s… setting spray!” he answers almost last minute with a huff of relief for getting it right.
You then show off your final look to the camera posing with a gleaming smile to which your boyfriend smiles back.
“Damn look at that fine woman on screen, that’s my girl.” he says hyping you up as he whistles.
“Wait is that my necklace- chat I’ve been looking for that everyone and she’s been hoarding it, you slick thief.” he gasps in shock noticing the silver chain around your neck, which you had previously claimed to not have seen.
Giggling softly you only shrug avoiding his gaze as he only shakes his head not really upset at you, “oopsie~”
Paying his attention back to the video on screen, with his hand on his chest, Riki dramatically feigns being struck, “oh my gawd my girlfriend is the most beautiful woman out there… kleptomaniac and all.”
“I still don’t know why she needed the makeup in the first place since she looked beautiful even before but I’m not mad, either way you’re always pretty.” he says adding his last commentary saying the last part directly to you.
You quietly thank him mouthing out the words with a shy smile feeling flattered.
“Okay so that was my princess’ ‘get ready with me’ slash makeup routine, whatever you guys wanna call it. Hope you guys enjoyed listening to my sexy voice that she is so blessed to hear everyday. I’m gonna go see what flavour lip gloss my girl used this time, fingers crossed it’s my favourite.”
Giggling at his words, you watch Riki turn the mic and laptop off as he scoops you into his arms before gently placing you down on the bed.
Caging you between as arms as he hovers above you, he leans down to kiss you as you melt into his intoxicating touch enjoying the moment all too much before he pulls away leaving you confused.
“Strawberry? Nice.” he remarks at the taste of your lips before your wrap your arms around his neck pulling him back in for more.
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juliettejwnewinesa ¡ 1 month ago
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Heyyy!I I love your whc works and enjoyed them all, so I decided to request one myself. Can you please write something si-eun and a draf(also mute) reader who is also Hu-min's sister?like something fluff,or just howeve you like,ty for your hard work!<33
Quietly Yours
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Pairing: Park Si-eun x Deaf/Mute!Reader (Hu-min’s younger sister) Genre: Fluff, slow-burn, soft comfort Length: ~3.5k words Warnings: Mentions of past bullying (light), overprotective Hu-min, KSL (Korean Sign Language) references
P.S this is giving twinkling watermelon
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“Quietly Yours”
Hu-min had always been too protective. Si-eun knew this already.
He’d seen him chase down entire gangs in defense of his classmates, so it made sense that Hu-min would be even worse about his little sister.
Especially one who couldn't speak. Especially one who couldn’t hear a word they said.
And yet — when Si-eun first saw her, sitting on the edge of the school rooftop with her sketchpad resting gently in her lap, he forgot all about that.
She wasn’t scary. She wasn’t loud. She was calm.
And she was sketching him.
He only noticed because when he got closer, her fingers flinched in surprise and tried to turn the page, cheeks turning red in a way that felt... different from fear.
He sat down beside her, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong to disturb the silence she lived in. It felt wrong to interrupt.
So he didn’t.
He just waited — and eventually, she peeked at him again. And smiled.
It became a routine.
When she showed up, he stayed.
She never spoke, never waved, but sometimes she’d smile or offer a cookie from her pocket, or tap her sketchbook and scribble something for him to read.
“You have sad eyes.” Then later: “You don’t look sad when you’re around me.”
He didn’t know what to say to that — didn’t know if he could say anything. But something about the softness in her gaze made his chest feel full and tight all at once.
Si-eun had always struggled to connect with people.
She didn’t seem to mind that.
“Are you learning sign language?” Hu-min frowned, arms crossed as he watched Si-eun sitting at the corner of the library with an open KSL beginner’s book and his phone balanced on one knee.
Si-eun blinked slowly. “...No.”
Hu-min raised a brow.
“I’m just... trying.”
“Trying what?”
“To not be a total idiot around your sister,” he muttered.
Hu-min looked like he was calculating a million things at once, then he sighed. “She likes you, you know.”
Si-eun’s head snapped up.
“She watches you like you hung the damn moon. It’s annoying.”
Si-eun blinked.
Hu-min narrowed his eyes. “But if you hurt her—”
“I won’t.”
His voice was sharp and certain. And for once, Si-eun didn’t regret how fast he’d said it.
Their first “conversation” in sign was clumsy.
He spelled out every word like he was holding a toddler’s crayon, and half his movements were wrong, but she watched him so intently — her eyes glowing with something close to pride.
Then she signed back:
“You practiced.”
Si-eun nodded. “For you.”
Her cheeks turned pink. Her fingers fumbled for a second.
Then: “I like talking to you.”
He didn’t know how to sign it back, so he just whispered, “Me too.”
She never asked him to say much.
She just wanted him there — and Si-eun realized, over time, that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted peace and quiet before.
It wasn’t just that she didn’t expect him to fill silences. It was that she made the silence feel safe.
When she sat next to him, the world wasn’t so loud.
It happened one rainy afternoon.
She’d brought him a drawing again — a sketch of him sitting under the rooftop shelter with his head leaned back and eyes closed, peaceful for once.
At the bottom, she’d signed her name. And beneath that, something else.
He traced it with his thumb.
“I feel less broken around you.”
Si-eun looked up, heart pounding. She wasn’t looking at him. She was nervously fiddling with the corner of her sleeve, trying to pretend she hadn’t just exposed her whole heart on a scrap of paper.
He didn’t think.
He just reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.
Her head snapped up.
Si-eun smiled — that quiet, rare kind of smile he only gave to her.
Then he signed:
“You were never broken.” “But if you were… I’d stay anyway.”
Her hands shook a little as she signed back:
“Even if I can’t speak?”
He nodded.
Then, very slowly, he leaned closer, heart hammering.
His lips brushed hers in the softest kiss he’d ever given anyone.
And when he pulled away, he cupped her cheek gently and said, “You don’t need words. You’ve already said everything I needed to hear.”
They stayed like that for a while.
Wrapped in each other. Quiet.
Just the way they both liked it.
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stellaspectral ¡ 1 month ago
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okay i read your latest bayverse raphael x female reader (don’t know when you’ll read my request so i’ll add that it’s the one where she ask raph for things to draw in her sketchbook and the brothers are watching them and teasing raph) and i want to ask a continuation to that! i’m not the anon who asked that request but it was sooooo cute and funny and my heart melted and i need moooooore! maybe the reader ask if she can draw raph because she thinks he’s handsome and he just short-circuits because what? the girl of his dreams finds him, a giant-mutant-talking-turtle with anger issues, handsome!?!? and then maybe the reader finds the courage to ask him out on a date because she can see that raph is really insecure and he would probably never ask, but she likes him a lot too and she wants to start a relationship with him. i just need more fluff and softness between them and someone who will show to raph that he can be loved even if he doesn’t think so! if you add some teasing but very happy for him brothers in the background again i would be very happy! you write their personalities so well, i was grinning and kicking my feet the whole time!
A/N: I’m so happy you enjoyed Drawn to You enough to request a follow-up! For anyone who hasn’t read it yet, please do so—because this sequel won’t be as impactful without its context!
I didn’t make Raph’s brothers appear quite as prominently as last time. Because I’d like to think Leo told Donnie and Mikey to give them some breathing room so Raph and the reader can figure things out. Gotta have the oldest look out for his younger brother after all—though even he can’t resist a little teasing himself. 😉
Sketched in My Heart (fluff/mild angst)
❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️
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CWs: Fluff, mutual pining, insecurity, mild angst, confessions, teasing siblings, and some light swearing. All characters are aged-up.
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You’re back on your perch on the couch in the lair.
Already, you’ve sketched a few things: one of Leo’s katanas resting beside a meditation mat, the lava lamp on the stand beside you, and a mug with Sensei-tional Brew written on it (a gift from Mikey to Splinter) on the coffee table. But you find your attention drifting.
In his room, Raph is delivering a series of powerful strikes to the punching bag—the one you had drawn a week ago. You recall how adorable he was describing each tear and flaw in the material. But it isn’t long before you start watching him, how the muscles beneath his skin coil and release like massive springs. How he moves with a brutal but captivating grace.
He finishes a combination with a final, resounding thwack, making the chains suspending the bag groan as it swings wildly. For a moment, he stands, chest heaving, sweat highlighting the planes of his formidable physique. He turns, wiping his brow with the back of his hand—and his eyes meet yours for a split second before he glances away.
Your pulse skips like it always does when Raph catches you staring. Softly, you clear your throat and look down at your sketchbook, pretending to adjust a detail, even though your pencil hasn’t touched the paper in at least five minutes. You take a breath and attempt to focus on your art, but it’s no longer a good enough distraction.
You steal another glance at Raph. He’s toweling off now, muscles flexing with the motion. You bite your lip as it hits you all over again; how can he not know what he does to you? The guy moves like a walking tank and has the gentlest soul hidden under all that metaphorical armor. You want to draw that—the real Raphael.
And maybe, for once, say out loud how you see him.
You stand up before you can chicken out, sketchbook in hand, your legs carrying you across the lair before your brain catches up. “Hey, Raph?” you ask, gently tapping the frame of his open door.
He startles a little, caught mid-dab with the towel. “Oh—uh. Hey,” he says, voice rough but soft in the way it always is when it’s you.
“I was wondering …” You chew on your bottom lip, then force yourself to look him in the eyes. “Would you mind if I … drew you?”
His towel pauses halfway to his broad shoulder. “… Huh?”
“Like—you, you. I just …” You take a breath, clutching your sketchbook like a shield and hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel. “You’re … really handsome. And you don’t have to pose or anything! Just be you.”
His jaw drops, eyes wide. He’s short-circuiting. You can see it—Raph, the brawler, the bruiser, the guy who once stood toe-to-toe with Shredder solo, is now rendered momentarily speechless by your words. His towel hangs forgotten in his hand and he looks at you like he’s not sure he heard right. “You … think I’m handsome?” he finally says, like the idea never even occurred to him before.
“I know you are,” you say, softly but firmly.
He makes a noise—something between a cough and a choke—and turns half-away, rubbing at the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool. But failing miserably. “I, uh … yeah. Sure. If ya want.” His voice is lower now, shyer. “Don’t see why ya’d wanna draw me, though.”
“You’re strong. And you carry so much on your shoulders, but you still protect everyone. That’s amazing, Raph.” You flush a little but push on. “And yes, you’re really handsome.” You offer a small, tentative smile. “And I think you should see how I see you.”
You don’t think it’s possible, but somehow his face gets so red, you think it might match his mask.
He swallows, a visible bob in his throat. The hand holding the towel clenches, then slowly unfurls. His gaze, which had skittered away, flicks back to yours, wide and uncharacteristically uncertain. The usual hard glint is missing, replaced by something softer. “Damn. That’s … that’s somethin’, alright.”
You tilt your head. “Is that a yes, then?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. What the hell—draw away.” He backs up and flops onto the floor mat with a heavy thud. “Just don’t make me look all broody like Leo in meditation, alright?”
You grin, finding a spot to sit nearby before flipping to a fresh page. “No promises, but you do have that tortured soul thing going on,” you tease.
“Ugh,” he groans. “You sound like Mikey.”
He shifts a little, trying to find a comfortable position on the mat, one arm draped loosely over his knee. His other hand toys with the edge of the towel, still fidgety in a way that makes your chest ache with affection.
You set your pencil to paper, letting the first strokes flow. You sketch his strong jawline, the furrow in his brow that never quite smooths out, and those eyes. Even when they’re avoiding yours, they hold a thousand emotions.
He stays still, though you can tell it’s not his natural state. Occasionally, his eyes flick to your face, then dart away again like he’s trying not to be caught looking. You pretend not to notice, even as your heart thuds louder with each glance.
After a while, you break the silence. “You know, you don’t always have to carry it all alone.”
He blinks, looking like you caught him off guard. “Huh?”
You look down at the sketch, then back to him. “The weight, the anger. The way you think you’ve got to be the strong one all the time.” You offer him a gentle smile.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just studies you, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he exhales a slow breath. “Yeah. I know. I just …” His gaze drops. “Sometimes it feels like I gotta be the wall. So nothin’ breaks through. For the family, you know?”
“I get that,” you murmur. “But walls don’t just keep things out. They can trap things in, too.”
He looks at you again, and this time, something in his face softens. Like a wall starting to crumble. “I ain’t used to people seein’ past the tough guy stuff,” he admits.
You hold up the sketchbook and turn it toward him. “Then maybe it’s time someone did.”
His eyes widen as he sees the drawing. It’s not perfect; some lines are rough, a few details unfinished. But the likeness is unmistakable. And more than that, it feels like him. Strong, yes. But thoughtful. Kind. Gentle. You didn’t just draw what he looks like.
You drew what he is.
He stares for a long moment, jaw slack. Then he huffs a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You got me lookin’ like I’m worth a damn.”
“You are worth a damn, Raph.” You meet his eyes and don’t look away. “You’re worth everything.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged, full of something neither of you have quite named yet. And honestly? It’s also about time someone did put it into words.
Raph’s voice is a low rumble when he finally speaks. “You really think all that?” He gestures vaguely between himself and the sketchbook, still looking a little dazed.
“Every word,” you confirm.
You see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes, the way he almost shrinks into himself, as if your praise is a physical weight he’s not used to carrying in a positive way. He’s so used to criticism, to being the tough one, that genuine affection seems to throw him completely off balance.
His gaze drops to the floor, and he mumbles, “Nah, c’mon. Don’t say stuff like that.” The insecurity is palpable, a heavy cloak he wears too often.
And that’s when you know. You can’t wait for him. He’ll second-guess himself into oblivion, convince himself he’s not good enough, that you couldn’t possibly mean it. But you do.
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you take a deep breath, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick. “Raph,” you begin, your voice a little shakier than you’d like, but you press on. “I really like spending time with you. And … and I like you. A lot.”
He looks up at that, his eyes wide and searching yours. The blush that had started to fade from earlier creeps back up his neck.
“So,” you continue, forging ahead before your courage can desert you, “I was wondering … if maybe … you’d want to go on a date with me?” You rush the last few words out, then clamp your lips shut, waiting, your own cheeks heating up.
The silence stretches as Raph just stares, his mouth opening before closing again. You, on the other hand, feel like your heart is trying to escape your chest with how fast it’s beating. Self-consciously, you wipe your sweaty palms on your pants but still refuse to break eye contact as you wait for his answer.
“A … date?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking on the word. “With me?” He points at himself, as if to clarify which giant talking turtle with anger issues you could possibly be referring to.
“Yes, Raph. With you,” you say, a small, hopeful smile playing on your lips. “Unless over six-foot-tall, red-masked ninja turtles with a surprising soft spot and impressive muscles are forbidden from dating?” You try for a light tone, hoping to ease the shock radiating off him.
He runs a hand over his head, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route or perhaps a hidden camera crew. “But why?” he asks, his voice raw with confusion. “I mean, look at me. I’m … this.” He gestures to himself again, a wave of that familiar insecurity washing over his features, momentarily dimming the hopeful spark you thought you saw.
“I am looking at you, Raph,” you say, your voice soft but firm, full of all the sincerity you feel. Gingerly, you move closer. “And I see someone amazing. Someone brave, and loyal, and yeah, a little rough around the edges,” you concede with a gentle smile, “but someone who cares so damn much it practically pours out of him. I see you. And I like what I see. A lot.”
Finally, he grins and shakes his head sheepishly, chuckling softly. “You really don’t quit, do ya? Seriously. A date?”
You nod. “Yeah. We can start small. Grab a slice. Watch a movie. Or, you know, sit in awkward silence and pretend we’re both not nervous wrecks.”
Raph stares at you for another beat. Then, slowly—carefully, like he’s touching something fragile—he reaches out and taps the edge of your sketchbook with one large finger.
“I ain’t good with words,” he says, apologetic. “But yeah. I’d like that. A date. With you.”
Your smile widens. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out, the word husky and full of a warmth that makes your insides melt. “Really.”
Just as sweet relief and giddiness bubble up inside you, a voice shatters the moment.
“Oooooooh, Raphie’s got a giiiiirlfriend!”
Of course, that sing-song taunt could only belong to one turtle: Mikey. He stands in the doorway, cupping his hands around his mouth like he wants to announce the news to the whole sewer.
Raph jumps about a foot in the air, whirling around at him. “MIKEY! GET OUTTA HERE, YA LITTLE SNOOP!” he roars, his face instantly turning a shade of red that rivals his mask.
Close on his heels, Donnie peers inside, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Statistically speaking, it was only a matter of time before someone found your emotionally repressed, brooding rage charming.”
“Get outta here, ya knuckleheads!” Raph snaps, balling his fists. “Ain’t you got somethin’ better to do than spy on people?”
“Spying? Us?” Mikey feigns an offended pout, placing a hand over his plastron. “Never!” He flops dramatically onto Raph’s mat, right next to your sketchbook, peering at it with stars in his eyes. “You drew him? Like one of your French turtles?!”
“MIKEY,” Raph snarls, lunging toward him, but Mikey rolls away with a laugh, skidding to a stop against the wall.
Leo appears beside Donnie, arms crossed and expression stern in the way only an older brother’s can be. “Alright, enough. Show’s over,” he scolds, nudging past Donnie to lean down and pat the back of Mikey’s shell. “Let’s give them some space.”
“Awww, but we just got here,” Mikey whines as he stands.
Leo sighs. “You’ve caused enough chaos,” he says, steering his chuckling, protesting brothers outside of the room. Before stepping over the threshold, Leo’s eyes flick toward you, then to Raph, his expression softening with understanding.
Though even Leo can’t resist a bit of teasing.
“We’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”
Mikey is still making kissing noises as Leo herds them out. He gives the two of you an apologetic smile before firmly shutting Raph’s door, the room suddenly becoming silent. Finally, you feel like you can breathe again.
Raph groans, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to erase the past sixty seconds from existence. “I am gonna pulverize them,” he mutters, before looking at you with a grimace on his face. “Sorry ‘bout that. They’re … a handful.”
“Well, they are your brothers,” you point out. “Endless teasing is practically an unspoken clause in the sibling contract, right?”
“Yeah. You get used to it. Mostly.” He glances towards the closed door, a muscle working in his jaw as if he can still hear Mikey’s teasing. “They ain’t ever gonna let me live this down.”
You smile gently, closing your sketchbook and setting it beside you. “Maybe not,” you agree as you reach out to brush your fingers lightly over the back of his hand. “But I think that just means they’re happy for you.”
He looks down at your fingers, as if processing the sensation. Then, almost imperceptibly, the tension in his shoulders ease. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, glancing at the door again, “they’re happy they got fresh teasing material for the next decade, more like.” But there’s no actual heat in his words. “Guess you’re right, though. S’pose they’re happy … in their own annoying way.”
He shifts his gaze back to your hand on his. Slowly, hesitantly, he turns his palm upwards, fingers brushing against yours. You gently lace your fingers with his, a pleasant jolt shooting up your arm. He clears his throat, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, then quickly darting away again, a faint blush still dusting his cheeks.
“So, uh … this date thing,” he says. “You’re sure, sure?”
You bring your other hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking the slightly rough skin just below his mask. His eyes widen at the contact, but he leans into your touch. “I’ve never been more sure about anything,” you say earnestly.
He swallows, his gaze locked on yours as he brings his free hand up to cover yours on his cheek, holding it there. “Damn,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. “You really know how to knock a guy off his feet, don’t ya?”
“Only the deserving ones.”
A small, almost shy smile touches Raph’s lips. “Deservin’, huh?” He looks down at your intertwined hands, then back up at your face. “You got a funny way of lookin’ at things. A good way.”
“I just see what’s there,” you murmur, your thumb continuing its soft caress on his cheek. He leans further into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
When he opens them again, there’s a new resolve, a flicker of excitement. “So … this date.” He clears his throat again, the blush still present but fainter now, more like a warm glow. “When were you … uh … thinkin’?”
“Whenever works for you. We could keep it simple. Your lair’s got character,” you say, a teasing glint in your eye, “but maybe somewhere a little more private for a first date? My place, if you’re up for it? Or if you know a quiet spot topside …”
“I know a few spots. Rooftops, mostly. Quiet. Good view of the city. Nobody bothers ya up there.” He looks at you, a silent question in his eyes, as if offering to share something personal.
“A rooftop sounds perfect,” you say softly. “And tonight, maybe? If you’re not too tired.”
“Adrenaline’s still kinda pumpin’, actually.” He pauses, then adds, “Tonight sounds … yeah. Good.” He hesitates then, his gaze dropping for a second before meeting yours again, earnest and a little vulnerable. “I ain’t exactly a pro at this whole datin’ thing. Just so ya know. Might mess it up.”
“You won’t mess it up.” You squeeze his hand. “We can just … be. Talk. Look at the stars. No pressure. The most important part is just being together, right?”
His eyes soften, the last vestiges of his tough-guy guard seeming to melt away in the quiet intimacy of his room. “Yeah,” he breathes. He lifts your joined hands, his gaze fixed on yours, and slowly, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there. “Tonight, then.”
“Tonight,” you echo, your heart swelling.
He holds your gaze for another long moment. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he lets go of your hand on his cheek, though he keeps your other hand firmly in his. “I should, uh … probably clean up a bit more. Before we … y’know.” He gestures vaguely at himself, looking a little self-conscious.
“Take your time,” you say, giving his hand a final squeeze before slowly withdrawing yours. You pick up your sketchbook, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “I’ll wait out on the couch.”
“Won’t be long.”
You return to the communal area and find your perch on the couch again, giddy as you replay the last hour in your mind. Thinking of the feel of his hand in yours, the tenderness in his eyes, the brush of his lips. You open your sketchbook, flipping back to the portrait of Raph. It’s still unfinished. But in a way, that feels right. There’s more to him yet to draw, more to learn, more layers to peel back.
And tonight, under the stars, maybe you’ll start to uncover them.
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sunsetsweptsoul ¡ 3 months ago
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A long day- Bobby Nash X reader
Soft and fluffy with a little smutty part. Only writing for fun!
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It was getting late into the evening, Y/n was at home in her apartment waiting for Bobby to call after his shift. They had been seeing each other for a few months now and he always called her to check in. After all she wanted to make sure he was safe and well, his line of work is extremely dangerous.
Relief washed over her as his name lit up on the screen.
“Hey sweetheart.” Said a groggy Bobby.
“Hi handsome, how was work?” She questioned eager to hear about his day.
“It was a long one, call after call. I might’ve had a few snacks somewhere between them, it was nonstop Y/n.” He sighed. Bobby always put his all into his work, making sure everyone’s needs were met. Looking after his team sometimes meant he forgot about himself.
“That sucks, are you heading out?” Y/n asked.
She heard him hum in response. They chatted for a few more minutes before Bobby left the call to head back to his house. Y/n made herself comfortable on the couch before flicking on the tv to catch up on her shows.
Y/n nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard a loud knock on her door. It was getting late and she wasn’t expecting anyone. She quietly walked towards the door to have a peak out of the peephole, letting out a small 'oh' she excitedly opened the door.
There stood a disheveled, tired looking Bobby. His hair was messy, bloodshot eyes with exhaustion but he still had a small smile on his face when he seen the look of surprise in Y/n face.
She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing his body in close for a hug. He squeezed her tightly before pulling back to look down at her.
“Hi honey.” He smiled tiredly.
“I missed you.” He sheepishly admitted.
“I missed you too Bobby.” She gleamed with admiration for the man who stood in front of her. He sweetly bent down to give her a soft kiss against her lips, lingering for a moment before moving back.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’ll go make us some tea.” She offered as she ushered the tired firefighter towards the living room. Bobby sat down where she was sitting previously, making himself comfortable as he glanced at what was on the tv screen. He couldn’t help but to chuckle to himself as he saw that she was rewatching the same show over again, Y/n loved her comfort shows.
Y/n went to go make some tea, leaving Bobby for all of 10 minutes. Grabbing the two cups, she made her way back to the living room being careful not to spill them. There lay a sleeping Bobby, it had only took him a few moments to fall asleep from the exhaustion. His head was resting against the side of the couch as soft snores traveled out of his mouth.
“I guess they are both for me.” She spoke to herself, turning around and letting him rest.
Y/n glanced up at the clock, the time reading 11:00pm. It had been 3 hours since Bobby fell asleep on the couch, she was keeping herself occupied by watching TikTok’s ever since. Y/n knew he had to get up at some point to get ready for bed as he was still in his uniform, so she decided to run him a hot bath.
The water rushed out of the faucet, creating bubbles with the soap she had added. She lit a few candles to create the ambiance of a spa, wanting to keep the mood calm. Now to the part she didn’t like, disturbing a sleeping fire captain.
“Bobby.” She said as she knelt down beside the couch reaching out to rub his arm, before saying his name again. His face scrunched up slightly as he sluggishly opened his eyes to glance at the woman in front of him.
“What time is it?” He yawned.
“Just after 11, you’ve been out for a few hours. Thought I’d wake you up so we could get to bed.” She replied , reaching her hand out to him.
He stretched himself out, standing up to grab her outstretched hand. Bobby intertwined their fingers, following her lead as she brought them to the bathroom. His sleepy eyes widened at the sight of the bubble bath, flickering candles and fluffy towels laid out for him.
“You didn’t have to baby.” Bobby said amazed.
“I wanted to.” She grinned at him before pecking his lips.
“I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.” She stated before turning to walk away but Bobby didn’t let her go.
“Stay?” He asked softly, wanting to enjoy the time with her. How could she resist? Y/n nodded, watching as Bobby started to undress himself. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a toned torso and strong arms that made her swoon. Bobby was a Greek God in her eyes, a hero with a warm heart who always knew the right thing to say.
He slipped in to the tub, sighing as he relaxed in the warm water. His eyes were closed but he felt Y/n staring at him, her eyes taking all of him in.
“Sweetheart, I wanted you to join.” Bobby specified.
“Oh? You did?” She asked nervously, they hadn’t really explored the intimate side of their relationship as Bobby wanted to take things slow. Watching him nodding his head was all the confirmation she needed before she shyly started undressing.
Taking her clothing off, her cheeks flushed as Bobby’s eyes were focused onto her. Watching as she slowly exposed more skin to him, he couldn’t help but to trail his eyes over every inch of her body. Y/n was only left in her underwear before Bobby spoke up.
“You are so beautiful Y/n.” He reassured her, giving her the confidence to fully expose herself to him. Whispering a goddamn under his breath Bobby found himself lost for words, she looked amazing. With red cheeks, Y/n stepped into the tub bringing her back against Bobby’s chest.
He instinctively brought his hands up to take her hair back from her face, leaving a soft trail of kisses along her neck.
“I’m so fucking lucky.” He whispered against her skin, making her shiver at his words. There was slight arousal in the air as it had been the first time they were this intimate. His big hands wandered to her stomach, rubbing gently as he continued moving up towards her breasts.
“Can I baby?” He asked not wanting to overstep.
“Yes.” She whispered welcoming him to explore that part of her body. His hands slowly massaged under her breasts, leading his fingertips up to her hard nipples. He smirked at her arousal, loving that she was enjoying the attention he continued to play with them gently. Y/n breath hitched every so often, enjoying the new sensation she was feeling.
“I thought you were tired Bobby?” Y/n giggled as he kissed behind her ear.
“Just making time for my girl.” He replied, gently biting the skin on her neck. The tension was growing thicker as Y/n heart warmed with his words.
“Thank you, captain.” Y/n moaned as he pinched hard down on her nipple.
“What did you call me?” He asked, almost begging her to call him it again.
“Captain, my captain.” She said innocently, loving the way he reacted to the name. Bobby groaned behind her, battling between his own arousal and exhaustion.
He gently washed her body, starting with her hair. His long fingers tangled their way through Y/n wet hair, lathering up the shampoo. Bobby took his time rinsing the shampoo out carefully avoiding getting it into her eyes before working down her body. His fingers slowly covered over her body, tracing every inch of her skin.
Y/n flipped over in the tub, turning to face the tired man.
“You are amazing Bobby.” She smiled. He gave her a tired smile in return, watching her eyes graze over his chest. It was his turn to be treated with such love, Y/n started with washing his short hair digging her nails in slightly to make sure it was fully washed. Then she was lathering his body with soap, massaging his strong arms and across his chest. His tired body enjoyed the massage as he let a deep sigh of relief flow out of his mouth.
Y/n cupped his face in her hands, bringing their lips together gently. They held the kiss for a few moments before breaking away from one another.
“Captain, I think it’s time for bed.” She grinned mischievously at him. There was a glint of playfulness in Bobby’s eyes at her words.
“If I wasn’t so tired, you have no idea what I would do to you right now..” he said sharply. This made Y/n want the man even more, his dominant side was coming out and it was hot.
“You’ll have to show me soon.” She said exiting the tub before handing him a towel. He grabbed it, using it to dry himself off. They both finished up in the bathroom, stealing quick glances of the other’s bodies now and then.
Y/n got under the soft sheets, getting comfortable for the night. Bobby made his way over, lifting the sheets to get under them. Sliding in, it didn’t take long for Y/n to rest her head on his chest, tracing circles on his abdomen.
Sleepiness was working its way in, with only the sound of slow steady breathing being heard.
“I love you.” Said a half asleep Bobby.
“I love you too, captain.” She hummed slowly drifting into a peaceful sleep feeling loved and protected.
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lovelyladyabsinthewrites ¡ 1 year ago
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Hi please can u write Edward Cullen x sick reader. Where the reader is stubborn and still shows up at school despite being sick. (I’m sick rn and can’t find any Edward fics) hope u have a nice day
Thank u :))
Nurse
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Warnings: none really, sick!reader, potentially getting other people sick 😅, stubborn!reader, firm and patient edward, thank you for the request btw and sorry it took so long for me to get to it ❤️
Words: 1307
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Edward knew immediately when you sat in the front passenger seat of his car that you were sick.
His brows draw heavy with concern. "You're-"
"I'm fine." You croak and buckle up. Moreso lying to yourself than to Edward. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and you were pretty sure a small fever was beginning to rise on your forehead. Like hell you were missing school that day. You'd studied day and night for your test; was finally confident that you were going to pass.
Reading your thoughts, Edward sighs and leans back into his seat. "(y/n), a test doesn't matter when your health is in question. Your teacher will let you take a makeup test. You need to go back to bed."
There was no energy in you to roll your eyes. "After I take my test then I can rest. I just want to get it over and done with."
"You won't do well if you're si-"
"Edward, please. I know my body. I can survive until second period." Arguing did nothing to help you feel better.
He could just grab you and take you back to your room. Doing that would further enrage you.
"You promise to let me take you home after second period?" The pleading in his voice softens you.
"I promise."
Exhaulting another sigh, Edward nods to himself. "Alright. I'm holding you to that."
A part of you doubts that you'll be able to make it to second period, but you would try to.
Edward may not have fought you more, that didn't mean he was pleased watching you struggle that morning. You were bumping into other students and walls as you lost your balance several times.
Alice pulled Edward aside, her honey eyes narrowed. "Why would you let her come to school like that? She's obviously sick, Ed!"
"I know. Believe me I tried. She promised to let me take her home after her test in second period." Edward lowers his voice, he doubts you can hear him. His gaze is on you as Jasper helps to steady you.
"I don't think she'll make it." Alice frowns and folds her arms in front of her chest. "I don't have to look into the future to see that."
"You try telling her then. See how easy it is."
She wouldn't even try, having experienced your stubborness before. You always wanted to appear tough to the Cullen family as you were selfconcious of being the only human among them. Compared to them you were weak. You compensated by doing whatever you could as a human to appear strong. Including refusing help when you were sick. Edward knew it would wound your pride greatly if he forced you home. So did Alice.
You didn't share first or second period with Edward. He kept tags on you via his mind reading to see how you were faring.
Struggling to stay up in your chair, your eyes were fighting every second to remain focused on the whiteboard at the front of the class. You don't remember much of what the teacher was talking about. Conserving your energy and mentally going over things for your test the following period. You were fading fast. Chugging water helped a little.
When the bell rang, finally alerting of the end of the first period, you were slow to get to your feet. If you tried to move any faster than your current pace, the world would slip from under you.
You use desks to coast your way to the classroom door. Barely making it to the door, there appears Edward. Frazzled when he takes in your flushed face.
Before he could object to you continuing the school day, you stop him by placing a hand on his chest. His mouth closes as he quietly surrenders.
Help me to my next class. Please. You ask him via your thoughts. Doubting you could talk without feeling vomit rise up your throat.
Edward breathes through his nose but doesn't complain about you overworking yourself when you needed rest.
Ever the gentleman, Edward cups your elbow and guides you.
"The moment the class ends, I'm taking you home." He whispers to you as he helps you through the scattering of students running late.
You'd smile if you could. I love you.
You catch the quirk in the corner of his lips and the brightening of his eyes.
It cost you the rest of your strength, but you did it. You fucking did it. All questions answered to the best extent of your knowledge.
There were few steps that were between you and the teacher's desk.
You suck in a breath and stand, hand gripping the edge of your desk for support. Navigating through rows of kids bent over their paper's, you focus ahead of you.
When your teacher notices you, she pauses at the waxen sheen of your face. The moment your test is on the surface of her desk you quietly croak "Can I go to the nurse's office?"
Edward was right outside the door, prepared to take you into his arms. You wanted to laugh.
The thought of a mother hen pops into your mind, making Edward scoff. "If I'm a mother hen so be it." You were unable to protest when he easily scoops you up and dashes to his car. Alice is waiting, rocking back and forth on her feet until she spots the two of you. There's a plastic bag in her hand that looks overly full.
"I'll tell the office." Alice takes Ed's car keys to opening the passenger door for you. Then she places the grocery bag in the back seat. "I googled what made people feel better when they're sick."
"Thank you Alice." You manage to get out as Edward opens the door with just one finger. He sets you down and straps the belt across your chest but not before tossing your backpack into the back seat.
Wondering what Alice had bought you, your forehead presses against the passenger side window, you momentarily fall asleep.
Only waking up when Edward is carefully picking you up from the car's passenger side. He's so careful with you. Always.
You realize when he opens the door that he's brought you to the Cullen house when the front door doesn't match your's.
"I don't want to leave you sick and home alone." He explained while hurrying up the stairs.
And. . .
"Ed. . ." Are you scared?
His jaw clenches. In his room he makes sure you're comfortable with whatever you needed. Water. Pillows. Blankets if you got cold.
Then he settles next to you. His face unreadable. You curl up closer to him and just that mere contact melted him.
"My mother and I. . . we were very sick when I became a vampire." This was something he'd told you a while ago. They'd become sick during the Spanish influenza outbreak. "I know the medical world is much more evolved than it was during my time, but it still terrifies me when you get sick."
"Oh Ed," You sit up even when Edward urges you to lay back down. "I should have-"
He furiously shakes his head. "No. You didn't do anything wrong. Sickness just reminds me how human and fragile you are." Rolling onto his side, you copy him. Head comfortably cradled by a pillow.
Rest.
You could finally rest.
His fingers brush along your brow, soothing your warm skin. You shimmy closer against him. Edward's much larger frame conforms around you.
"I know you won't die from this. Not that I'd let you die from illness." Adding the last part a bit under his breath, you still caught it.
For a second, Edward pulls away from you to retrieve a bottle of medicine from the bag.
"Now be a good girl and take your medicine."
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fluffytriceratops ¡ 3 months ago
Text
𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 [𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑]
notes: fucking finally. here you guys go. here's your meal. [i still have so many requests to do send help-] 2003 is one of my fave ver if not my fave ver bcuz this is the ver i grew up on. this and the 90's live action movies. so i really need to write more with them. raph in particular is so nostalgic to me bcuz he was my fave as a wee babe. 
warnings: nsfw mentions/smut, mature language,
click here to read donnie's ver. [will be adding the others later too]
tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @rheawritesforfun @s-s-ironnie @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mystics-tmnt-blog @drowninghell @lec743 @raphielover  @raphslovemuffin80 @squirrelfurs @bibiz82 @pheradream-15 @kikithedreamerwriter @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @moonsua1 @dreamstormdragon @magickdream-creations @definitely-canon @misty-angerose @karma-reader @muamazon4 @akesdraws-blog @battydora @kate03-27
[if i've forgotten anyone i'm so sorry please comment or dm me and let me know and i'll add you right away so i don't forget in the future!]
if you would like to be tagged in my future tmnt x reader related work, feel free to let me know and i'll happily add you!
---
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- loves to edge you to oblivion. will make you beg for release. 
- loves to spank your ass. but he won't hit you anywhere else, he doesn't want to actually hurt you. but he likes to smack your ass. sometimes outta nowhere too, so be careful. 
- please drink and watch wrestling with him. he'll love you forever. cracking a cold beer and watching wrestling is probably one of his favorite things. does it with casey a lot. but would def prefer to do it with you. 
- if you actually take him to a match? marriage on sight-
- secretly likes romance/romcoms but won't admit it. does get heated when he watches them though. "why the fuck would he do that?" & "this is stupid, they should just be together. why bother being friends with benefits?" & "BUT THEY BOTH LOVE EACH OTHER THIS IS CRAP-" etc. 
- covers you in hickies. doesn't care if anyone sees. in facts he wants them to. 
- if you bitch to him about it after? he'll just shrug and smirk. 
- definitely calls you princess and good girl. 
- takes you for rides on his motorcycle. will also fuck you on it-
- snores really loudly. you might need earplugs. but he loves to cuddle. likes you to sleep on top of him. or to have his arm thrown around you. 
- leggings are his kryptonite. he's an ass man so if you show it off for him, expect some good loving. also loves thongs. loves to see the band of your panties/thongs pulled up and on display. 
- will literally tear off your clothes if you let him. he finds it hot. 
- his brooklyn accent is delightful and you adore it and he KNOWS you do. so he'll 100% tease you with it. 
- makes you beg for his cock. fingers you into oblivion first. will have you coming multiple times before he gives it to you. 
- LOVES to make it known how pretty he finds you. he's always complimenting you during sex. likes to call you pretty, beautiful, gorgeous, etc. "that's it gorgeous, takin' it so good for me-" etc. [askdhsgh-]
- sometimes will goes slow to tease you and so he can really feel you. but he'll eventually get tired of it and will pick up the pace. if he's really fired up, he goes fast and hard. 
- aftercare is always really sweet though. and he always feels a bit bad if he hurts you. even if you say it's okay. in the moment he can get a little rough. and while he enjoys it, he also feels guilty if he see's bruises on you from his fingers or if you're extra sore later. he'll draw you a bath, his tone will get soft. he'll massage you. he really is super sweet after. 
- he's always scared he's going to accidentally hurt you or take things too far. it's a big fear of his. you usually have to reassure him a lot. 
- he's insecure. and he isn't good with words or emotions. please be patient with him. he'll apologize eventually after arguments, but it may take him some time. he's better with actions rather than words. might not actually say "i'm sorry" but he'll show it in other ways. 
- his love languages are physical touch and quality time. 
- loves it when you wear his color. (red) he thinks its really sexy on you and to him it's kinda like showing others that you're his and it's a big turn on for him. 
- red lingerie will kill him. ;)
- will wear any marks you leave behind on him with pride. 
- has a bottle of your perfume/body spray in his room. likes to smell you on his things. esp if you're away and he hasn't seen you in a while. 
- also probably has a sweater or something of yours in his room. your presence and scent calms him. you usually switch them out for him once your scent starts to wear off. or he'll casually just stroll into your room and trade one item for another hehe. 
- goes to you/your place when he needs a break or he has a fight with one of his brothers. rants to you about leo often. might get upset if you take leo's side, esp if the fight is very recent and he hasn't had a chance to fully cool off yet. choose your words wisely during this time as he might just storm off or say something he doesn't mean and will regret later. 
- would love to spar/train/work out with you. 
- if that's not your cup of tea, he would also love it if you just watched him do so. he likes to spend time with you, even if you're not really doing anything. and he just likes to have your eyes on him/your attention. 
- i believe any of the turtles would be with any body shape, but i also believe that raph esp would ADORE a plus size/chubby/curvy baddie. more to love in his eyes. loves to feel your curves. and he could 100% lift you and likes to as well. always has his hands on you. can't get enough. 
- short king in the early seasons but he does get a growth spurt and grows taller in the mid and later ones. if you knew him before then, you love to tease him about his height. 
- lots of vacations to casey's farm house. you can't really go on proper dates or go to places (since y'know he's a mutant turtle) so his best bro definitely hooks him up. weekends at the farm house have become something you both do quite often and always look forward to. especially when it's just the two of you. 
- in the beginning (God created the heavens and the earth- sorry lol) he probably asked casey/april for advice. in my head i see it as he starts to ask casey for advice and april overhears and casey is just giving him trash awful advice so she interjects and gives him actually good advice lol. 
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Note
hii congrats on 5k!! i love your writing ! if you’re still celebrating could i request a carmy blurb where maybe you’re syd’s besite and carmy has this biggggest crush on you (im talking this mf is Yearning) and she gets on him sooo hard about it like teasing him and reader and him end up together ? TIA <3
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Not So Secret.
carmen berzatto x female reader
warnings - cursing.
written for my 5k celebration- post here, masterlist here, inbox here.
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“You’re gonna stare a hole through her fuckin’ head.”
“Shut up.”
Richie laughs, following Carmens eyeline to where it’s fixed on you.
You’re stood in the restaurant with Sydney, both of you giggling at something she’s showing you on her phone. When you look up, you smile at Carmy, all soft and sweet and like butter wouldn’t melt. He almost melts, a puddle of yearning on the kitchen floor.
Sugar appears next to the two of you, holding out a piece of paper.
“This is a really rough draft of what we kind of want them to look like. Obviously you have full control, but this is kind of the vibe?”
When Carmen mentioned wanting a more personal touch on the menus, Sydney quickly offered your services. You’re the most artistic person she knows, gifted with naturally gorgeous handwriting that almost looks like calligraphy. Plus, she knows how much everyone at The Bear likes you, having been a part of their transformation. It’s a win - win.
“Yeah, I get you. So you want the title words like Dessert in more of a cursive, and then the actual dishes and descriptions in a typeface?”
“Yes! Do your thing. We trust you.”
She gives you a side hug, careful not to hit you with her bump.
“I’m gonna need some nice paper, and probably a new calligraphy pen so I can start from scratch. I’m gonna head to the craft store, and I’ll be back.”
“Carmy will go with you!”
Richie shouts it from the doorway, where he’s been not so subtly watching the conversation. Carmy blushes, clearly caught off guard.
“He needs to go to the craft store too, right Cousin? Good. Go. Bye!”
Carmy’s practically being pushed out the door, uncomfortable and flustered. You smile reassuringly, grabbing your bag and walking over to your car.
“You’re okay with me driving?”
“Course. Shouldn’t I be?”
You laugh, and he can’t help but grin, the sound settling nicely into his ribcage to warm him up.
“I’m a good driver, I promise. Despite what Sydney might say.”
He looks worried but gets in anyway, ever trusting you and anything you do.
He can’t help but sneak glances at you as you drive. You’re completely focused on the road in front, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Carmy feels heat bloom across his chest at the action, wishing he could reach out and release it for you before you draw blood.
A text chimes through the air, startling you both. You press the button on your steering wheel so your car can read the message out loud.
From Sydney: Carmy. Tell her immediately or I’ll lock you in the walk in freezer. Sick of you acting like a lovesick puppy. This is your chance. Don’t blow it, asshole. We’re all tired.
Both of you freeze, your hands tightening on the wheel. Carmy wants to throw himself out of the moving car, but decides against it at the last minute.
You pull the car into the craft store parking lot, choosing a space and yanking the handbrake on. You turn to him, looking at him for the first time since the bombshell.
He’s blushed all over, chest heaving and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You almost want to reach out and release it for him, before he draws blood.
“Carmy.”
“I think, uh, yeah, I just - that was clearly sent to the wrong person. Not meant for you.”
You laugh, suddenly, and it spooks Carmy so much that he jumps out of his skin.
“Yeah, Carm. That I figured.”
He laughs with you then, unsure and nervous. You reach out and place a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. It just makes his heart lurch.
“What’s Syd talking about? Tell me what?”
He looks down at his lap, hands knotted together.
“I think you know.”
“Wanna hear you say it,” you whisper.
He finds the courage to meet your gaze, taking a deep breath.
“I like you. So much. I can’t stop talking about you to anyone and everyone that’ll listen - to the point that everyone at The Bear gives me so much shit for it. Sydney won’t get off my back, either. She says I’m ‘yearning’.”
You chuckle, rubbing patterns into the material of his jeans with your thumb.
“They’ve all made bets,” he continues, “about if I’ll ever tell you or not.”
“Who bet on you? And who against?”
“Syd and Richie against me. Marcus too. Tina and Sugar are on my side. Not sure why.”
“Wanna make Tina and Sugar some money?”
He quirks a brow questioningly, eyes going wide when you lean over the centre console and plant your hands on either side of his face. You’re so close to him that your breaths tangle together, one set of lungs working overtime.
“Kiss me, Carm.”
He doesn’t think twice, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. His hands find your back, tugging you into him as much as the limited space allows.
You whine when he bites at your lip gently, and he has to pull away to take a steadying breath before he passes out.
“You should get your eyes checked.”
He tries to process for a moment.
“Huh?”
“You must be blind if you can’t see how much I like you, Carm. How much I’ve always liked you.”
He grins at you, bright and white, and you shake your head before leaning in to kiss him again.
When you don’t make it back into the restaurant that day, everyone has never been happier to not see the both you.
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achilles-rage ¡ 1 year ago
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NSFW Alphabet
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word count: 2.0k
A/N: hi besties<333 this is my first time writing so pls don’t absolutely tear me to shreds (just a little bit is acceptable though). i’m planning on making a SFW alphabet for buck soon as well but some of the letters had me drawing a blank lol. also, although there’s not really much mention of it, this is with a plus size reader in mind. as a plus size girly myself, it sucks to read x reader stories and knowing in the back of your mind that it wasn’t written with your body type in mind (although there’s nothing wrong with writers that do that of course). i just thought i would add to the plus size reader community because there are barely any buck fics and i believe in my heart that he loves plus size women. anyway, enjoy <3
warnings: smut (obviously lol), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader
MDNI- 18+ Only
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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
When y’all finish he’ll wait a few minutes before pulling out, head buried in your neck as his breathing gets back to normal. He’ll kiss your neck and tell you how good you were for him, before finally getting up to clean you up. After that he wants to lay with you and talk, just enjoying each other’s company, maybe y’all will make some food if you feel like it.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His: Probably his arms. He’s worked hard to be as fit as he is and he enjoys using his arms to move you/lift you while you’re having sex. He takes pride in his appearance, he knows he’s hot, but it’s an added bonus that he can lift you up and do whatever he (or you) wants.
Yours: I am of the firm belief that Evan Buckley is a thigh man. He loves how they feel in his hands, he loves how they look when you straddle him, he can’t get enough. He loves to see them jiggle when you move, or when he playfully smacks them. He loves thick thighs and I will die on this hill
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
This man has a BREEDING KINK OKAY!!! He loves to cum inside you, fucking deep into you and feeling his cum fill you up. He loves watching it slowly dripping out, so he can finger it back in. If that’s not your thing I think the next best place would be on your stomach, watching your face as he lets go, seeing the way he marks you up. He loves your little tummy, how it moves as he ruts into you, so he loves it when you let him cum all over it.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
I only call this a dirty secret because he would never tell anyone about this after the last time it happened and he got fired. He wants to fuck you in the fire engine SO BAD. He can’t help but think of the way you would look as he fucked into you quickly, trying not to get caught with your dress up around your waist. He knows it’s not gonna happen, he’d never hear the end of it from anyone in his life if it did, but god he wants to so bad.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Girl have we watched the same show?? This man FUCKS!!! We all know (and love) Buck 1.0, and we know he knows what to do. Buck 3.0 might mean him changing into, well, not a sex addict, but that doesn’t mean he forgot his training (🫡). I think he understands that every woman is different, and while he might not get it exactly right the first time, he’s a fast and eager learner, watching what exactly makes you squirm and moan the most for him.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Canonically, Buck LOVES when you ride him, and I agree. He loves to watch you move yourself on him, able to grab at your thighs, and your hips, and your chest. He also loves to move you on him, squeezing your hips tightly as he sets the pace if you start getting tired or if he just feels like it.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
I mean, he’s Buck, he’s truly a golden retriever of a man and cannot stay serious for long. I think he’s a bit of a mix, he can be serious in the moment, but at the end of the day, he’s still Buck, and Buck is silly goofy.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He keeps it nicely trimmed, carpets match the drapes. In terms of his partner, he really doesn’t give a fuck. He’s seen it all and could not care less as long as he feels the way you wrap around him so perfectly.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Buck 3.0 is a man of TASTE, but that being said, I think he only really pulls out the romance during special occasions. Most of the time this man wants to freak nasty, but sometimes when he’s tired, or just feels especially in cuddly/clingy, he’ll be more romantic.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He does it pretty often, of course not when he has the option to fuck you instead (and you’re willing, of course), but if you’re not with him and he needs a quick release, he getting right to it.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Breeding: I will scream this till the day that I die, this man wants a family more than anything. Whenever he’s inside of you, he can’t help but think about how pretty you’d look with your belly all round with his babies.
Praise: Look at this pathetic little guy, he needs to be praised, he thrives on it. He loves to hear how good he feels, how good he’s making you feel. This goes both ways. He’s in your ear immediately telling you how good you feel, how well you’re taking him, how pretty you look.
Spanking: HEAR ME OUT!! While I’m not sure he would actually bend you over his knee (but honestly the more I think about it he might) he would LOVE to give your ass a nice little swat as you’re riding him. He loves the sound it makes, and the sound you make because you’re not expecting it. I don’t think he’d ever do it hard enough to hurt too much, but I think enough to make your ass a little red would definitely be something he could get behind (lol).
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
He doesn’t have a ring cutter in the kitchen for nothing<3
I think he likes to have sex at home the most, on the bed, on the couch, on the kitchen counter. You name it, he wants to fuck you there. His favourite is the counter because he loves seeing you being so domestic in the kitchen. Making dinner, cleaning up, whatever, he wants you right then and there and cannot wait. He’ll come up behind you, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses your neck before slowly turning you around to face him and lift you onto the counter to have his way with you.
While he’s moved on from having sex in public places that could (will) get him fired, he’s still into it, but in less obvious places. If y’all are in his car and you’re looking a little too good in his passenger seat, he loves an empty parking lot quickie. Front seat, back seat, whatever you want, he’d be pulling you onto him as soon as he puts the jeep in park.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Girl ANYTHING gets him going, it would take one look, one touch, one word and this man would be ready to go. I think what really gets him going though is seeing you with kids or getting along so well with the 118. This man truly just wants a silly little family and someone that can get along with the 118fam, so seeing you like that has him making up a stupid excuse to leave a little early so he can take you home and have his hands all over you.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Like I said before, I don’t think he would do anything to hurt you too much, other than the occasional light spanking or biting. He would also not be into any kind of age play or pet play, he’s pro kink but it’s just not for him.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
This man is a giver and I stand by this. Dear god he loves nothing more than having you spread open for him, hands tangled in his hair as he makes himself at home between your thighs. He loves having his hands gripping your thick thighs, feeling them on either side of his head. When you start to get squirmy from the overstimulation he’ll place a large hand over your lower stomach, holding you still as he pushes you over the edge again.
With all that said, he will definitely not say no to getting head. He loves seeing you look up at him while you’re on your knees, trying to take all of him. He’ll keep a hand in your hair, pulling it softly every now and then, and he can’t help but moan and whine as he gets closer and closer, eventually cumming down your throat as he squeezes his eyes shut.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
It depends on the day, but most of the time he likes it rough and fast. He loves a good quickie, meaning it kinda has to be more fast paced and rough, and he’s pretty easy to get riled up, so when you drop any sort of hint, he’s on you immediately and ready. On other days where he’s feeling extra clingy and lovey, he’ll be more of a slow and sensual guy, but I think for the most part he loves to fuck you deep and rough.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Like I said, he loves a good quickie. A lot of the time he craves a quickie before work, needing to feel you before his long shift. I think they happen pretty often, but he’d much rather take his time with you, using his fingers and mouth before he fucks you.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
As long as there’s clear communication he’s down to try pretty much anything, he’ll do anything to make you happy (within reason). I think he’s also a risk taker (also within reason, he has to think about not getting fired again, of course). Buck 1.0 is still inside him somewhere when it comes to sex so he definitely loves a little risk, but he’s grown enough to know where the line is.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
While he would love to go as many rounds as possible, I think it would realistically be 2-3, lasting about 10-15 minutes each round. I think he would be the type to like having some time between rounds, tension still high as you talk and lay around before he's back on you again.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Once again, he doesn’t have a ring cutter in his kitchen for nothing<3
He likes them, he definitely owns a few toys of his own. Vibrators, cock rings, some handcuffs or restraints, he’s very open to anything that increases y’alls pleasure.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He does it sometimes not really meaning to, like he does something and you’re like….dear god…and maybe he doesn’t notice the first time but the second time he does and WILL keep going until you snap. He loves the way you get all squirmy and whiny and desperate for him, knowing you want him as much as he wants you.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
So vocal!!!! Literally that meme thats like “y’all afraid to make noise in the bedroom?? i be in my girls ear like…” He loves dirty talk (on both ends) and he can’t help but let out low moans when you’re clenching around him. He also loves hearing your breathless whimpers, making him feel like he’s doing a good job, and encouraging him to pull more sounds from your lips.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
If he was in a relationship during the whole sperm donor thing, it would be the longest few weeks for both of y’all. I imagine the first time he has an appointment, you make sure you’re waiting for him in a cute little matching set, knowing how excited he was to finally be buried inside you again, hearing you whine as he fills you up. He’s so frustrated when his appointment doesn’t work out that he doesn’t let you know how it went, instead being unpleasantly surprised when he sees you sprawled out on his bed when you get home and unable to do anything about it. He wants nothing more than to rip your pretty little set off your body and run his hands up and down your soft curves, but he can’t, and it’s torture. You apologize (but he will hear none of it because it was a lovely surprise, just shitty circumstances), and instead you change into an oversized shirt and sweatpants to enjoy a completely normal (and not sexual at all) night on the couch.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
8 inches, thick, no complaints <3
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
HIGH!!! This man is thinking about sex 24/7, and if he could, his hands would be on you at all times.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Most of the time I think he stays up for a while, just hanging out and talking to you. But if he comes home after a long shift he’s fucking GONE in 5 minutes tops.
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petertingle-yipyip ¡ 1 year ago
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BECAUSE OF YOU - KAZ BREKKER
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Pairing: kaz brekker x reader
Word Count: 3,741
Summary: Getting through to Kaz Brekker is damn near impossible. One night after a seemingly rough run-in, something brings out a confession in you both. //follow-up//
You’d been in the Dregs for what felt like your whole life. Practically born into it. You always said they raised you, taught you, but that didn’t mean Per Haskell wasn’t going to get his piece. You had a contract with the Barrel boss as soon as you could read and write. That didn’t mean you understood what any of it meant when you signed.
So when you stood in his office, money in your bag to get out of it, it suddenly didn’t feel right. Maybe it was because of your loyalty to the Dregs. They were all you ever had and the tattoo seemed to burn as you thought of leaving. Or maybe it was because it wasn’t Per Haskell in that seat.
“What business?” Kaz asked without sparing you much of a glance.
His voice snapped you from your daze but your mouth felt dry. You swallowed and had to refrain from reaching for your bag. The hardest part of being a thief was the patting of your pockets to ensure you had what you needed. You always felt you had forgotten something so you needed that checklist sometimes.
It makes you an easy mark. Kaz always scolded you. He would tap your hand with the crow’s head of his cane when you started to make the move whenever you two went on jobs. But it didn’t stop him from bringing you with him whenever the Wraith wasn’t available.
“Y/N?” He asked after an extended silence.
You finally met his eyes and he stared intently. You adjusted your bag and dared a step deeper into the office so the door closed behind you.
“I had a deal with Per Haskell.” You began, trying to control your voice, but the way his expression shifted from annoyance to scrutiny told you that you hadn’t. “It was to end my contract. I hope you’ll honor it.”
“Hmm.” He lifted a brow and flipped through some papers, the material of his gloves gliding easily across the thin materials. You used to wonder how he could do everything with the gloves, especially his sleights, but it was one of many mysteries of Kaz Brekker. One of his allures, you supposed. “A fair deal?”
“No.” You smirked slightly. “The old man was desperate when it came to finding you so he took the short stick so I’d help him.”
He tossed your paperwork on the desk and his elbows rested on the surface. He folded his gloved hands and watched intently as you came closer.
“An opportunity you’d be stupid not to take advantage of.” He said simply, as if it was a fact.
You looked down at the papers, your young and messy signature. You saw the scratched out words and numbers, their replacements added with Per Haskell’s initials. You were still surprised that you had worked it out with him.
“I didn’t help him.” You added. He had to have known, even if Inej didn’t tell him. He always knew everything as far as you could tell, or he had a very educated guess at least. “Whenever he asked me to look somewhere I just wandered around.”
“Is that sentiment I hear?” He teased and you glared at him. “If you want out, you can have it. I have no intention of forcing you to stay if you have your own means.”
“Well aware, thank you.” You answered sharply. Did you want him to ask you to stay? Your brain was telling you to do something. Move closer, reach out to him, check your money. But you put a hand over the tattoo under your sleeve instead while you looked back to your contract. “Just seems unreal.” You finally settled on.
“I need a lieutenant, if you’d like reason to stay.” He offered and your eyes snapped back to him. He leaned back in his chair and offered a small shrug. The move was almost defensive, like he’d been caught. “Who else would you suggest I pick?”
“Inej would’ve been your best option.” It was your turn to shrug. “I’d need a new contract.”
“Close out that one and we’ll draw it up.”
“Kaz.”
“Yes?”
You said nothing. The hesitancy had to show in your face because he seemed to soften, a miniscule difference that you’d only notice if you knew to pay attention. And you always paid attention to Kaz.
“I’ll give you a fair deal, Y/N. You’ve earned that much, more than that even.” He said honestly. You felt the flush of your cheeks and stood at the edge of the desk. From there, you could see that his bad leg was stretched out beneath the desk and the crow-topped cane was against the desk beside him. “The choice is yours.”
“I…” You sighed, giving in to the idea and slipping your hand in your bag to your bundle of money.
Kaz smirked and you frowned, knowing you were caught.
“Still?” His brows raised. “Who’s going to rob you here?”
“You. In fact, I’m sure you have at least once.” You deadpanned and then broke into a smile. He nearly returned it. “Your lieutenant, huh?”
“If that’s what you wish.”
“Is that what you wish?”
He stood, leaning a hand against the desk as he came around to stand in front of you. You took an automatic step back. It was drilled into you that Kaz needed his space. You had once put a hand on his arm when you stumbled, your finger just barely finding the small gap between his jacket sleeve and his glove, and he jerked away from you so quick you had almost fallen again. The glare he pinned you with was so intense you kept your eyes down for the rest of the day.
“You…” He let out a deep sigh and his hands flexed. “You are more important here than you know.”
“I’m sure the others can pick up the jobs without me.”
“I don’t mean for jobs.”
“Right…” You nodded slowly before pulling out the stack of money. You held it by the end, pushing your hand forward so he could take it. “It’s all there but feel free to count.”
“I trust you.” He nodded and reached forward.
Gloves fingers grazed yours and you were quick to withdraw your hand. You watched his face for a reaction to the touch but nothing happened. He continued with his movements as if nothing happened, grabbing the contract and skimming it, while you were stiff as a board awaiting his reprimand. When he began to thumb through the money, you relaxed.
Maybe it wasn’t as bad if he initiated the contact. Another mystery.
He split the stack into two uneven portions and handed you the bigger of the two while he dropped the smaller stop the paperwork. Your brows furrowed and you took a small step back.
“What are you-“ You began but he shook his head and silently closed the distance. He grabbed your wrist and put the money in your hand. You had to clench your jaw to keep it from falling open.
“As I said, you’ve earned this.” He said pointedly. He seemed more focused on the words he said than anything else. “I’ll send Haskell his cut and that’ll be that.”
“He’ll be furious.” You reasoned. “He’ll come for me.”
“He won’t.” Kaz insisted, keeping his eyes on yours. “After what happened here, he wouldn’t dare show his face.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d be safe.”
“It’s Ketterdam. No where’s safe.” He shook his head, hands slipping from yours. You almost missed the feeling of his gloves. “At least here, you’ll have people who care about what happens to you.” He leaned onto the desk behind him.
“You mean Jesper and Nina.” You answered, burying the sadness that rose when you knew he likely didn’t include himself in that.
“Everyone here will watch your back, Y/N. As I’ve said, your presence matters here.”
“Will you?” You asked before you could think the question through. “Watch my back, that is.”
“Haven’t I always?”
“You call me a pigeon whenever you can.” You deadpanned again.
“Then stop patting your pockets when we’re on a job.” He retorted and it almost sounded playful.
“I tried!” You exclaimed and threw your hands forward. “I can’t help the dread that I’ve forgotten something.”
The cursed expression that bordered a smile and smirk crossed his features. His arms came across his chest and he leaned closer to you. “What do you say then?”
You chewed your lower lip in thought. You had no real plan as to what to do when you left so would staying be that bad? And it was Kaz asking you to stay, after all. Not Jesper or Nina, not even Inej. Kaz.
“The deal is the deal.” You nodded and he smirked proudly.
That interaction had been years ago. You signed on as Kaz’s lieutenant and you two had been working together in the time since. Inej came through occasionally and when she did, Kaz left you in charge. It was always a bit of a sting when he went off to spend a few days with her, but she was his first love. You knew that much, whether the stubborn bastard would admit it or not.
You also came to learn that Kaz had an overall aversion to physical touch. He admitted to you one night when you two were alone, staking out some target for some heist he had planned. You made an off-hand comment about the gloves or the coat even in summertime and he gave a brief, almost strangled reason. He didn’t say when it started or why it started, just that he’d rather die.
However, you noticed you had won small victories. With a barrier, of course. He offered you his hand to get up from your seat or to climb up or over something. If you two were assuming the role of a couple, he let you put your arm through his. His hand would rest featherlight against your back when you two passed through tight quarters so you wouldn’t be separated. He once even let you put your head on his shoulder when you were holed up in a small room late into the night while you waited for the stadwatch to pass.
Now, you were in his office waiting for his return. Usually you did your work in your own room, but since there were no upcoming jobs, you simply sat in the velvet lounge chair you had convinced him to leave there for you and read a book. It was a fascinating story of demon-hunting nephilim. You were flipping the page quickly and the door slammed open.
You jumped and let the book fall from your hands, flying to your feet. You rested a hand at the knife strapped to your thigh but let out a sigh of relief when it was only Kaz.
“Saints, Kaz.” You laughed in relief. You looked over at him and noticed he had a hand tucked under his jacket and a clench to his jaw that was tighter than usual. “Are you alright?” You asked carefully, daring a step closer.
He stepped in and leaned against the wall, knocking his cane against the door so it would slam shut. With the new privacy, he let the cane clatter to the floor and panted heavily. You were at his side quickly and reached forward to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Kaz?” You tried but he refused to look at you. You took in a quick scan of his injuries. His usually carefully combed hair was aggressively disheveled and falling into his eyes, a dried stream of blood across his chin, a dribbling line from somewhere above his eyebrow. “Go sit and I’ll get my kit.”
He shook his head and you weren’t sure if he was denying the chair or your help, or simply trying to shake off whatever was rattling around in his head. You groaned slightly and grabbed his jacket sleeve. You carefully put his arm over your shoulders and tucked yourself into his side, opposite of the one he clutched tightly. You moved quickly enough that he couldn’t shove you away but you still figured the move would get you in his bad graces.
You spared a glance and saw the dark liquid staining the already dark fabric. You shook your head slightly and began to drag the man across the room. His posture was rigid, his limp more prominent, and you knew you’d get an earful for grabbing onto him but he gave you no choice. You didn’t want to risk him collapsing to the floor or waiting for him to move on his own.
“I’m sorry.” You confessed as you ducked out from under his arm and helped him into the chair. “Just… I didn��t want you to bleed out over there.”
You couldn’t find other words so you left. You hurried to your own room for your kit and practically sprinted back to his office. You locked the door behind you, knowing Kaz would hate for anyone to see him in a vulnerable state. Except for you, it seemed. He trusted you just enough to let you see some of that. Not all of it, you could tell, but enough.
“Can you move your hand?” You asked and you knelt at the side of the chair. You didn’t dare to kneel in front of him.
He winced and moved his hand, which allowed no better view. You reached forward and flicked the material of jacket away, but the fabric of his shirt was already stuck to the wound.
“You’ll have to take your shirt and jacket off.” You said, trying to maintain composure. “The material’s stuck to it. I can’t see anything… Or at least unbutton them.”
Asking Kaz to sit shirtless in front of you was a huge deal. He had his touch aversion, and you respected that, but it bordered on being too intimate. He tensed at your request but his eyes met yours in question. It wasn’t whether or not you were sure. He knew as well as any Dreg that you had the best handiwork when it came to wounds, Grisha aside of course, so if you asked for something like that, it was necessary. The question was more for himself, if he could handle it.
You dropped your eyes to your kit instead. You knew you had to let him come to a decision on his own so you prepped your materials instead. Clean strips of fabric to clean the wound, a sturdy thread looped through a skinny needle, long cloths for bandaging, and a pair of gloves. You slipped your hands into the rubber and flexed your fingers to ensure they fit. The material stuck to your damp skin and you realized your hands were clammy.
You looked back at him cautiously and saw he had unbuttoned his shirt, only moving the side with the wound out of the way. He took a deep breath and held it for a second. You knew you should wait until he said something but judging by the tightness in his jaw, he wouldn’t be saying anything anytime soon. He breathed out and you saw the smallest of nods, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
You reached in carefully, pushing the fabric aside a little further to see the wound. You kept it to the side with one hand and grabbed for the fabric strips with the other. You angled your arm to keep his open shirt back and touched your fingers to his side. His head snapped towards you so fast you feared he’d get whiplash. You could feel his stare in you but you refused to look at him, focusing on clearing the blood for a better view of the wound.
“Snagged a box from a clinic delivery.” You explained. “Had to relearn some things like stitches but I figured…”
“Why?” He asked and the single word seemed to scrape at his throat. Whether it was from the situation or the fight he came from, you weren’t going to ask.
‘Because of you’ you wanted to say. Because you wanted to touch him without triggering a panic attack. Because it was the least you do to show you cared.
“Would you let me do this without them? Besides, it’s cleaner this way…” You shrugged. “If you can pick locks and do sleights with yours, I could learn this. Trust me, it’s nothing.”
“It’s everything.” He nearly whispered.
“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” You tried to keep him talking, hoping it’d keep him distracted so he wouldn’t jolt away from you.
You had the wound clean by then and knew it’d scar, but a few quick stitches would be easy enough.
“No.”
“Okay.”
You swapped the fabric for the needle.
“This’ll sting.” You warned and sat up on your knees for a better angle. You looked up at him for an answer and his eyes were surprisingly softer than you’d ever seen them. “Are you alright?”
You two stared at each other for a moment longer and you recognized what it was. Appreciation.
“Other than that?” His chin dipped towards the slice on his side.
You chuckled slightly and shook your head before turning your focus to the stitches. You had to move relatively slower than usual. It was the first time you had done stitches on a body with gloves. You practiced on your blankets or your clothes. Truthfully, Kaz was the only reason you learned with the gloves.
You could feel him watching your hands. Maybe he was just admiring your intentful movements. Maybe he was thinking about the gloves, thankful for the barrier between his skin and yours. Regardless, he said nothing and neither did you.
When you were done, you swapped again for the longer strip. You offered it to Kaz first.
“Do you want to do it? If you wrap it, I can tie it.”
“No, you can…” He trailed off.
“Okay.” You nodded. “Can you stand?”
He pushed himself up with a grimace. You collected your material and stood, waiting for him to shrug his shirt down his arms. You put one end on the wound and took his hand to hold it in place. You made sure to walk around instead of reaching to maintain his space. When you got to the end, you looped it under one of the layers and tied it in a knot. You tucked the knot and ran a gloved hand over the material quickly to ensure it hadn’t gotten twisted.
“What about your head?” You took a step back. “Does it hurt?”
“Y/N…” He said quietly. Your head cocked in quiet interest and he took your hand in his.
He peeled your glove off, his remaining in place, and held your hand loosely in his. One barrier instead of two, clearly making a difference to him. Your brows furrowed but you bit your tongue to keep any comments to yourself. You feared if you acknowledged it, it would end. He took another deep breath and winced. Whether from the wound or the situation, you didn’t dare ask.
You reached your other gloved hand up and carefully pushed his hair away. You saw the cut on his forehead and frowned slightly.
“It doesn’t need stitches but I could at least clean it.” You offered. “Make sure you’re presentable again.”
He snorted a small laugh, a tight-lipped momentarily smile grazing his lips.
“Presentable… Without a shirt?”
That was your preferred view but you did wonder if Kaz knew that. Did Kaz know that you thought about him in ways you shouldn’t? That you waited to know he was back when you didn’t go with him? That you relearned your techniques with gloves to meet him somewhere in the middle? That you sat in that corner chair, reading a book while he worked, just to be near him?
Did Kaz know you loved him?
“Did you hit your head?” You asked, flicking your gaze to either of his eyes to try and gauge his awareness. “You may be concussed.”
“No, I’m…” He began but his brows furrowed in thought for a moment. “Well, yes, I did, but that’s not- It doesn’t-“ He sighed.
“Just sit down.” You shook your head and gently pushed on his shoulder. He obliged, but there was a hint of a pout on his face.
Kaz Brekker didn’t pout. What was going on with him?
You stood in front of him this time after gathering your materials. You kept them in your ungloved hand and only made contact with him using the covered one. You didn’t dare push or intrude any further than you already had. You cleaned the wound easily enough, but those damn eyes were still wide as they stared at you.
“Are you sure your head’s alright?” You quirked a brow and knelt down in front of him.
“No.” He shook his head. “Not when…”
“Kaz, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” You sighed and crossed your arms over your upraised knee. “I don’t speak in half sentences.”
“Thank you.” He said instead and your eyes went wide.
“You’re welcome.” You answered carefully. “And I’m sorry I had to push my luck tonight. I had to make sure you’d be alright.”
“The way life goes around here.” He reasoned, forcing a casual tone.
“It’s different.” You muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ll just be thankful you don’t send someone to kill me.” You said instead.
“Not you. Never you.”
“Oh…”
“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you.” He blurted, as if there was an unseen clock ticking down.
“Okay?”
“I…” He closed his eyes and cursed quietly.
“I love you.” You said quickly without thinking. Your mouth dropped and you smacked your ungloved hand to it. “OhmygodIdidnotjustsaythat.” You mumbled against your own skin.
Kaz’s eyes were wide with shock before he gathered his wits and smiled at you.
A real, honest smile.
Your cheeks burned and you could feel your stomach tightening. You dropped your eyes and scooted away to collect the rest of your kit instead.
“Y/N?” He was leaning over the arm of the chair.
“Kaz?” You answered but your voice was embarrassingly high pitched. If your hands were empty, you would’ve smacked yourself in the forehead.
“I loved you first.”
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sugardollcurse ¡ 2 months ago
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Hi! How’re doing? Can I request reader who’s in the arts and the boys? (Acting, writing, painting, etc.) The image of John helping out with reading lines in a funny accent sounds so sweet. Anywho, thank you! :)
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒔/𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔
꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader
꒰ note ꒱ HEY!! I'M IN ARTS TOO!! i'm doing fine today and thank you for requesting!
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꒰ JOHN ꒱
"You’re really gonna stand there and say your monologue’s shite? After I just read it in me best Shakespeare voice? Rude."
John is your number one fan and your worst distraction.
He’s fully the guy who’ll read your dramatic lines in the thickest Yorkshire accent he can muster just to make you laugh.
You’ll be practicing a heavy emotional scene and he’ll interrupt like:
“You forgot the bit where you dramatically clutch your heart like a Victorian ghost.”
But when it’s showtime or submission time, he’s the most grounded version of himself.
He’ll silently sit through your work, eyes flicking between your expression and the page/screen/stage. When you’re done, he’ll nod, slow and thoughtful, and say something like, “It’s got teeth. Real ones.”
Keeps a notebook just for your ideas.
Seriously. Scribbles them down when you talk in your sleep, too.
At your gallery opening or play, he’ll stand at the edge of the room like a bodyguard, sunglasses on indoors, but his hands are twitchy with pride.
Can’t help but sneak into your studio space and leave little drawings or notes:
“This one looks like me. Don’t deny it. – J.”
He loves watching you when you’re in the zone. Says it’s hot, but he means it’s sacred.
꒰ PAUL ꒱
"I think it’s lovely. Even if it’s just scribbles, That’s what makes it worth something, y'know?"
Paul treats your art like a living, breathing being.
Something to nurture.
He’s always gently encouraging, never pushes too hard, but won’t let you talk down your work either.
Loves helping you brainstorm.
Has this habit of asking you why something matters in your work.
“Why did you choose that line?” “Why that color?”
If you're a painter, he'll sit behind you with his bass and quietly play while you work.
Sometimes it’s melodies, sometimes little poems he’s turning into songs.
“Your paintin’s makin’ me think of this riff. Mind if I try it out?”
Always saves the first copy of your work.
“First prints are rare, y’know,” he says as he tucks it into his top drawer.
Writes you a hundred little songs you’ll never hear unless you catch him at the piano by accident.
If you’re in a play, he’ll come to every performance with fresh flowers. Every single time.
꒰ GEORGE ꒱
"It’s alright not to want to share it yet. You’re still makin’ it. Still growin’ it. Let it bloom first."
George sees your creativity as something sacred.
He gets it in a way that’s quiet but so profound.
If you’re feeling creatively blocked, he won’t pressure you.
Just makes you tea, sits on the floor with his guitar, and waits until you speak again.
He loves watching your hands while you work.
Will literally sit next to you on the floor and just quietly observe the movement of your brush, pen, or gestures.
Keeps little parts of your art with him.
Pressed leaves from your set design, quotes scribbled on napkins, a page you tore out and threw away that he tucked into his guitar case.
When you get overwhelmed, he’ll take you outside.
“Too many walls in there. You need trees.” He believes nature can shake things loose inside you.
Will never show up in the front row, but he’ll be in the wings, in the shadows, his way of holding space for you.
꒰ RINGO ꒱
"Paint got on your nose again, love. D’you want me to leave it or kiss it off?"
Ringo is your hype man.
He doesn’t always get your work on a technical level, but he loves it because it came from you.
If you’re rehearsing lines or trying out a monologue, he insists on reading opposite you, even if he flubs the words or uses silly voices. “Oi, I’m an actor now! Ringford Olivier.”
Leaves snacks and water by your workspace like a little gremlin house elf.
“Can’t create masterpieces on an empty stomach.”
Has framed your worst sketches and hung them proudly.
“This one looks like a frog but it’s meant to be me. I love it.”
If you're a writer, he'll ask you to read him your newest scenes while he falls asleep.
“Just the next bit, please? Your voice puts me right out.”
You once caught him painting next to you with a ridiculous smock and a beret he bought just for the bit.
“I’m makin’ art, too! Look... it’s a dog. Or a boat. Might be both.”
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taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee
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s0urlemone ¡ 5 months ago
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A night ☞ - Stardew Valley headcanon
About what happens when you don’t play for a long time, but it’s soft.
Warning! there’s typos probably don’t judge me
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I’ve read many stories and hcs about what happens in Pelican Town when you, the player, don’t touch the game for a long time - the panic that fills all the inhabitants when they realise the farmer they’ve grown to love so much has suddenly disappeared leaving no trace, clothes covered in dirt still in the dresser and all their belongings intact all over their little house that Robin has spent so much time restoring for them. They might’ve left a spouse behind, too, and said spouse can’t accept their sudden departure. Is it their fault? Were they not good enough for you? The thought of Shane starting to drink again or Alex bitterly wondering if he’s destined to be miserable as his father loved to remind him is heartbreaking.
But my headcanon is a little softer, wholesome even.
When you pick up the game in the morning, after saving it just a couple of hours prior, you wake up in your bed with your spouse by your side, ready to start a new day, to feed your animals and scratch your kitties’ ears, to water the crops and gallop through the city to help your neighbours with their quests.
So I imagine that when you’re not playing, it’s simply nighttime.
An endless night where your spouses can snuggle up with the farmer. Where they can share whispered, soft little secrets in the cozy sheets, the fireplace crackling in the background. A night to dance with Emily in front of the jukebox, her laughter filling the living room as she swirls around with her “two-left-feet” spouse. You stop twirling around only when you place your lips on hers to distract her from your lack of skill, both of you smiling into the kiss. Or to hear Elliott’s soothing voice read his latest writing - and he always gets a little bit nervous about it, even though he knows he’s in a safe space and you would never judge him or his work in an offensive manner. He keeps you with your head on his stomach as he sits up straight in bed, his fingers running through your hair.
A night where you and Maru sit out under the porch, a fuzzy blanket over your shoulders and a cup of scorching coffee to warm up your hands and keep you from falling asleep after 2 am as she regulates her telescope to watch the stars with you. Where Leah, sitting at the kitchen table in silence as you do the dishes, draws a quick sketch of your side profile - she does that a lot lately - in the golden light of the lamp, the colour of your eyes making her heart skip a beat every time.
A night where Sebastian can hold his sleepy spouse on his lap as he finishes working on a project for his demanding client, his left hand lazily stroking your back as you rest your head on his shoulder. He loves to place kisses on your forehead, so soft that it seems like a butterfly has just brushed your skin with its wings. Where you and Alex share a tray of fresh baked cookies, a new recipe from his grandmother, as you binge watch a show on the tv - you usually try to keep the television out of the bedroom, but sometimes you two can get so lazy he just brings in the one you keep in the living room so you can snuggle up under the sheets.
A night where Hailey sits on your lap, wearing one of your “dirty” shirts, as she grumbles about the fact you don’t take care of your skin enough, her soft, pretty hands applying creams on your face as you try to steal a kiss every now and then, only to be reprimanded - and then, eventually, granted what you want. Where Harvey timidly massages your sore shoulders, his strong, delicate hands lingering a couple of seconds more because he loves the sweet intimacy of the moment you’re sharing. And he loves when you finally get to relax, because he gets to relax too when he’s not worrying and fussing over your recklessness.
A night where Penny asks you advices about what topic she should teach Vincent and Jas next, her auburn locks out of her ponytail as you massage her scalp and run your fingers through it to help her relax a little. She leans back and places her head against your belly, the sight of you in the vanity mirror making her blush. Or where you and Abigail make a mess in the bathroom because you’re trying to dye her hair of a new shade of purple where the roots are starting to grow in a lovely brown colour. The problem is, you can’t stop sharing kiss after kiss and now your clothes are full of dye, too.
A night where Sam gets to rest on your chest, lulled by the soothing rhythm of your breathing. He can’t help but crack jokes in the dark, but as the night gets deeper, he finds himself completely engulfed into your warmth, the comfort you radiate making him finally feel safe. And Shane finds that same comfort in your embrace, your arms like an indestructible shield from all the shadows of his past. He’s like a scared cat into your arms, searching for your touch, in a night so endless he will never be afraid again.
I love the angst too, but I am feeling really emotional lately and I wanted to share something soft. 💗
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hughiecampbelle ¡ 1 year ago
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The Boys Preference: Being Their Weapon
Requested: a preference of femreader being the boys' main weapon, that homelander doesn't even know of..? 😫 dialogue prompt 27 & 60 - anon
A/N: Reminder my loves! Prompts only go with fic requests, no other kind of requests. It's all in the pinned post, please be sure to read! I've updated it recently to be as clear as possible :) I also only write gn!readers as it states in my rules linked in my bio. Hope you can understand! I based it loosely off this fic because I think the Supe abilities would fit perfectly! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
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Butcher didn't like you and you didn't like Butcher. He punched you, he hit you with his gun. He knew you thought about killing him that day, grabbing his wrist and killing him instantly, but Frenchie stopped you. When you agree to help them, you make sure it's known that you're not doing this for Butcher at all. That if it were just him asking you, you'd let him die. He thought you were stupid. Stupid and dangerous and unstable. Kicking them out like that only proved him right. Regardless of what Hughie or Frenchie or Kimiko said, nothing would change the way he felt about you. He would never admit that he was grateful for your help, but he was. If everything went to hell, at least they'd have you. Still, he couldn't help but eye you every time you came in. He didn't like what you could do. If you decided you weren't interested, if you felt threatened even a little bit, you could kill all of them without even trying.
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Hughie had no problem with what you could do. It's not like you could control what the V did to you. And you never wanted the V in the first place. It was intimidating sure, but he wasn't scared of you because of it. Underneath the fear, the resistance, was someone who just wanted to be treated with a little kindness. He could do that. He could do more than that. He tried to talk to Annie about why she was so hesitant, but she just couldn't explain it. You warmed up to Hughie pretty quickly. He was curious about your powers. You showed him what you could do with plants, fruits and vegetables mostly. They'd rot in your hands. You could kill everyone and everything. You admitted to him all the things you missed, but were too scared of doing, even with gloves and protection. Hugs mostly, petting animals. He hadn't realized how much your powers would affect you. The least he could do was not be scared of you. The least he could do was be your friend.
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Annie tries not to stare. Alongside the whole "killing people with your touch" You were a little cagey. The last time she saw you you were screaming at everyone to get out of your apartment. Now you stood beside Frenchie, trying not to draw attention to yourself. You clung to Frenchie and Kimiko, keeping everyone else at a professional distance. She tried to be nice, she tried not to flinch when you moved too fast or abruptly, but she couldn't help it. Like M.M. she was wary about you. You'd all done things you weren't proud of, but you turned your Supe-ability into a prpfession. A dangerous one that left a lot of innocent (and not so innocent, you'd like to point out) dead. She knows your upbringing wasn't the most traditional, but was that really an excuse? You could tell how she felt just from the way she looked at you. You tried not to take it personally.
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M.M likes you, but he doesn't like the idea of you. Killing people just by touching them is just too much. Too dangerous. He makes sure he's never too close to you. Unlike Frenchie who is quote affectionate and far more easygoing than everyone else, Marvin was stressed out. He watched you carefully, keenly, making sure he only came near you when you were wearing gloves or something else that prevented any skin from showing. You know he feels this way and you don't push it. There were tons of people in your life like him, scared of you, petrified even. You knew it was better to keep your distance and not to try anything funny. It was just easier. No jokes, nothing. You didn't mind keeping your relationship professional. Marvin knew how important you were, that it was a big sacrifice given your past to accept this offer, but he couldn't let go of the idea that you could kill any number of them with your pinky alone.
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Frenchie is the first person you trust out of the whole group. He comes back to see you alone. If you truly don't want to help, he won't force you. He just wants to talk. Despite yourself, you let him in. Maybe loneliness is finally getting to you. You're still wary, but eventually you let go a little, realizing he was going to keep his word. You become friends. He's the first friend you've had since you were a kid, before being locked up. He wasn't as afraid of you as everyone else was and you were constantly reminding him to be careful around you. You start to ask questions, logistical ones about what it would mean to join the team, what it would mean to take down Homelander. He assured you they would never let anything happen to you. You trust him. When he brings you to meet the team officially, there's a collective sign in relief. If the plan went wrong, if they ran out of options, they would always have you. You were the perfect weapon. To Frenchie though, you were just a new friend, teammate.
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Kimiko likes you. If Frenchie likes you, then she does too. You're a little hesitant to start signing with her. Your hands flying everywhere wasn't such a good idea given that you could kill someone. Still, she didn't mind. She understood the fears, your past. The both of you had been used. The both of you had been given Compound V. You both killed people. Kimiko was the second person you trusted and this tome it was immediate. She wasn't scared of you, though she understood your hesitation. Good things were never truly good. There was always something horrible lingering just behind it. Friends were nice. Friends were a good thing. But doing this? Killing Homelander? That could lead to something awful. You had to be hesitant. You had to be careful. She wasn't going to hold this kind of thinking against you. You had as much a right to be afraid as they did.
381 notes ¡ View notes
alatushours ¡ 1 year ago
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☆ SLEEPYHEAD, feat. roronoa zoro — no matter how tired he is, zoro is always willing to keep you company.
contents. gender neutral reader, fluff fluff fluff, established relationship. soft zoro ! ! ! post-timeskip but can be read any time after the crew receives the sunny. tw. insomnia, reader is gn but lives in the women’s quarters, maybe ooc zoro ♡ word count. 616
notes. aaand mari finally makes a comeback !!! so sorry to keep you all waiting for so long, i lost my spark for a while. however i am excited to say that this is my official one piece writing debut !!! (love potion doesn’t count guys) i think about zoro everyday,,, he’s such a comfort character to me <3 sorry for any mistakes, i haven’t written in a very long time ♡
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WHEN YOU CAN’T SLEEP, you go look for zoro on the sunny.
peeking open the door of the girl's cabin, you step out in your sandals onto the wooden deck, the floorboards slightly creaking. walking to the port side of the ship, you watch the reflection of the stars over the open sea before moving to search for your lover.
sometimes zoro might be sitting on night watch at the bow, or in the kitchen for a midnight snack. most of the time though, he’s up in the crow’s nest training or catching up on sleep away from the rowdiness of the men’s cabin.
you find him doing the latter tonight, his swords cradled in his folded arms as he dozed. you smile and close the door quietly behind you, careful not to disturb him.
however, zoro stirs, his eye peeking open. “hey. what’re ya doing?”
well, there goes that. “sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper. “i was just coming to look for you.”
he chuckles softly. “couldn’t sleep again, huh? why didn’t you just say so?”
you smile sheepishly. “sorry… i had too much coffee today, and then earlier me and the girls were watching a horror movie on the video transponder snail, so now i’m up.”
you shrug, and your boyfriend laughs again. “c’mere.”
you make your way to snuggle into zoro’s chest. his gold earrings clink together as he shifts, his arms moving to wrap around your waist. “how was your day?” you ask him, absentmindedly tracing the scar on his torso.
“nothin’ interesting,” he replies, his voice raspy in your ear. “just training ‘nd watch, the usual.” but you could tell he was tired, from the way he was blinking slowly every few seconds to keep himself from falling asleep. “whadda ‘bout you?”
you talk to him for a few minutes, telling him about how you and chopper caught a load of fish today (and how luffy ended up eating all of it at the end, to sanji’s anger). zoro chuckles, smiling as he listened to your ramblings.
after a while, zoro hums, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair. “sorry, i needa sleep,” he whispers in your ear. “nami said we’re gonna get to the next island real early in the mornin’ so i gotta keep watch. you can sleep here with me if ya want, though.”
“oh, okay,” you intertwine your fingers with his, making yourself comfortable against the warmth of his body. “will you call me when you wake up? i wanna watch the sunrise with you.”
your boyfriend nods slowly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “sure. now go to sleep, yeah? i’ll be here if ya need me.”
“okayyy,” you draw out the word. “oh, one more thing.”
he groans, “what is it?”
you grin at him, giving him a kiss on the lips. “i love you, ‘zo.”
zoro smacks your ass playfully, but not without returning the kiss. “yeah, yeah, i know. i love you too. now seriously, go to sleep!”
you giggle, closing your eyes to the soft lull of his breathing. eventually, you drift off to sleep, not knowing that your lover was still awake to ensure your peaceful rest.
zoro would slice up mountains, cut the moon in half and bring the pieces back to you if you asked; he'd do anything for you. your needs always come first; after all, he will always be indebted to the love that you showed him, what seemed like not so long ago. something as small as helping you fall asleep was nothing compared to your love, your utter adoration for him.
plus, he always slept better with you at his side.
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end notes. the fact that it took me a month to write the first half of this and the other half in less than a day… and it’s still not even 1k words 😭 idk how i used to do it omg. but anyhoo soft zoro soft zoro soft zoro ! ! ! i’m normal about him i swear
© alatushours 2024. please do not copy, modify, or translate my work in any way, nor upload to any other platforms. in the meantime, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and consider leaving a follow! it helps a lot ♡
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godmadeaterribleerror ¡ 1 year ago
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Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: If you want to picture me writing any part of this series, picture someone maniacally giggling to themselves the words “this is a surprise tool that will help us later” as they type. Chapter Title from Stand Up by The Revivalists.
Word Count: 9k...
Chapter Summary/Warnings: An opportunity to flip Sister Sage emerges. Contains usual warnings.
Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff
Read on A03!
Chapter 4 - Chapter 6
Want to be tagged? Just ask!
“Everything is… disturbingly clean.”
Ben watched Cocksucker and Butcher in the living room, the former looking around in shock as the latter’s gaze bounced between Ben and Her with a half grin.
“Don’t tell me you two started bloody fucking,” he jeered, and Ben didn’t appreciate the speed at which She scoffed.
“Not everyone only thinks with their downstairs brain, Butcher.” She said with an eye roll. “We’re not children you had to put in a time out until we could play nice, we’re adults who found a common ground.”
“The common ground of fucking?” Butcher’s grin spread widely across his face. At the deepening of her glare, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t doubt you, Love, it’s Soldier Boy who can’t damn well breathe without his dick in something.”
Ben opened his mouth to defend himself, but She somehow beat him to the draw. “Well, Ben’s down to only trying to fuck me twice a day, and it’s the small victories like that which have kept us from killing each other.”
“Ben?” Cocksucker looked between them in befuddled horror. “Since when do you call him Ben?!”
She returned Cocksucker’s stare with a flat look Ben had seen many times and was glad to not currently be on the receiving end of. “It’s his name. I can’t say ‘Soldier Boy’ all the time, that’s a fucking mouthful.”
“Fuck yeah, it is.” Ben winked at Her, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he was met with only an eye roll.
Butcher chuckled, giving Her an amused smirk. “Not fucking, my puckered arsehole.” He paused, his teeth showing as his delight in his own words grew. “Or should I say, your puckered arsehole?”
Cocksucker choked on air. “I’m going to be sick.”
“If he throws up on the carpet, you can not make me clean it, Sunshine.” Ben snapped, eyeing Cocksucker with a grimace. “His weak, pussy stomach ain’t my problem.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s been worse messes in this room.” Butcher wiggled his eyebrows, and Cocksucker gagged again.
“There’s not much left after to clean,” Ben said with another smug look, unable to find it in him to care how his words fueled the accusations She so clearly wanted to rebuff. She’d live, and all the bitchiness she wielded like a weapon would hopefully circle around into admitting the clear attraction he knew she felt.
“What, you all dried up after forty years asleep?” Butcher sneered.
Ben scowled, taking a rough step in the man’s direction, the drum in his chest abruptly sounding in the distance of his ears. “You want to say that to my fucking face? I’ll show you how dried up I am—fuck!“ He lurched back as he felt a sharp sting on his arm.
She appeared at the side of Ben’s vision, Her fingers still smoking as she pointed at Butcher. “You. Never, ever make me visualize that again.” She scrunched her face in dramatic disgust. “And you.” She turned the finger to Ben. “He did ‘say it to your face’, stop being such a fucking baby. And both of you need to repeat everything you think in your head before you say it. We get it, your dicks are both huge, either suck each other off or put them away.”
“I second that,” Cocksucker mumbled, residual nausea on his face. “The shutting up thing, not the other part.”
“Thank you, Hughie. Now.” She gave Butcher a titled-head frown. “What’s the mission.”
“Don’t have to be a mission, Love, we could just be checking up on our two favorite-“
“Shut up,” She snapped. “Nobody has come to visit in two and a half weeks. And then, just after the news about Sister Sage, you two are suddenly, and I’m sure completely coincidentally, in our living room. So, what’s the mission?”
“How do you know about Sage?” Cocksucker, matching the surprise on Butcher’s face, asked.
“I have a phone, dummy.”
Ben looked around the room, trying to figure out where She could’ve possibly hidden a phone from him. “No, we fucking don’t.” He narrowed his eyes at Her, suspicion building in his chest as anger clouded his head. “Have you been fucking leaving without me?”
“When would I even have the time to leave without you?” She snapped.
“When you go to the fucking bathroom all the damn time for no fucking reason. If you’ve been lying to me-“
“Jesus Christ, I was on my period the past week. You can come do an inspection of the toilet bowl next time if it’s that important to you.”
“Fucking,” Butcher faked coughed to poorly cover his words. Ben was sure a deaf baby would’ve still have understood them, and She certainly did.
“Can it,” She shot at Butcher before turning back to Ben. “Phones aren’t big blocks on walls anymore, grampa, they look like this.” She pulled out a weird black rectangle and waved it in his face. “And you’ve definitely seen one before, dumbass.”
If Ben thought back, admittedly not even that hard, he had. Cocksucker and Butcher had both used them the first time around, he’d spotted them in the shows and movies he had been making their way through at Her direction, and even seen Her using the one invading his personal space at that very moment. However, he’d known he’d eat a fucking whale dick before he asked Her what they were then, in the exact same way he was now going have to pretend that She was the stupid one trying to pull one over on him.
“I think I remember if I’d seen something that fucking dumb looking, Sunshine.” She just glared at him and turned away, so Ben decided to count that as a him victory.
“If one of you doesn’t tell me what the plan is now-“
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Love, we’re getting there. Hughie?”
“Gross,” Cocksucker muttered, his scrunched face of disgust turning into shock as Butcher pushed him forward. “What! Why me?”
“You use all those posh fancy words, mate.”
“He hates me!” Cocksucker gestured to Ben, before saying Her name in a pathetically begging tone. “He made you do it last time, right?! Tell Butcher he doesn’t fucking listen to me!”
Ben grinned as She gave Cocksucker one of the most half-assed apologetic looks Ben had ever seen. “I mean, he doesn’t. But I wouldn’t call him Butcher’s biggest fan either.”
“I’m right fucking here,” Ben grumbled. “I can speak for my damn fucking self.”
She gave him a sarcastic, simpering smile. “Ben, do you like Hughie, or Butcher? Is one prettier? Would one of them talking be better than the other?”
“No, they’re both ugly, pussy ass idiots who sound just as fucking boring as their pussy ass counterpart.”
“Who’s acting like who’s not here now?”
“We don’t sound the same at all…”
She ignored Butcher’s snark and Cocksucker’s weak protest. “Lovely. So if someone could answer my fucking question, that would be great. I, personally, couldn’t give a flying fuck who.”
Cocksucker sighed. “What did you read about the Sister Sage situation?”
“Is someone going to tell me who ‘Sister Sage’ is?” Ben grunted, giving Her an expectant look. Right now his best guess was some nun with plant-based powers, and he couldn’t think of a damn way that would be helpful.
“She's a supe whose power is intelligence. She’s the smartest person in the world, and a member of Homelander’s team.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, she was. She got fired. I saw Vought’s press release about ‘creative differences’, but it’s painfully obvious bullshit. She made one appearance on TV where she spoke five words, most of the time she’d just hovering behind Homelander looking mad.”
“Yeah, we think she made Homelander upset somehow, which isn't hard to do, so he cut her loose.” Cocksucker nodded. “Either way, we want to try and talk to her. Flip her. Or-“
“Uncle Sam here is going to neutralize her.” Butcher spoke over Cocksucker with a smirk at Ben.
“Neutralize?” She looked between them with wide eyes. “Neutralize as in kill, or neutralize as in remove her powers?”
Butcher winked. “We’ll see where the night takes us. You two have fifteen to get ready, chop chop.”
She began to make her way up the stairs, but Ben remained firmly where he stood, glaring his best daggers at Butcher. “You better have brought my fucking shield this time.”
“What, you going to start crying if we didn’t?” Butcher jeered, and before Ben could move to punch him in the face, Cocksucker piped up from the side.
“Annie and MM are getting it now, they’ll meet us there.”
Butcher grunted in annoyance at Cocksucker’s affirming words, but Ben ignored it and turned to examine Cocksucker’s increasingly pallid face. His heartbeat was rising, yes, but it didn’t seem to be because he was lying, more likely the pussyfuck was just afraid. “Good,” Ben grunted, pausing to listen for a relieved stutter in Cocksucker’s chest. At the sound, Ben turned and marched up the stairs.
He wasn’t sure how it had happened, because he certainly hadn’t done it, but Ben’s suit had been cleaned of the dust and dirt from its last use. It was folded semi-neatly in his dresser, on top of underwear and socks. It was a quick change, he remembered being incredibly instant to the designer all those years ago that any needless, bullshit complications would lead to a forcerful reiterment and be fixed by their replacement, and made his way down the hall to Her door. He paused, unsure of if he should knock or simply walk in. He’d never knocked before, and She’d never bitched at him about it, but she’d also made it incredibly clear that, if he saw her naked, she’d “claw out his eyes like Jesus”. He’d asked for elaboration, in a way he thought had been quite fucking polite, and She’d left the room only to return a minute later with a copy of the Bible that was hurled at his head. Ben had not bothered to read it, but he quite liked his eyes, as did most women, so he had no interest in losing them to one impressively violent and crude one. However, knocking was also plain fucking stupid. As such he found himself just standing at the door, all the way until She opened the door and jumped back at the sight of him.
“Fuck, Ben, you scared me.” She’d placed a hand over her chest, fucking over dramatically if you asked Ben, and stared up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. “I was just waiting for you.” And he fucking had been. Originally, the plan that had brought him here was to make fun of Her for clearly cleaning his suit and certainly going through his underwear drawer, now it just felt fucking stupid. She’d just caught him standing outside her room, she had too much ammunition to use against him now.
She tilted her head at him, giving Ben a look he didn’t understand or like, but just nodded. “Well, I’m ready. We should go.”
He nodded, stepping aside for her to pass him. She blinked at him a moment before doing such, and only after she was starting down the stairs did it occur to him that he’d let her go first. She hadn’t even asked. But she would’ve, he reasoned. He’d just been saving the headache of Her whining about it. Really, it had been a calculated move from his subconscious, which hated her finding every nerve of Ben’s to get on just as much as the rest of him.
Butcher and Cocksucker were right where they’d left them when Ben reached the bottom of the stairs, and She made her way to Ben’s side as they exited the safe house. Her body was less rigid and alert than last time, her heart almost perfectly calm, and though her eyes didn’t once leave him, she wasn’t vigilantly scanning his every twitch as they walked to the car. Even this car ride was more relaxed than the last, with Butcher not checking on them every damn second in the mirror, Cocksucker looking less like he was about to shit his damn pants, and Her body comfortably in the seat and not curled into the door. Ben appreciated that it was a real, windowed car this time, because that stupid fucking van had been deafening and fucking stuffy and boring to sit in. This satisfaction was squashed almost immediately when they pulled up to a warehouse that looked one fucking well-placed shit from collapsing, and Ben saw that same stupid fucking van parked beside where they stopped.
The back doors were open, and Ben could hear four moderately steady heartbeats from inside it. As they unloaded out of the car and made their way to join the others, Ben watched Her out of the corner of his eye, hearing the telltale warning sign of gnawing on lips and tapping of fingers in rhythmic movements. He’d noticed last week, then had his suspicion confirmed during their fight a few nights ago, that all her rapid, tense tapping was still controlled, always following the same pattern. For the fucking life of him, Ben couldn’t figure out what the pattern was, but he knew it existed, and it always went hand in hand with glassy eyes. Sure enough, when he turned to fully look at Her, clouds were forming behind her gaze, which had itself gone slightly slack. But before Ben could grab Her, ask her what the fucking problem was, if it was something he needed to worry about, She’d walked past him to sit beside beside the small, Asian woman he’d seen several times before. The woman smiled at Her, and she returned it without hesitation. She said a name, Kimiko, in a soft, kind voice Ben had never heard and though Kimiko didn’t say anything—thinking about it Ben hadn’t heard her speak once—the tapping slowed to a halt as they began a weird half-conversation with a lot of confusing fucking gestures.
Ben glanced around the van, looking for his fucking shield. When he didn’t see it, he turned to glare at Butcher, who’d moved to talk to MM.
“Hey!” Ben pushed himself into their conversation, ignoring their whiny glares. “You promised my fucking shield.”
Butcher rolled his eyes. “Technically, Hughie promised it.”
“Where is it.”
“Calm the fuck down, Gov, I’m sure it’s here somewhere. MM, would you give the giant cunt his stupid shield?”
“Nope.”
Ben’s head whipped to glare at the man, who wasn’t even fucking acknowledging him. “Give me my fucking shield.”
“Can’t,” MM said, meeting Ben’s glare with an angry, cold one of his own. “Didn’t fucking bring it.”
“I was promised I’d get my shield back. If you pussies can’t get it, I’m certain I could fine someone who will.” Ben threatened, the drums starting to sound once more. “I don’t have to put up with bullshit-“
“Yeah, you do,” Her voice called from behind him.
Ben turned to look at her, and saw Butcher and MM do the same.
“This doesn’t concern you, Sunshine.” Ben snapped.
She just shrugged. “You want a private conversation? Lower your fucking voice. And I feel like any conversation where you start saying you’re going to leave does concern me, because I’m the one that’s going to have to smite your face when you try. And that’s just going to be a fucking bummer.”
“My face too nice to burn?” He taunted, barely noticing the fade of the pounding against his chest.
“No, I just would have to fill out a fuck ton of dogshit CIA paperwork after. So just suck up being away from your blankie for another week, and sit the hell down.”
“I don’t have a fucking blankie,” Ben scowled at Her, but she only smiled back at him and returned her attention to Kimiko.
“You heard her,” Butcher sneered from behind him. “Listen to your mommy and sit the fuck down.”
“Don’t make it weird, Butcher.” She called, not looking back at them for a second.
Ben turned to give Butcher one last, venomous glower. “If I don’t get my fucking shield next time, we’re going to have a fucking problem.”
“We’ll get you your shield, Gov, don’t loose your damn mind.”
Ben grunted, turning to take the seat next to Her, but carefully listened to Butcher and MM’s hushed whispers as he moved.
“Bloody hell, MM, you had one fucking job.”
“I am not helping him, Butcher. Don’t send me to do your damn dirty work.”
Butcher scoffed. “I’ve had you do much dirtier work, mate. This was a fucking cake walk, and you still fucked it up.”
“I’m going to tell you one last time, and it better get through your thick, dumbass head. I am not doing anything, fucking anything, for that racist piece of shit.”
Ben opened his mouth, subtle eavesdropping was a fucking overrated pussy move anyways, to defend himself. Collateral damage fucking happened, it wasn’t his fucking fault Vought was always sending him-
“What’s the big deal with the shield?” He heard Starlight mutter behind him, a question clearly addressed to Cocksucker.
“Dunno, but he was really weird about it last time, almost threw me out a window cause I touched it-“
“I can fucking hear you,” Ben twisted roughly to face them. “What is it with you pussies and pretending I’m fucking deaf?”
Starlight sighed, giving him an annoyed glare, as Cocksucker responded weakly.
“We just, we don’t think you want to talk to us-“
“Shut the fuck up,” Ben grunted.
“Don’t talk to him like that!” Starlight’s eyes started to glow, and Ben rolled his own in response.
“Fucking try it, Bitch, I’ll blow you back to Vought. If you have a question, fucking ask it.”
“Fine,” Starlight held Ben’s anger with her own. “What’s the big deal with your shield? Are you compensating? Do you get performance issues without it?”
“Annie,” Cocksucker’s heart had picked up, and he was grabbing Starlight’s arm tightly. “Don’t make him mad.”
A thousand, perfect insults pushed against Ben’s head. Fucking amazing hits that would have Starlight crying to Cocksucker for weeks. But he could hear Her heartbeat behind him, stuttering for only a second as she listened to the argument. He heard that rhythmic tapping again, and so he pushed the words down, and gave Starlight a taunting sneer.
“Listen to your little cocksucker.” Ben taunted. “I’ll let it fucking go this time, because I’m feeling fucking generous. But next time? I kill both of you pussies.”
Ben turned away, and once his back was fully to them, he pulled out the crumpled list that now always sat in his pocket, trying to figure out if She had added “broad” at any point. While the bottom was filled with Ben’s own scratchy, hastily written additions, the top to middle of the paper was written in her neat, clipped handwriting, and close to the top was the sentence loose broad with the doll face - Buttercup from the Princess Bride??? Ben frowned at it—why couldn’t She have underlined the word—and leaned to the side, nudging Her shoulder with his own. When she didn’t turn from her soft conversation with Kimiko—how She could possibly be so invested in a conversation with a woman Ben was pretty fucking sure was mute was beyond him—Ben shoved it under her face.
Her voice died off, hands pausing mid-air, and she slowly turned to stare at him. “What are you doing.”
He pointed roughly to the sentence. “What does that mean?”
She squinted, grabbing it from him to hold closer to her eyes. “I was probably confused why you’d call Buttercup that. She’s famously not loose for like, the whole story-“
“No,” he tugged it back. “Why did you write that sentence down? What’s so bad about ‘loose broad with the doll face’?”
Her lips quirked up. “That’s what’s so urgent?”
“Is it loose, or broad?” He ignored her amusement.
“I think both together. Loose isn’t great, but I’d be lying if I said I never called my mother loose. Broad is just…” She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard the word ‘broad’ out the mouth from anyone who doesn’t have an active memory of at least one world war.”
“So broad is fine?”
“If you want to sound a thousand, sure. I’ve definitely heard you say worse.”
Ignoring the age jab, Ben locked and loaded his next insult for Starlight. He would let the “compensating” comment go, he was forgiving like that, but there was no fucking way she wouldn’t say something else soon. And he’d be fucking ready for it. He shoved the list back into his pants, where it had stayed since he first caught Her using it. At first it had been going to take a one way ticket down the toilet, but then he’d noticed how when he used those words on the paper, She’d frown and not talk to him for a damn hour. It was a fucking annoying, inconvenient, bitch move because during that time she wouldn’t laugh at his jokes or tell him how stupid modern technology in movies worked or bombard him with annoying comments that made him want to grab Her pretty, taunting, insufferable face and teach her some manners. She’d just be quiet and mad, and it was like he was alone, and suddenly he would hear the drum. So he’d kept the list and, whenever he noticed the bitter silence showing its ugly head, he’d write down what coxed it out. Eventually She’d noticed, and started to help him. If it hadn’t proved an effective strategy to keep her off his ass about stupid fucking shit, he’d have lied up, down, and sideways about keeping it. But they hadn’t had any of those moments he’d grown to detest since she had, so he’d kept in his bitterness about the stupidity of the whole thing in check and counted this a win.
“Look alive, fuckers.” Ben looked up as MM stood, one of those alleged “phones” in hand. “Sage will be here in five minutes. She’s agreed to meet me, Starlight, and Hughie. Frenchie and Kimiko, I want y’all outside, nearby, and ready in case she’s pulling one over. Butcher, go home.”
“Nah, mate. I’m a part of this, Mallory said so. Could make me go home if you tickled my balls and topped me off.”
“Well, then you’re going to have to stay in here.” MM turned as he said Her name. “You’re staying in here with Soldier Boy. If we need you, you’ll hear the signal.”
She hummed in acknowledgment. “What’s the signal?”
“The Deep’s massive tits.” MM gave a tired exhale as Her mouth fell open in amusement. “Frenchie made the signal. Make sure they,” both Ben and Butcher receive rough jabs in their direction. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Before either Ben or Butcher, whose mouth and protesting words had somehow begun faster than Ben’s own, could argue, MM was following the rest of the already mobilized team out of the van, and the doors were slammed behind him.
Tense, angry silence was in the air for only a minute before Butcher spoke.
“Now that everyone’s gone, will you two admit you’re fucking?”
Her heartbeat picked up slightly, and Ben leered at Butcher.
“Watch it, Dick Van Dyke, I’ll cut your fucking face off.” From beside him, Ben heard Her snort. “What do you find so funny?”
Ignoring his angry look, She gave another small giggle. “I don’t think that insult is as good as you think, Ben.”
“It was a fucking amazing insult-“
“Dick Van Dyke is American.”
“No, he was in all those stupid fucking British movies, like that one about the magic fucking nanny-“
“You’ve watched Mary Poppins?” Butcher laughed, and Ben considered ripping off his lips and feeding them to him. One bitchy, melodramatic woman who constantly cut off his words was more than enough. He didn’t need another fucking asshole, whose comments were not nearly as unwelcomingly entertaining, doing the same.
“Only because your hound dog bitch threatened to burn off my fucking dick if I didn’t.” Ben grumbled, and She gave another laugh.
“You enjoyed it, you cunt. And you told me a story about how you met Dick Van Dyke in the 60s. When he was, as he is now, incredibly American.”
“Sunshine, are you going to let me defend your honor or not?”
“My honor?” She gave him a face of giddy disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“He said we’re fucking!” Ben waved wildly at Butcher. “I’m not going to let him talk about a lady like that-“
“You literally goaded him on barely an hour ago. And called me a ‘hound dog bitch’ like, five seconds ago.” She pointed out. “Even if that wasn’t true, you’d have a whole lot of misplaced faith that I have ‘honor’ to begin with.”
“I don’t think you’d know honor if it ate you out ass to cunt.” Butcher made an exaggerated face of thought, and was met with only a flat look.
“So taint? Ass to cunt as in taint?” Her voice was bored, arms crossed in front of her chest.
Butcher shrugged. “No lady with honor knows the word taint.”
“Then we’re lucky I lost the title of ‘lady’ years ago,” She said with a toothy, fake smile. “And you,” a glare was shot at Ben. “Are not helping the ‘we’re fucking’ allegations by defending my honor, dumbass.”
He wasn’t, he knew that. But her heartbeat had settled, no longer clawing into Ben’s brain, so he just grunted. “Fuck me for trying to help.”
“I won’t,” she smirked. “That’s the whole point.”
“Bitch.”
“Cunt. Butcher,” She turned away from Ben once more. “What time did MM say Sage would arrive?”
“He didn’t.” Butcher answered, making an angry face at the closed door. “Something about not trusting us to stay here.”
Just then, Ben’s careful ear on Her heartbeat, which had slowed fully in the past minutes, was distracted by steps, followed by voices.
“I’m glad you agreed to meet us.” A man’s voice, too low to be Cocksucker, had to be MM.
“Well, even though I know what you’re going to say, I’m still intrigued by how you plan to say it.” Ben didn’t recognize that one. It sounded calm and controlled like Hers usually was, but only had the edge of anger. Her voice was always lined with vague amusement, at everything all the time. This woman didn’t sound like it was capable of laughter, even mockingly.
“Well, if you know what we’re going to say, can you just tell us your answer now?” That one was self-righteous and insufferable. Starlight.
“No.”
“Is that… your answer to what we’re going to say or whether or not you’ll tell us now?” Unsure, nervous, pathetic. Cocksucker.
“The later. I’m not going to tell you the answer until everyone joins us. Do you think I’m fucking-“
“Ben?” A pair of fingers snapped in his face.
Eyes refocusing, Ben realized She had moved so he was face-to-face with her concerned glare and frown watching him carefully.
“If that cunt fucking blows his bloody lid, I’m going outside, MM can suck my-“
Ben scowled at Butcher over Her shoulder. “I’m not going to fucking explode. I have a fucking handle on it-“ She gave Ben an incredulous look that he ignored. “And I’m trying to listen, so shut the fuck up so I can listen to what those pussies out there are saying.”
“You can hear them?” She dropped back to her seat, leaning forward with an intent stare. “What are they talking about?”
“I could tell you if you would shut the fuck up.” He grunted, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t move back. Ben paused, no longer hearing voices at all. “They moved.”
Butcher pushed off the wall. “What do you mean they moved? The fuck did they go?”
“I can’t tell you if you don’t shut-“
The door of the van was pulled open, and Ben jumped to his feet, hearing Her heartbeat start to rise as she did the same. But, instead of the blood and chaos Ben expected, was ready for, a short woman with a gleam in her dark eyes stood on the other side.
“Butcher, you look just as shitty as I expected. Should’ve listened to MM about staying behind.” Her voice was the cold, methodical one. Ben hated it, and hated how it matched her smug, stone-like face.
“If you’re as smart as you claim to be, Sister, you should know I do what I bloody want.” Butcher gave the woman a hateful, mocking smile.
She just gave a small nod back. “Well, I am ‘as smart as I claim to be’, and you are ‘doing what you want’. Reliable as always, William.” Her gaze turned to Ben. “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you, Soldier Boy. I knew they would be going for some sort of Hail Mary, and even though I was hoping for something more intelligent, maybe flipping Neuman, this will work fine. And you…” Her voice trailed, and a disarming smile grew across her face. “I don’t know you. I know everybody.”
Behind Ben, Her heartbeat was like thunder. “Glad to be an exception to such a weird and creepy rule.”
“Who are you? No, wait.” Sage titled her head. “I want to guess.”
The tapping had begun, and the drums had started their march from Ben’s chest to his head.
“You’re not Butcher’s friend, he doesn’t have any. You’re not CIA… not Vought. Not with Nueman, she wouldn’t be that stupid. I’ve seen pictures of all the supervillains Homelander tried to make, and-“ A first, true smile split across Sage’s face just as Her heartbeat became deafening. “Oh! Interesting. That hit a nerve, but how?”
Ben stepped forward, fists clenched, as Sage’s eyes scanned Her closely. “I don’t know what kind of big shot you think you are, but I’d shut the fuck up now before I make your mouth fill up with blood.”
“I’m good,” she gave Ben a sideways look. “Although that’s also interesting. Now, you aren’t military, or a terrorist. You don’t seem quite as idiotically rage-blind as the others, you might even be intelligent. Or, well, intelligent by human standards.”
“You going to keep shooting in the dark, and waste all our time?” Her voice had moved closer, and Ben knew he’d only have to turn his head slightly to see that glassy-eyed stare focused on Sage, who only hummed.
“I’ll get it, don’t worry about that. My shot in the dark has floodlights compared to yours. But time is a finite resource, especially now. You just have to come on out to join the party, and we’ll get started.”
Ben twisted to find Her exchanging doubtful looks with Butcher, who spoke first.
“How do we know you ain’t just killed them, and are luring us out to finish the job?”
“Because that’s fucking stupid.” Sage said with an annoyed frown. “And I’m frankly a little insulted you think I'd do something that plainly dumb. You would’ve heard it. In fact, Soldier Boy can probably hear them, alive, right now. I just told them to stay there and be quiet or I’d start screaming about Starlight trying to kidnap and traffic me. People would hear me, we’re at a warehouse in Queens, not fucking Montana.”
Ben gave an eye roll as all eyes turned to him. “Why do I have to fucking check? There’s a goddamn window right there. Just fucking look outside. Or those pussies can just grow some fucking balls and tell us they’re alive.”
“Ben,” Her voice was tired, and he could still hear the pressure of her heart against her ribs. “You can hear them anyway. Just fucking tell us, please.”
“Fine,” he grunted. He could hear them anyway, so he gave a tight nod after making a whole stupid fucking show of listening for signs of life, but fuck him if this was going to become a regular thing. Ben was not, threat of dick-burning be damned, going to be reduced to recon.
But Her stopped trying to claw out of her when he confirmed Sage’s words, and Ben felt an odd, satisfying rush through him when he heard it.
“Can we move?” Sage stepped aside with an exaggerated sweep of her arm.
Butcher left first, and before Ben could follow, a hand grabbed his arm. He turned back to see barely-contained panic on across Her face—panic he could feel with the tightening of her grip.
“Sage can’t know,” She whispered to him. “Don’t tell her.”
“About what?” Ben frowned, trying to ignore where she still held his arm. Firmly. Unflinchingly.
She didn’t even pull back as she spoke. “Me. If she knows about me, she’ll tell Homelander. He’ll know I’m in New York. He’ll know I’m working with Butcher. He’ll find me and bring me back. Don’t tell her.”
Disturbingly, it wasn’t only the angered acceleration of her heart eating at Ben. It was realizing that her face wasn’t full of panic. It was fear—real fear—in her eyes. He’d never seen her just afraid. He’d seen her infuriated and nervous and exhausted but never simply, rawly afraid. He didn’t like it. She hadn’t become that hollow shell he’d seen at the beginning, or that unbearably tragic picture, looking far away as she told him about Homelander. She was just as unbendable as he knew her, but paralyzed. Made of only pure, useless fucking fear.
So he meant every fucking word he spoke. “I won’t. We’re not going back there.”
“We?” She didn’t let go, her face unreadable.
“I’m not going back in the fucking box, you’re not going back to that pussy Homelander. I’m going to kill them, and you’re going to let me leave. That was the fucking deal.”
She nodded, glancing down at her hands on his arm, and her hold on him loosened. “That was the deal.” She echoed, and walked past him without another word.
They stepped out onto the street and began to follow Sage into the warehouse, Butcher’s Pussysquad walking ahead of them. The moment Ben was at the door, MM turned, raising a flat palm to halt him. “No, you stay right fucking there. You are not a part of this.”
“I’m not listening if he’s not.” Sage said smoothly, looking Ben up and down.
“Great, you two can bond over hating convenient conversation.” She muttered from next to Ben, glaring a hole in the floor.
“Fuck off, Sunshine. I’m charming and endearing, not a bragging, self-assured bitch.” He muttered back as the argument about where he should stand stretched on for far too fucking long.
“You are the most braggadocios, self-assured bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”
“I’m not the bitch that just used ‘braggadocios’ in a sentence like an asshole pussy.”
“At least I know the word at all. I think you came out of the womb knowing only pussy, bitch, and fuck and decided that was more than enough.”
“You sound like a fucking bitch right now.”
“You sound like a cunt who wants to fuck his mirror all the time.”
Ben looked back down to see a thin-lipped, but painless, smile creeping across her face. “One day you should ask my mirror how it is. I’ll receive a fucking amazing endorsement, and you’ll beg me to give you a fucking chance.”
“Endorsement’s a pretty big word, pretty boy. Are you sure you don’t need to sit down now?”
He did a double-take. “Did you just fucking call me pretty-“
“Oi, either fuck right now or come and do your fucking jobs.” Butcher yelled from inside, the argument apparently over with a victory for Sage.
“Please don’t fuck right now,” Cocksucker mumbled, and She rolled her eyes, leaving Ben’s side to stand amongst the group.
“I think I’ll manage to keep it together.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone and was painted across her face, but she didn’t flinch away as Ben came up behind her.
Sage was eyeing Her still, and Ben liked the woman less by the second. Even as Starlight spoke, Sage’s attention didn’t move, remaining locked on Her as if trying to pick her apart.
“We know how Homelander screwed you, Sage. He’s screwed all of us.”
“Screwed feels like a bloody generous term for ass-fucking to completion and then cutting off our balls.” Butcher muttered.
“Butcher,” Cocksucker sighed. “Unnecessarily gross.”
“I don’t know,” the French Prick, having apparently re-joined the group when Ben hadn’t been paying attention, mused. “The visualization helps.”
Cocksucker gaped at him. “How?”
“Well, either way-“
“It raises the stakes, no?” The French Prick cut off Starlight, a look of impossibly genuine concentration on his face. “Screwing is gentle, possibly playful. Monsieur Butcher's words make the issue far more…” As he searched for the words, Kimiko made another weird fucking gesture, and a smile spread across the French Prick’s face. “Oui, Mon Coeur. Fucking urgent. Far more fucking urgent.”
“Great, more urgent.” Starlight blinked, clearly giving a pathetic attempt to regain control. It was glorious for Ben to watch. “Now, we think-“
“It was still gross, things can be urgent and not gross.” Cocksucker frowned at the French Prick.
“Hughie,” Starlight hissed.
“Shit, sorry Annie-“
“No, petite Hughie, the gross nature of the words is what makes them so urgent.” The French Prick argued. “It makes them more difficult to ignore.”
MM gave an attempt to push back that didn’t involve nearly enough shouting or threats for Ben’s taste. “The words don’t matter, now just listen to Annie-“
“Words fucking matter, Mate." Butcher interjected. Ben agreed, if they didn’t then the whole stupid fucking list would have been for nothing.
“Not right now, Butcher, right now all that matters is we listen to Annie-“
“Well, Butcher’s technically right. Words do really fucking matter.” She chimed in from Ben’s side. “Language is a pillar of culture, and different words will have the same translations but different meanings across cultures.”
MM gave Her a disbelieving stare. “You too?”
“What words have different meanings across cultures?” Cocksucker asked, sounding somehow genuinely interested.
“More often than not, it’s symbolic changes, such as colors and animals having different connotations or there being a wide variety of words for one language that only has a few.”
“This can’t wait?” Starlight asked, throwing MM a hopeless look. Ben hoped it couldn’t. As utterly boring as the words coming out of Her mouth were, he’d never seen her so enthusiastic about something that wasn’t a piece of media to be explained. Her heartbeat was rising, yes, but it was beating like a drug, not a gun, against Ben’s head. This, this was tolerable, and if Starlight fucking stopped it he might have to kill her.
It was MM though, who said Her name firmly. As she trailed off, he looked at her with raised eyebrows and a frown. “You done?”
Ben could hear the chew of Her lip, and she nodded apologetically, shooting a nervous look to where Sage was watching Her with narrow eyes. If Ben was smart about it, he was pretty sure he could kill Sage, MM, and Starlight in one move. Unfortunately, that would probably make Her all bitchy and angry at him, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Maybe he could make it look like an accident.
“Great,” Starlight sighed. “Sage, Homelander has fucked all of us.” Butcher gave an approving grin as Starlight threw him a dirty look. “He needs to be stopped.”
“And what makes you think you can stop him? You’ve tried numerous times, and every attempt has blown up in your face more spectacularly than the last.”
“We have a plan.” Starlight said, standing up straighter.
“Then you don’t need me.”
“That’s what I fucking said.” Butcher grumbled.
“But they didn’t listen to you, which means whatever you’re trying isn’t a revenge-blind, foolish Butcher special.”
“Love, if you’re implying I’m a fucking idiot-“
“Wasn’t implying. Outright said it.”
“We can still bloody kill you-“
“Butcher,” MM said with a glare. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Well, I ain’t bloody wrong. Her power is ‘smart’, she’s not a fucking threat. We got the real threat on our side.” Butcher gave Her a wide, smug grin.
Right at Ben’s side, She froze.
“The ‘real threat’?” Sage asked, and turned slowly to examine Her once more.
“Soldier Boy,” MM said, looking between Her and Sage. “You know what he can do. We didn’t bring him back for nothing.”
“No, but you did bring him back… Why?” Sage wondered aloud, and Ben could hear the insufferable gears of her bitch brain turning. “Because you had the real threat. Not him, something worse.” Sage’s mouth turned up just the gleam in her eyes returned. “The Anomaly.”
“I- what are you- I don’t know what-“ Ben didn’t need to see Her eyes to know that the fear had returned. It was in every word She spoke, and he wanted to rip it out of her and shove it into Sage. “You don’t- I don’t-“
“He told me you died. Horrible accident, fourth shot of V didn’t take, and you combusted. I knew he was lying, I just thought he’d decided he wanted more secrecy and moved you, killed you himself, or you’d escaped and were on the other side of the world. Very, very stupid of you to come back.”
“If you know what happened to her, you should know what a fucking monster Homelander is.” Starlight said. “You should listen to what we have to say.”
“Not interested anymore.” Sage gave a dismissive gesture, another fucking smile creeping onto her features. “The Anomaly, alive and working with Starlight and Butcher? Working with Soldier Boy? This is good, this changes things.”
Ben braced his arms at his side, his anger feeding into the beat against his chest, moving forward as She took a weak, stumbled step further behind him. “You listen, or lose your fucking life.”
“I think I’ll just go. I had a much more dramatic reveal, but you have been set up, and this building is surrounded.” Sage sighed. “I would say I wish I could’ve played into the theatrics you all love a little more, but I’m actually incredibly fucking relieved I don’t have to. I’ll see everybody soon, and good luck with whatever you’re planning. I’m sure it will be entertaining.”
Before Ben could give in to the drums, or even more to grab her, the warehouse was flooded with men in black suits.
“Fuck,” Butcher shouted, pulling out a gun from thin fucking air. “What’s the point of having a super-hearing supe if you can’t fucking hear a warehouse full of enemies?”
“Sound-suppressing suits,” the French Prick yelled, taking a step behind Kimiko as he too pulled a weapon from nowhere. “I was developing them with the CIA, Vought must have gotten their fucking hands on them.”
MM pulled out his own gun, and Ben was now pretty fucking sure they were all keeping them up their asses. “Does Mallory know about them?”
“Oui, but they must have just gotten their hands on them, I finished them only two days ago.”
“When we made the fucking plan to meet with Sage,” Cocksucker had, like the cowardly pussy Ben knew him to be, moved behind Starlight. “But she can’t have known we had Soldier Boy, why would she spend time to get them?”
“Sage is nothing if not careful,” MM fired up at the descending men. “We need to get out of here, right fucking now.”
The words had hardly left MM’s mouth when the warehouse lit up with bullets.
“Are you just going to let Sage fucking get away?” Ben yelled, remaining firmly planted where he was, bullets bouncing off him like rain.
“Excuse us, Gov, not all of us are bloody immortal. And we quite like living, so shut the fuck up and be useful.” Butcher ran past Ben, firing back as he did.
Ben scowled at nothing, punching one of the men backwards like a bowling ball when he got too close. “She’s going back to Homelander, that feels pretty fucking important-“
“The doors are fucking blocked!” Cocksucker’s shrill, pussy yell cut Ben off. “They’re everywhere!”
“Then move them, you fucking pussy!” Ben threw another up into the ceiling.
He felt fucking alive. All around him, Butcher’s team was being the most useful they’d ever need in their pathetic pussy lives. The French Prick was holding something weird and long that Ben would very much like to use later, Butcher and MM were firing with an intent to kill that Ben appreciated, Kimiko ripped off a man's head with ease, and Ben was starting to hate her a little less than the rest of them. Even Starlight and Cocksucker were vaguely helpful, even if Starlight was mostly invested in keeping Cocksucker and his weak punches safe. It was fucking perfect, right until  Ben threw another man into the wall, leaving a dent in the concrete, and saw Her.
She was right where they’d left her, smoking but not yet burning, men trying to grab her but falling back with screams as they did. Her bloodless, frozen face was trained on where Sage had stood, and despite the chorus of gunshots and shouting through the warehouse, her heartbeat was as loud as if Ben were right next to her. The tapping was fast—faster than he’d ever heard it, her eyes were unblinking and glazed, and blood was dripping from her lips as she chewed through skin.
She was going to fucking blow.
Another man, in almost slow motion, grabbed Her. But not on the arms or shoulder like the others had attempted. Right on the fucking neck. Ben watched as the idiot's hand landed on Her throat, watched her eyes widen and clear, and watched the man let out an undignified, pussy-like shriek as he recoiled back. But it was too fucking late. The smoke stopped, for only a second, and Ben could’ve sworn the ground fucking shook.
Everything went up into flames.
“Fuck!” Ben heard MM roar from somewhere behind him. “Everyone out! Get the fuck out!”
Ben sent another man flying back, directly into the fire, as he kept his eyes on Her. Still frozen, eyes no longer clouded, looking almost fucking oblivious to the flames around her. She didn’t seem to be burning anymore, only standing in the fire that had burst from her. Her eyes were full of that fear again, shooting upwards as the first piece of the roof fell down with a crash.
“The doors! Open the fucking doors!”
Ben turned to find Butcher shouting as Kimiko and MM struggled with the warehouse entrance. Ben glanced back at Her, but his line of sight was cut as another piece fell. Somehow, over all the noise, Ben heard Butcher once more.
“Soldier Boy, get your cunt ass over here and be fucking useful. Open the fucking doors!”
Ben grabbed one of the idiotic men who hadn’t either burned or tried to scramble away, throwing him directly to the warehouse door. The man shot right through the building, clearing a hole to the outside with a crunch. In the momentary shocked silence of the groups struggle, fire crackled, and another piece of the warehouse fell.
“Out!” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw MM practically push Cocksucker through the hole. “Now! Get out!”
Ben stared at the hole, Her heartbeat ripping into him. He could leave her. The building would fall, and he could fucking run in the time it took to pull her out. He could be fucking free, ahead of schedule, no killing Homelander and saving a stupid fucking world full of backstabbing pussies required. They’d find another way to kill Homelander, or not. It wouldn’t be his problem. Ben couldn’t even see her through the smoke and debris anymore. It would be so fucking easy to leave, kill Butcher, and escape.
But Her heartbeat wouldn’t fucking stop. It would keep going and going into his head. And the drum hated it, every time it sank into him, it fed the fucking drum.
He wasn’t moving. He needed to fucking move, or they’d realize his plan and try and knock him out. He wasn’t going back in the fucking box.
And She wasn’t going back to Homelander.
“Fuck!” He yelled at no one, partially hoping she’d just walk out, or someone would call him forward. But all the team had left them, and now the warehouse was just Ben, Her, and a bunch of ill-fated Vought shit-eaters.
Ben turned, throwing the wreckage as he did. It probably wasn’t helpful to the general state of the building the way he did so, but he wasn’t in the mood to be a fucking careful or gentle pussy. He reached Her, and found her passed out, face almost empty. If it weren’t for the sound of her breath, the still-quick flutter of her heart, Ben would’ve thought her dead.
“If you don’t become at least 10% less of a bitch after this Sunshine,” he grumbled at her unconscious body. “I’m throwing you right back in here.”
But he hauled Her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ignoring the way she seared into his skin, and walked through his previous path to the exit.
———-
The ride back from the disastrous mission made Ben want to blow everyone’s fucking brains out of their heads. There were weird looks, hushed questions about what happened that he had to pretend he couldn’t hear, and a whole lot of self-righteous, sad faces. It was made worse by the fact that She didn’t even wake up until they were fully back in the safe house, meaning Ben had to fucking carry her inside. Butcher offered, but Ben had just glared at him—as far as Ben was concerned, the dick just wanted to take advantage of one of the only “safe” times to touch her—and refused to even respond.
Ben dumped Her in her room, and marched back downstairs to find Butcher still in the fucking living room.
“What the fuck do you want?” Ben grumbled, pushing past him to the kitchen.
“Well, I would usually tell your girlfriend, but seeing as she's taking a bloody little nap you’ll have to do.”
“She’d cut off your dick if she heard that,” Ben snorted. “Take it from my personal experience.”
“Good thing she can’t. Just tell her we’ll be back in a few days for operation Quick and Bald.”
"Operation Quick and Bald?" Ben huffed a sarcastic laugh. “I am not fucking saying those words.”
Butcher smirked. “Your head, Gov. See you in a few days.”
And Ben was left alone in the kitchen.
It took all the way to morning for Her to wake up. She stumbled into Ben’s room with a frown and a determined look.
“Teach me how to fight.”
Ben gave her a lazy half-grin from the bed. “Welcome back, Sunshine. Anything you’d like to say to me? A thank you, for instance. Though I would also accept acts of gratitude.”
“I’m not sucking your dick. Teach me how to fight.”
“I’m good. Not in my job description.”
She glared at him. "Technically, you don’t have a job. We’re not paying you. Teach me how to fight.”
“They’re not paying you either, Sunshine. We’re both victims.”
“I’m legally dead, they can’t pay me. And you’re the farthest thing from a victim, Mr. Body Count in the Thousands. Teach me how to fight.”
“No.” Ben had no interest in doing more for these fucking idiots. He’d already saved her life once in the past day, that should earn him enough fucking gratitude to coast for at least a damn month.
“Please, Ben, this can’t keep happening where I lose control, someone could really get hurt.” She rubbed her eyes in obvious distress. “People did get hurt.”
“So? Hurting people is what we do. You shouldn’t be in the field if you can’t fucking handle it.” Ben repeated the words he had so often told himself through the years. It had always fucking worked for him. She shouldn’t be any different.
“I can’t fucking handle it?!” She scoffed in disbelief. “That’s a mighty stupid thing for the pot to say to the kettle.”
Ben shot her a cold look. “I know how to fucking hold my own, Sunshine, I don’t need someone to fucking save me. You can’t fucking control yourself at all, and it’s a goddamn problem.”
“Nobody made you go back, you could’ve just fucking left me.” She hissed.
"Well, I didn’t,” Ben growled. “Don’t make me fucking regret it.”
“I could say the same for you. You’re only out of the box because I wanted you here-”
“Aw, Sunshine, you wanted me?” He mocked.
“I wanted your powers here. You’re just the vessel.”
“I saved your fucking life, bitch.”
“And I’m sure you’re not going to be a fucking cunt about that forever.”
“You need me.” He shot to his feet. “Don’t fucking forget it.”
She took a step forward, her face venomous. “No, you need me. What do you think happens if they decide I’m a ‘problem’ now, huh? They send me home, and just trust you not to go all revenge-fueled vigilante? If I burn, you burn, Ben. So fucking teach me how to not be a ‘problem’, or it’s your fucking head.”
He bared his teeth at Her. “If I teach you how to fight, will you stop being a fucking pussy and thank me for saving you?”
“Teach me how to fight, really fight and not just throw a punch, and I’ll buy you a fucking fleshlight.”
“What the fuck is a fleshlight?”
She gave him a mocking smirk. “Trust me, you’ll love them.”
Ben paused, examining Her face, angered but firm. “I want three of them.” He still wasn't sure what they were, but She had been frustratingly fucking accurate about what he would and wouldn't like.
“Deal.” She extended her hand, and he glared at it.
“If I hate them, you’re cooking me something.”
“You’d volunteer to be poisoned?” She laughed. “Your funeral, dumbass.”
He ignored her words, and shook her hand as aggressively as he could. “Meet me in the kitchen in three hours. I’m going to make you fucking cry.”
She grinned. “Looking forward to it.”
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