#s.o. writes things
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
spaceorphan18 · 2 days ago
Text
Okay. So.
I cannot say how grateful and thankful I am for having such wonderful artists in the Glee fandom. @esilher is so incredibly talented, and to have their work represent my fic was such an unexpected delight.
This piece is wonderfully gorgeous, and I'm so grateful to have it attached to something I wrote.
Thank you, thank you, thank you <3 <3 <3
Tumblr media Tumblr media
For the story The End of the Story by @spaceorphan18 for the Fanzine 2025.
This is definitely the drawing I struggled with the most. I tried it over and over again, even though I'm not patient at all. And I'm really glad I had the opportunity to do it, because even though over time I see lots of things I'd change, I love it a lot. It reminds me of all the emotions, the sadness, the poetry, the deep love…of this story. At first (drawing on the right), I had a fairly classic idea in their Dalton uniform. Then, I don't know why, I reversed the dark tones to light ones, and that gave me the white outfits! And so, I reworked in that direction to have the final version on the left. I love this scene so much, they go in the opposite direction, go back up the stairs, like a kind of movie in reverse…
96 notes · View notes
spaceorphan18 · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
Alright. So. This is a thing that happened....
I... maybe have written my first real X-Men - Rogue/Gambit fic. Inspired by an interview X-Men 97 Gambit Voice Actor did. And then, it got posted to Twitter. And then said Gambit Voice Actor reblogged it, READ IT, and commented.
I am so... shellshocked you guys. I cannot believe this happened. I just... I was shaking when I found out today. This is wild and amazing and I'm so flattered and wow. I just can't even believe it.
I have literally been smiling all day.
<3
486 notes · View notes
littlemoriflower · 2 years ago
Text
"I wish I could feel your smell. Not in a creepy way...Just in the way lovers do when they hold each other close. I would bury my face in the crook of your neck and, uh, breath, you know? Breath you in as much as my lungs could take, then, I would exhale and do it all over again."
0 notes
thepencilnerd · 3 months ago
Text
Echo
Tumblr media
pairing: Jack Abbot x doctor!Reader summary: Under the bright lights of a fundraising gala, what began as polite smiles and veiled jabs unravels into something far more intimate. Between rooftop confessions, quiet grief, and a night neither party can take back, something buried for years finally comes undone. warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, f!reader), blood and trauma in a hospital setting, description of medical procedures and deaths genre/notes: slow burn, frenemies to lovers (much banter), robby cameo + being a father figure, heavy angst + heavy fluff, hurt/comfort, emotionally repressed idiots in love, non-linear timeline, one (1) very touch-starved man, abbot down bad for his s.o. and def has a pain kink, balcony sex + confessions, pwp word count: 9k a/n: love letter to grief, rooftop confessions, and all the things left unsaid (+ shameless, self-indulgent smut), basically i saw this dress on pinterest and i—
The hospital’s annual fundraiser was all overpriced wine and board member schmoozing—the kind of thing Jack Abbot usually avoided. He and Robby had spent the better part of the week arguing with Gloria about why they really didn’t need to be the ones attending.
“But who better to represent the emergency department than its finest?” Gloria had smiled with teeth. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer we reallocate your trauma bay supply order for next fiscal quarter?"
Abbot had muttered something under his breath. Robby had called it extortion. Gloria had walked away victorious.
“If she reassigns our trauma supply budget one more time, I swear to God I’m quitting,” Robby had muttered, though they both knew he wouldn’t.
“Right there with you, brother,” Jack had said dryly.
Which was how he ended up in a suit, lingering by the bar with his tie already loosened.
The gala was obscene in its extravagance. A live string quartet played near the grand staircase. Crystal chandeliers caught every glint of champagne. Rich donors floated from one hors d'oeuvre table to the next, laughing politely and stuffing their faces with canapés that probably cost more than a full day of supplies for the ER.
It made Jack sick.
Not the donations—he appreciated those. Hell, the hospital needed them. But the tone of it, the way money moved through the room like perfume: thick, cloying, and designed to mask something rotten underneath. The people here didn’t know what a trauma bay smelled like at 3 a.m. They didn’t care. They were here to write a check, slap their name on a wing, and pretend it made them saints.
Jack took a sip of his club soda and stared at the bottom of his glass.
He wanted to gouge his eyes out. He just wasn’t sure which fork to use.
Scanning the room, his eyes landed on Robby across the space, mid-conversation with a bejeweled donor who looked like she’d never set foot inside a hospital ward. Robby’s eyes caught Jack’s for the briefest second and widened—just enough to scream help me. Jack raised his glass and shot him a wink.
Then he saw you. He'd recognize your stride anywhere. 
What he definitely hadn’t expected was the red satin dress.
Floor-length, plunging back, slit high at the left thigh, the kind of fabric that caught the light like it was trying to start a fire. When you walked into the room, it was almost as though time stopped. You were across the room, charming some rich donor, laughing politely as he fumbled through a question about pediatric trauma outcomes.
Jack didn’t hear the question. He didn’t hear your answer either.
As you turned away from the donor, your bright smile dropped like a mask torn off. Your jaw clenched. You let out a tight breath through your nose, barely more than a sigh. It was the kind of reaction only someone who’d seen you under a hundred different kinds of stress might catch.
Then you looked up and locked eyes with him. You froze.
Goddamn did Jack Abbot look good in a suit.
Salt-and-pepper curls styled just enough to look deliberate, not overdone. The tux hugged his frame perfectly—sharp at the shoulders, tailored at the waist, cutting the kind of silhouette that belonged on a magazine cover instead of an ER floor. He’d even opted for a close shave, his normally stubbled facial hair absent. And his tie—loosened just a touch too much—left a sliver of his throat visible, collar open like he’d tried to behave and gave up halfway through the evening.
You didn’t smile. Neither did he.
But neither of you looked away.
Tumblr media
The first time you met Dr. Jack Abbot, you were fresh off your fourth twelve-hour day shift that week. For the first two years of your residency, you’d been under Robby’s wing—solid, day-shift training, plenty of first-time experiences, and a support system that kept you steady. But when it came time to switch rotations, it was Robby who recommended you move to nights.
"More fast-paced," he’d reasoned. "Higher stakes. They could use your skills. You’re ready."
You’d heard about Jack Abbot by then. Everyone had. Ex-military. Brilliant. Demanding. A damn good trauma attending, and an even tougher mentor. You were equal parts intrigued and warned.
The ED hallway was buzzing, but you didn’t miss the way Jack paused as you approached. He glanced at your badge, then at your posture—upright, composed, betraying none of the exhaustion you carried—and finally at the trauma board.
“Hope you’re fast,” was all he said, voice low and dry, like a test he didn’t expect you to pass.
Turns out, you were more than fast. You were precise. Efficient. Clinical.
When a GSW came in thirty minutes later—a young man with a single penetrating wound to the upper abdomen—you and Abbot stepped in together. He hung back just enough to supervise, giving you space to lead the resuscitation while staying close.
You scanned the vitals: hypotensive, tachycardic, altered mentation. “GSW to the upper abdomen, likely mesenteric involvement. Initial BP was 80/40 with HR in the 130s, GCS at 13 but trending downward. Type and crossmatch. Two units O-neg. Prep for a laparotomy?” you asked, assessing quickly as you reached for gloves. Abbot nodded once, already handing you a sterile gown without a word.
He didn’t stop you, but he didn’t let you coast either.
“What’s your plan if the pressure doesn’t stabilize after the second unit?” he asked as you both finished gowning up.
“Call for a third, reassess fluid responsiveness, consider vasopressors if no improvement,” you replied, already focused.
“And if there’s massive hemoperitoneum?”
“Prioritize source control. Suction, pack, find the bleeder.”
Jack gave a small, approving hum. Then you glanced back at him, sharp, poised. He was holding out the handle of a blade to you—steady, without fanfare.
“I’m not handling it,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are.”
You blinked once, then reached for the blade. Gloved fingers curled around the handle as the rest of the room faded into peripheral noise. It was your show now—and he was trusting you to lead it.
The team moved quickly. You made the incision, suctioned blood, clamped the bleeder—a mesenteric vessel torn clean. Laparotomy pads soaked in seconds. Abbot kept an eye on the monitor, watching your hands. You found the source and controlled it, methodical and focused, with Jack’s quiet presence steady behind your shoulder.
Jack nodded once, the faintest glimmer of something like approval in his eyes. After the patient was wheeled off to the OR, gloves off and adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin, he tossed you a saline flush and a towel. The rest of the team was still moving in organized flurries, cleaning up the bay, resetting trays, pulling down blood-streaked drapes. You peeled off your gloves slowly, breath catching up to you now that the adrenaline was fading.
The smell of antiseptic, blood, and sweat clung to everything. Your scrub top was damp with effort. And still, Jack hadn’t said anything else. Just watched you like he was recalibrating something in his head. Taking the measure of you.
“Not bad,” he said.
You raised a brow. “Not bad?”
He smirked. “Guess we’ll keep you. Though I should probably check the return policy with Robby before the trial period ends.”
Then, lower—just for you: “Though going nipples to navel on that first cut? That’s no man’s land. Bit too risky of a procedure for me to do myself.”
You blinked, thrown off your axis, trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or sincere—or both. “What?”
But Jack was already walking away, gloves off, like he hadn’t just left you standing there like a deer in headlights.
Tumblr media
You weren’t expecting to see him either.
Jack Abbot in a tux. Sharp lapels. Cuffs neat. Hair styled but slightly tousled like he hadn’t quite figured out how to look formal without messing it up on purpose. Heat rose to your face, tinting it the color of the rosé being served tonight. 
Turning around, you reached for a flute of champagne to occupy your thoughts. He’d just crossed the room, weaving past a pair of donors discussing their latest golf fundraiser, his eyes never leaving you. The clink of glass and silver faded just enough for you to hear the soft brush of his dress shoes stop beside yours.
“Red,” he said, nodding toward your dress. "Didn’t think it was in your rotation." He caught the soft trace of your perfume just as you inhaled the quiet warmth of his cologne. 
You arched a brow. “Tux? Let me guess—last worn at prom?”
He huffed a laugh. The corner of his mouth tilted. "Wouldn't you like to know."
“Not really,” you smirked.
He leaned a little closer, voice low. "How’d Gloria rope you into this mess?"
You took a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before replying, “She said the hospital needed a pretty face for the press photos.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “And you volunteered willingly, I assume?”
“I did. She said she wanted someone who wasn’t going to mention sock puppets in his opening speech.”
Jack tilted his head. "So you pointed her to literally anyone but me and Robby."
You smiled into your glass. “You and Robby are very pretty. Just not ‘donate-millions-of-dollars’ pretty.”
He cracked a grin. “Fair enough.”
You both leaned back slightly, falling into a rare pocket of easy quiet.
“If I'm being honest,” he said after a breath, “these things make my skin crawl. Donors patting themselves on the back for saving lives they’ve never seen.”
“Agreed,” you murmured. “It’s like they want the moral gold star without the 2 a.m. trauma call. Or the third straight shift without sleep.”
Jack glanced sideways at you. “Or the resident paycheck that barely covers rent.”
You let out a dry laugh. “And definitely not the part where we spend a decade training, rack up six figures of debt, and still have to fight for safe staffing ratios.”
He nodded once, quiet. “But hey, at least they get their name etched onto a plaque of a hallway they'll get lost in.”
"God," you sighed. "I'd love to switch places with them for a day." 
Jack snorted. “Five minutes in a trauma bay and they’d be crying into their cufflinks.”
You were about to take another sip when you paused. “You realize you’re wearing cufflinks.”
“Which is why I’m drinking soda instead of champagne. Keeps me grounded.”
A quiet breath escaped you, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Your commitment to moral superiority is truly inspiring.”
He gave you a narrowed look, not quite smiling but close. “Someone’s gotta keep the place honest.” 
You smiled to yourself, looking down and shaking your head, before excusing yourself to go charm another cluster of donors. “See you around—Jack.”
You’d only ever said his first name once before.
He noticed.
Jack stood there a second too long, stunned, watching your retreating back like he wasn’t sure what just happened—or why it mattered so much.
Tumblr media
The patient was coding. Jack was tied up in Room 3 with a liver lac. You were alone when Trauma 2 rolled in—blunt trauma, hypotensive, bleeding out.
You didn’t wait. “I need two large-bore IVs, rapid sequence intubation kit, and thoracotomy tray—stat,” you barked to the team, already moving. “Start the MTP now.”
You slid the laryngoscope in cleanly, tube placed with practiced precision.
“Vitals are dropping,” a nurse called out.
“I know,” you forced out. “Keep pushing the units.”
The tray snapped open beside you. You didn’t hesitate. Just in case.
Abbot walked in right as you pulled your hands back, already prepped.
His eyes flicked from the open thoracotomy tray to the line placement to your gloved hands, bloody up to the wrists. He froze mid-step.
Then, without missing another beat, he stepped in beside you. “What the hell?” he muttered, voice low and calm. He didn’t raise it. He never did when it really mattered.
His presence was immediate—like someone flipping a switch—and suddenly the entire bay adjusted to him, calibrated around the two of you.
You didn’t look at him. Just adjusted your grip and said, “Vitals holding. Pressure’s up.”
“Balloon’s a little high,” he murmured, his voice almost too soft to hear over the hum of monitors.
You didn’t flinch, but your pulse jumped. “Adjusted,” you said, fingers tightening slightly on the handle as you recalibrated, eyes glued to the screen.
A beat passed. Then another.
The pressure crept upward. Slowly. Steadily.
The patient stabilized.
You exhaled quietly through your nose, trying to ignore the chill of adrenaline threading down your spine. Jack was still watching you—too closely. And you couldn’t tell if he was impressed or pissed or both. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.
When you finally looked up, his eyes locked with yours—steady, unreadable, searching like he was still deciding how angry he was allowed to be.
“You never should’ve done that without approval from an attending,” he said quietly, the words measured but firm, laced with something heavier beneath the surface.
You nodded, jaw clenched. “Understood.”
Jack stepped closer. Lowered his voice.
“But that was pretty badass. You just saved a life. Good job.”
Then he turned and left the trauma bay. The moment lingered—his words echoing in your ears louder than they should have.
Every pair of eyes seemed to shift away once he left, the noise of the trauma bay gradually returning to its usual rhythm. Monitors beeped. Carts wheeled past. Gloves peeled off with a quiet snap and hit the bin. Hands—steady during the crisis—now trembled faintly.
Pride lingered. So did fear. And you weren’t sure which feeling was winning.
Outside by the nurses' bay, Jack was leaning against the wall, one foot braced behind him, chart in hand but not moving. His gaze was distant—somewhere far beyond the clipboard. A crooked smirk ghosted across his lips, then faded as quickly as it had come. He was still thinking about what you'd done. How steady your hands had been. How much you'd grown.
He’d been impressed. He’d also been scared.
That kind of procedure… it wasn’t something he’d ever do lightly. And you? You hadn’t hesitated. Not out of recklessness, but because you’d known it was the right call. The only call.
"Ballsy," he muttered under his breath. "Damn near reckless."
But his chest swelled—quietly, privately—with something that felt a lot like pride.
Tumblr media
The third time you ran into each other that night, it wasn’t by accident.
You were leaning against a balcony railing, champagne nearly gone. One glass hadn’t been enough to drown out the unbearable jargon and vapid conversations—but you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go overboard tonight. Just enough to appear socially well-versed. 
The night had cooled, the breeze brushing goosebumps along your bare arms. Jack found you there, hands in his pockets, jacket unbuttoned, eyes catching on the subtle shiver that moved through your frame.
“You always hide from donors this early?” he asked.
You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. You’d heard those footsteps enough times to recognize the rhythm—the soft, sure cadence of someone who never rushed but never wandered. A grin tugged at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it. Subtle. Reflexive. Familiar.
“Only the boring ones.”
He smirked and stepped beside you, pulling his jacket off with one fluid motion.
Before you could say anything, he draped it over your shoulders—slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed your bare arm on the way down. The heat of him lingered even through the fabric. And then there was the scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, and grounded by something warmer beneath it. The scent made your chest ache with something unnameable—familiar, steady, a little too easy to lean into. It curled in your lungs, lingered in the back of your throat. Your knees dipped slightly, an involuntary response you buried with practiced ease. You’d never admit that, of course. Not even to yourself.
“You’ll freeze,” he said, voice quiet, almost an afterthought.
You didn’t correct him. Just glanced up. He was already looking at you.
“You look good,” he said finally.
Your brow raised.
“In red,” he added, softer this time.
You didn’t say thank you. Just looked at him. Let it sit there for a moment—heavy, a little too charged to touch.
"If you keep being nice to me, people are going to start wondering if the sodas were spiked."
That earned you a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in that infuriatingly subtle way he smiled when he actually meant it.
"Guess I'll have to ruin it with a sober insult later," he said.
You gave him a dry stare. "Looking forward to it."
The air between you tightened, warm and brittle. He shifted just slightly closer, like something unspoken pulled him there.
You shot him a sidelong glance, trying to smother the tension with humor. “Don’t you have some attractive widows to go butter up?”
His lips twitched. “Already secured donations from all of them,” he said, only half joking. Then, quieter, with a faint shrug: “None of them were interesting.”
That gave you pause.
“I prefer women with poor work-life balance and sharp comebacks.” He looked at you again, the curve of his mouth bordering on a real smile now. "You?"
"Hm," you hummed to yourself. "I prefer women with competitive streaks and sharp eyeliner. And men with stress-induced insomnia, commitment issues, and the emotional availability of a damp dishrag."
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. "Bold of you to describe my entire personality like it's a turn-on."
"If the shoe fits," you murmured, toying with your empty glass.
He looked at you then—really looked. Head tilted just enough to feel like he was trying to read something between the lines.
"It’s always the sharp ones," he said. "Cut deepest, don’t they?"
Your lips twitched. "Funny. I was just thinking the same about emotionally repressed men in positions of authority."
"Touché." 
But neither of you moved further.
Jack’s voice lowered, something quieter threading through. “You know, for what it’s worth… I notice. How hard you work. How much you give.”
That caught you off guard. The words settled in your chest, raw and warm. You swallowed around them.
“Then I hope you notice how often it gets overlooked,” you said, voice softer now. “By everyone else.”
His eyes flicked toward yours, something unreadable in them. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe he would.
“Hey!”
Robby’s voice cut through the air like a 10-blade.
You turned, blinking back to the present. Robby's head was poking out of the curtains, waving a hand. “Sorry to interrupt your… mood lighting, but I need to help charm this silver fox donor who won’t stop talking about his golf handicap and yacht collection. Won’t stop asking for the 'hot doctor with attitude.' So naturally, I assumed he meant you.”
You glanced back at Jack, reluctant.
He gave you a nod, but didn’t say anything. Just watched you go.
Before you turned to leave, you slid the jacket from your shoulders and held it out to him. Jack stepped forward to take it, but his fingers brushed yours—warm, lingering, just a second longer than necessary. 
His jaw tightened for half a breath—barely perceptible—before he masked it, reaching to take the jacket with a small nod. His fingers brushed yours again as he pulled it into his arms. The warmth still clung to it—so did your scent. Subtle, familiar, something floral and grounding. It curled in his chest as he inhaled, slow and quiet, like he didn’t mean to. As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze follow you—sharp, lingering, impossible to shake. Like he was still holding something back—he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.
Once you were gone, he allowed himself to bring the jacket up to his face and breathe in lightly, letting the remaining trace of you settle in his lungs. It lingered—clean, unmistakable, and quietly devastating.
Tumblr media
With each year, the line between rivalry and familiarity blurred just a little more.
It wasn’t just that you were the senior-most resident anymore—it was that you were his senior-most resident. The one who matched him pace for pace in trauma bays, who called out orders with the same clipped authority, who rolled your eyes at his sarcastic one-liners only to throw them right back at him.
Jack gave you a hard time. You gave it right back.
It started as cold professionalism. Then it turned sharp. Competitive. Then somehow... comfortable.
“Think you can manage this without slicing through the aorta this time?” Jack murmured once during a late night thoracotomy.
“Only if you don’t pass out from blood loss first, old man,” you replied smoothly.
“Old man,” he repeated under his breath. “Remind me why I let you lead in my trauma bay?”
“Because I’m the best.”
He didn’t respond. Just passed the next instrument with a soft, resigned smirk.
There was a night Shen caught you both bickering over a chart like a married couple.
"The guy had a fever and a murmur—of course I’m thinking endocarditis," you said, exasperated, scribbling into the margins.
"And I’m saying we still need to rule out pulmonary embolism first," Jack shot back, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk.
"I’m writing the note," you reminded him.
"Are you going to type it up for me too?"
"If you want it to be legible."
Jack scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
That’s when Shen passed by, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, "Just kiss already."
Neither of you responded. Jack’s pen stilled in his hand. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.
But later that night, as you leaned against the med station reviewing labs, he passed behind you, fingers grazing your lower back as he brushed by.
Casual. Too casual. And yet, your breath caught anyway.
You didn’t talk about it.
You never talked about it.
But it was there, all the same.
Tumblr media
Back inside, the ballroom lights felt too bright. You smiled at a passing donor, glass still in hand, but your mind was still outside—on the breeze, on his jacket, on the way Jack had looked at you like he wasn’t ready to let you go.
You found yourself drifting toward the edge of the room, eyes scanning unconsciously. Jack had disappeared into the crowd.
Or so you thought.
“Looking for me?”
You turned to see him at your side again, now holding two drinks—one club soda, one bubbling glass. 
You raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get me trashed on overpriced spirits, Dr. Abbot?”
“I would, if this were alcohol.” He offered the glass to you. “It’s ginger ale.”
You eyed it suspiciously, then took it anyway. “Classy.”
He tilted his head, lips twitching. “You called me Jack earlier.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” The bubbles soothed your stomach, uneasy from all the talking and dizzy heights of empty small talk. 
The quiet pressed in, heavy and hesitant, neither of you quite ready to fill it—but neither willing to walk away. 
“Well, Dr. L/N,” he said, tone dipping into something light but curious, “how do you plan on spending the rest of your evening?”
You gave him a half-smile. “Getting some sleep. Or trying to.” You looked back out across the ballroom, then added, “I talked to Robby earlier—offered to be on-call for day shift tomorrow. Filling in for Langdon.”
Jack’s brows lifted. “Aren't you supposed to be off?”
“Yup. So are you,” you said, glancing at him.
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t deny it. You both knew the pattern by now—same days off, same shifts. Neither of you had ever pointed it out.
“What else would I do on a Friday?” There was something brittle in the joke, something quieter under it. “Work keeps me occupied.” 
Jack watched you for a second longer, then said, softer this time, “You shouldn’t have to keep yourself occupied. It's okay to take a breather.”
You let out a dry breath of a laugh, the edge of a smile curling—biting, but small. “That’s rich coming from the only other person who works as many shifts as I do.”
Jack didn’t answer. He just stepped a little closer.
“You could’ve said no to being on-call,” he said. “Could’ve said you had plans.”
“I do,” you retorted. “Sleep for three hours. Chug coffee. Go back.”
Jack tipped his head, like he was trying to read more into your tone than you meant to give away. “Y/N—”
The name stopped you cold. You took a half-step back before you could think better of it, reflexive and immediate, voice clipped and low. “Don’t.”
That caught him off guard.
“I—sorry,” he said, brows furrowing slightly. “I just—”
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, too quickly. 
Jack looked at you then, something close to understanding flickering in his eyes. As though he remembered, too. How could he forget? 
The first time he'd said your name.
Blood on your scrubs. Tears in your throat. A patient you couldn't save.
He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, slowly, and let you go.
Then, just as his mouth parted to say something else—
“Dr. Abbot!” Gloria’s voice rang out from the other end of the ballroom, hand ushering him to come over. “The donor from Penn wants a word before he leaves!”
Jack clenched his jaw. His eyes lingered on yours.
“Rain check,” he said, voice low.
You didn’t answer, just gave a small nod as he walked away. And for a long moment after, you stayed where you were, ginger ale sweating in your hand.
Tumblr media
You didn’t know it at the time, but this was the moment you’d remember whenever someone asked when medicine stopped being just medicine.
The trauma call came in: car accident, two parents and a child, maybe 8 or 9. The parents were in rough shape but still awake, still responsive—moaning through cracked ribs and splintered glass. The kid, though—blunt force, GCS 3 on arrival. Completely unresponsive. You felt it in your gut before the vitals even came in. 
Jack was across the bay when the doors opened. He looked up once—nodded at you. “You’re lead. I'll stabilize the parents." 
You didn’t hesitate. Airway, trauma labs, two large-bore IVs. Portable chest. Fast scan. You called it all before the stretcher stopped moving.
The child’s body was limp. Small. Already pale. The pressure in your chest felt like a dam ready to burst. 
You intubated with steady hands, but your voice faltered—just slightly—when you called for epinephrine. Jack appeared beside you somewhere around the second round of compressions, gloves on, silent. Watching. Present.
“Vitals still unstable,” someone called from behind you. “BP 62 over palp. Pulse weak. We’re pushing TXA now.” At least he'd stabilized the parents, you thought. If he could save them, you could save their little girl. 
Four bags of blood and 18 minutes of chest compressions. The monitor stayed flat.
Still, you kept going. Pushing meds. Calling for another round. Someone offered to take over for compressions, murmured that you needed a break. You shook your head. “I’m fine.”
Then again, more firmly. “I’ve got it.”
No one tried to argue. You were lead. You had it.
Even as your arms began to ache. Even as the blood kept pooling, the compressions rhythmically jarring through your bones. You wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. The team was moving around you, quiet, reverent.
Then Jack stepped in closer.
“Monitor hasn't picked up a rhythm in 12 minutes,” he said gently. “We can't keep up with the blood loss. There's too much internal damage. You know this.”
You shook your head, barely perceptible, and kept going. Compressing, counting, calling for another round of epi.
Jack’s voice stayed level. “Anyone else would’ve been pronounced dead at the scene.”
You ignored him. Just a few more compressions and transfusions and she'd come back. 
Then—
“Y/N.”
That made you freeze.
Your name. His voice.
Your hands were still trembling against the child’s chest.
You looked at the monitor. Heard the continuous tone. Flatline.
No pulse.
“Call it,” Jack pleaded softly.
Your voice was quiet. Hoarse. Cold.
“Time of death, 03:17.”
You stepped back, stripped your gloves off slowly. Fingers stained with blood you couldn’t stop from spilling. Jack said nothing. He didn’t leave.
You swallowed hard, trying to force the tears down. To breathe through the break in your chest.
Jack didn’t touch you this time. He just stood there.
Let you fall apart, silently.
Then you ripped off your gloves and threw them hard into the bin, the sound louder than it had any right to be. You turned and stormed out of the trauma bay without looking back, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
That was the first time he said your name.
And it pulled you back. You never forgot it.
Sometimes you wished you had.
Tumblr media
Back inside, the music had changed.
You’d barely rejoined the crowd when the lights dimmed and the emcee called out for the first dance of the evening.
Across the ballroom, Jack saw you before you saw him. You were standing near the edge of the crowd, nursing the last of your drink, the weight of something invisible pressing into your posture.
But you weren’t alone. A tall man—one of the younger donors—had his hand on your arm, leaning in to say something. He offered you his hand.
Jack’s jaw tensed.
He didn’t move—at first. Just watched as you smiled politely, took the man's hand, let him lead you to the dance floor.
It was brief. Chaste. Just a dance. But Jack hated the way the guy's hand lingered at your waist. Hated how close he stood, how you nodded along to something he said, even if your smile didn’t reach your eyes.
A minute later, you gently swapped out with Robby, excusing yourself from your first partner. Robby took your hand with a flourish and spun you once like a game show host. You smiled for the first time in hours. 
"You okay?" he asked gently, settling into a slower sway with you.
You shrugged. "Long week."
Robby gave you a dad-look. "Anything in particular on your mind, or just the usual existential dread?"
A quiet laugh escaped, softer than you meant for it to. "Just the usual, I guess."
For a while, the two of you swayed in silence. Robby’s gaze stayed soft. "You’ve been a little quiet lately. Even more than usual. You sleeping okay? Eating?"
Instead of answering right away, your eyes drifted to his shoulder. "I’m fine."
"You always say that. Doesn’t mean I believe it."
A small, grateful smile curved your lips. Robby always knew how to make space—never too much, never too little. He left the door open without pushing you through it.
"You know I’ve got your back, right kid? You ever need to talk, about anything, even the stuff you think you’re not supposed to say out loud—come find me."
"Thanks, Robby. I mean it."
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you do."
A voice cut in—low and smooth.
"Mind if I cut in?"
You turned.
Jack stood there, one hand extended. He didn’t look at Robby. He didn’t need to.
Robby chuckled under his breath and stepped aside. "She’s all yours."
Jack’s eyes met yours, steady and unreadable.
“Dance with me?” he asked, softer than you'd expected.
For a second, you didn’t answer. Your breath caught, mind still echoing with the last time you’d heard him say your name.
But then you nodded—slow, tentative—and slid your hand into his.
He guided you gently into step, the rhythm of the music slower than your pulse. His hand settled against your waist, warm and sure, like it had always belonged there. The other laced with yours, a silent tether.
You moved together with a surprising ease, like muscle memory forged in proximity, not practice. It wasn’t just a dance—it was a conversation. A quiet exchange, careful and cautious. Every shift of weight, every brush of fingers was a sentence neither of you dared speak aloud.
You didn’t look up right away. Couldn't. The proximity was dizzying. It wasn’t the champagne. It was him.
Jack’s voice came, low and even. “You always this good at pretending everything’s fine?”
You finally glanced up, something caught between a smile and a flinch playing on your face. “Only when I’m trying to impress a colleague.”
His mouth twitched, barely. “That why you always pull it together when I’m around?”
You didn’t answer.
Gliding across the floor, you felt like you were floating. And still, the weight of his hand at your waist grounded you.
You weren’t sure which was more dangerous: the silence, or the closeness.
“I used to think if I kept moving, I wouldn’t have to feel any of it,” you said, voice barely above the swell of the music. “But some things catch up to you anyway.”
Jack’s grip shifted slightly, not tighter, just… more present. “Running works—until it doesn’t.”
A beat passed.
“I don’t run,” you said quietly.
He met your eyes. “No. You bury it. Same result, different damage.”
You exhaled through your nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Funny. Thought we were dancing, not diagnosing.”
“We can do both,” he said, dry but not unkind. “I go to therapy. You slow dance at charity galas.”
Your gaze flicked to his lips, then away. “Guess my way is cheaper since I'm not paying for any of the wine or dine.”
Jack’s hand at your waist didn’t budge. If anything, it steadied you more.
“Y/N,” he said after a moment, voice gentler now. Like he was handing something over. Like he wanted you to take it.
Your shoulders tensed. Jaw muscles flexed. 
He noticed.
You looked up, met his gaze, and said, quieter than before but with unmistakable weight, “Jack, you’re walking on thin ice.”
He didn’t flinch. But something flickered in his expression—something equal parts affection and surrender.
You only used each other’s names when it mattered.
The only difference was: he loved it. You hated it.
Tumblr media
The hospital had quieted for the night, but the kind of quiet that screamed underneath.
You assisted on his last case—another loss, but this one had cut deeper than usual. Maybe it was the way Jack had gone cold, all clinical control and efficiency… until the voice crack. Just a flicker. A tremor. He’d kept going, ordering transfusions, calling vitals, his tone even until it wasn’t. You saw it—behind the focused eyes, there was fear.
You were the one standing next to him when he finally called it.
You found him up there—on the roof—where the city lights couldn’t quite wash out the weight in his shoulders. Jack was staring out past the edge, hands in his coat pockets, the wind catching just enough to make his scrubs flutter at the hem.
You didn’t speak right away. Just stood a few paces behind him, letting your presence fill the space before your voice did.
“I figured I’d find you up here.”
Jack didn’t turn. “Shouldn’t you be home?”
“I had to wrap up some charting.”
A beat.
“They were a veteran,” he said. “Had a daughter who just got into college.”
You took a step closer. “That wasn’t your fault.”
He let out a quiet, humorless sound. “I know. Doesn’t help.”
You hesitated, then moved beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder.
“I must have had a reason at one time to keep coming back," he murmured, “but I can't think of it right now."
You didn’t have an answer.
But you said his name.
“Jack.”
It was the first time you’d said it out loud. Not Dr. Abbot. Not anything guarded. Just him.
He turned then, slowly.
“Don’t shut down on me,” you said. “Not tonight.”
The wind carried your words away, but he heard them. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened. The way his shoulders dropped just slightly.
“I don’t know how to stay,” he said, voice rough. 
“You don’t have to stay alone.”
He glanced at you then—just briefly, like eye contact might split him open.
You searched his face, thinking back to the moment in the trauma bay where he called it. Where his voice cracked but didn’t waver. Where his gloved hands were steady even though his eyes gave him away. You’d never seen him look like that before—so composed, so clinical, and still, so unmistakably human.
The memory stuck to your ribs.
“I know it’s not fair,” you said, voice low. “That we carry the worst of them home. That we never get to know if we were enough.”
Jack didn’t speak. But he didn’t move either. That was something. So you added, a little too soft, “But you are. You are enough.”
A long silence.
Then, to break it—because it felt like too much—you rolled your shoulder and said, “Robby’s gonna kick your ass if you jump off during his shift.”
Jack huffed, the sound barely audible but real.
“Come on,” you added, nodding toward the stairwell. “Let’s get off this roof before someone reports us for loitering.”
You didn't move.
Not yet.
Just stood there in silence, waiting—not because you needed him to follow, but because you weren’t going anywhere without him.
And Jack came. Eventually. Quiet and heavy and slow, the shuffle of his shoes steadying against the roof's concrete.
He didn’t say anything. Just stepped beside you, close enough to share warmth but not break space.
Then you walked. Together. Not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel it. Close enough to stay.
Tumblr media
The night had grown heavier.
Somehow, you and Jack had found your way back to the balcony—again. It was quieter out here, the city humming beneath you, wind tugging softly at your hair. Your skin still held the memory of his hand at your waist. The music inside was muffled now, like the two of you had stepped out of the narrative entirely.
Jack leaned against the railing, but his gaze never left you. Something about the way he was looking—like he’d been holding back something for far too long.
You crossed your arms, more to anchor yourself than anything. “You’re staring.”
“You said my name,” he replied, voice low.
Your throat tightened. “You started it.”
He pushed off the railing, slow and deliberate. “You know what I mean.”
You didn’t back away. But your voice came sharper this time, more breath than warning. “Don’t. Don’t start something neither of us can come back from.”
That gave him pause. He looked like he wanted to say something—maybe everything—but bit it back. Jaw tight. Shoulders tense.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Jack said. “But I can't keep pretending this is nothing.”
With a quiet breath, he confessed. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Your heart tripped.
“I try,” he continued, voice cracking. “God, I’ve tried. But you show up in every shift. Every damn quiet moment. I hear your voice when I walk through those doors. I look for you at every trauma call. And when you’re not there, it’s worse.”
You didn’t speak.
“I’ve been through hell,” he went on, stepping closer, “seen things I still don’t have names for—but none of it scares me the way you do. Because this?” He gestured between you. “This is real. And if I say it out loud, I don’t get to pretend anymore.”
Your breath hitched. “Jack…”
He looked at you, eyes tired and wide open. “Say something. Please.”
Your voice came out thinner than you meant. “You're my attending, we’re not supposed to—”
“I don’t care.”
The silence cracked wide open between you.
You let out a breath—shaky, exasperated.
"Fuck," you said, voice breaking. "What do you want me to say? That I can't stop thinking about you either? That I see your eyes every time I close mine—your smile, rare as it is, stuck in my head like a damn echo? That I come home and swear I can still smell your cologne because it’s the only thing that brings me any sense of comfort?"
Your hands were trembling now. You didn’t stop—couldn't.
"Pretending this means nothing is easier than risking what happens if it actually matters. Because if it does—Jack—"
Jack caught you before you could even get the words out. His mouth was on yours, rough and unyielding, and you didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to. You kissed him like you meant it, because fucking hell, did you mean it. 
When your back hit the wall beside the balcony doors with a quiet thud, he pressed closer, hands framing your jaw like you were something to be memorized.
There was nothing polite in the way you touched each other now. Just years of tension, unspoken things, and the desperate need to feel something real.
You didn’t let go.
Neither did he.
His lips trailed lower, brushing the hinge of your jaw before nipping gently at your neck. The sound you made—half breath, half shock—only seemed to spur him on.
“Then don’t pretend,” Jack whispered against your skin, voice rough and reverent. “Let yourself have this. Let us have this.”
Your hands cradled the sides of his face, fingers brushing across his cheekbones. All these years spent by his side and you hadn’t taken the time to admire his freckles.
You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his—slower now, deeper. One of his hands slid down your back, splaying across the small of it as if anchoring you in place. The other tangled into your hair, careful but needing.
You gasped when his hips met yours again, your breath catching between kisses. He pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.
"I need you," you finally said.
And that was all he needed.
He rushed to close the curtains on the inside and lock the balcony doors before returning to you. 
Your world narrowed to the way his mouth reclaimed yours, the press of his body, the heat building like a fuse lit too close to the end. Somewhere in the distance, the city kept moving. But here, in the quiet shelter of the balcony, there was only this.
Jack dropped to his knees, the motion fluid. You sucked in a breath as his hands slid up the backs of your thighs, coaxing one leg upward until your heel hooked over his shoulder. Your foot pressed gently against the curve of his back.
He tugged at the hem of your dress. You were already holding the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips with practiced ease. The lace of your underwear was delicate, barely in the way—he hooked a finger around the side, sliding it with a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch.
You were already soaked, and the way his eyes flicked up confirmed he knew it. He looked up at you once, eyes dark and unwavering, before leaning in.
His mouth was slow at first—exploring, learning you. The way your breath stuttered when his tongue found a sensitive spot, the way your fingers clenched in his hair. “You taste just as incredible as I imagined,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. When he inserted a finger and curled towards himself, you nearly buckled.
You didn’t mean to cry out, but it slipped past your lips, helpless and raw. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, which made him smirk. He caught your elbow with his free hand, gently but insistently, pulling your hand away and intertwining your fingers into his hair. You gave his curls a tug and were met with a moan. It was impossible to hide the smug grin that painted your face.
“I want to hear you,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. His voice dipped lower, rougher.
You felt the press of the marble wall cool behind you as your back arched. One hand flew to the wall, the other gripping his shoulder as he kept going—steadfast, focused, like you were the only thing that existed. Like this was something he'd been starving for.
And maybe you had been too. Because every sound, every gasp that left you was honest.
You hiked your knee higher, anchoring your heel along the dip of his back. The dress had long since stopped mattering.
Jack’s grip tightened, one hand digging into the curve of your ass as he anchored you against the wall. His other hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding inside you with precision, curling until your legs nearly gave out.
"Jack, I'm—" You moaned into your clenched teeth, the sound too loud, too needy—but he wanted it, taking it in like oxygen.
Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as your breath came in shallow, stuttering waves. He didn’t let up. The rhythm was relentless, mouth and hand working in tandem, dragging you closer to the edge with every sweep, every flick, drinking you like water from a desert oasis. He stopped only when you tapped his cheek twice, silently begging for mercy. 
Your skin glistened, painted with heat. Before he pulled away, Jack leaned in again, his tongue tracing the trails of your release up your inner thigh with slow, savoring strokes. Each pass of his mouth made you twitch, gasp, overstimulated but unwilling to stop. He kissed the soft skin in their wake.
When he finally looked up, his face was just as wrecked, jaw set and glistening with you. And the look in his eyes when he glanced up—hungry, worshipful—was enough to ruin you.
His lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts. “God, you’re perfect.” His eyes lifted to meet yours with something close to divine awe.
It came out quiet—like a confession he'd finally allowed himself to say out loud.
You leaned down and kissed him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He let out a low, contented sound against your mouth, one hand tightening around your thigh, the other still steadying your hip. You could feel the tension in him—tender, aching—as if the moment might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold it close.
Your fingers slipped into your dress, pulling free a small foil square tucked just inside the cup of your bra. Jack blinked down at it, then back up at you, clearly caught off guard.
He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
You shrugged, breathless. "Was holding it for a friend."
Jack smirked, eyes dragging down your body. "Sure you were."
You made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it and pushing his pants down just enough.
“He talks too much,” you muttered, smirking.
You looked down.
And stopped.
He was perfect. Cut, trimmed, thick, just the right length. The kind of sight that made your breath hitch. Your hand slid along his length with a few firm pumps—just enough to make him hiss between his teeth.
You couldn't resist. Lowered to your knees, gave him a few languid licks, savoring the taste. He whimpered, his hand gently gripping your hair—but not pulling, not yet.
After a few more pumps, Jack pulled you up by the chin with a bruising kiss, swallowing your gasp.
“I’m not coming anywhere but inside you,” he growled against your lips.
You smiled, teasing. “Maybe next time, then.” Your fingers trailed down the front of his dress shirt, feeling the heat of his body even through the fabric—muscles taut and firm beneath your touch.
Then you turned, facing the wall—cheeks hot, breath short. One hand braced flat against the cool marble, the other gathering the bunched fabric of your dress. You looked over your shoulder, eyes dark with want.
Jack swore under his breath. He moved behind you in a blur, hands rough on your hips as he lined himself up. The heat of him pressed against you, teasing, maddening.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice lower than gravel.
You pushed back, just enough for him to sink in, slow and deliberate. He filled you up inch by inch, warm and hot and perfect, making you gasp as your forehead pressed to the wall.
His hands wrapped around your hips as he bottomed out, his mouth dragging along your neck, teeth grazing your skin until he whispered a sharp, broken "fuck"—more to himself than to you. Like he was trying not to explode.
You tried to move, just a little forward, a little back—restless with need—but his hands tightened.
“Don’t,” he breathed. “Just—just give me a second. You feel fucking incredible.”
“Jack,” you whimpered.
If he clenched his teeth any harder, he might've popped his jaw. "Fuck, I love when you call me by my name."
Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please.”
That undid him.
He gripped your hips tighter, fingertips digging into your supple flesh—just shy of bruising. The pain was delicious, grounding you to every thrust, every second of connection, hips rocking forward, slowly at first—deep, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch of you from the inside out. Each thrust sent a spark up your spine, your moans echoing softly. His mouth returned to your neck, biting just enough to leave a mark, his breath hot against your skin.
"You feel too good," he muttered, almost like it hurt. "Too good."
You tried to respond, but the words got lost somewhere in your throat as his pace picked up—harder, deeper, everything building.
Your hands flattened against the wall, bracing yourself as your body rocked with his rhythm. It was dizzying—overwhelming—in all the best ways. Every drag of his hips made your knees tremble, every grunt and growl in your ear pushed you closer to unraveling.
Without warning, he turned you around to face him. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, chest heaving. He lifted your left leg with his right hand, supporting your thigh against his side as he surged forward again.
The angle had you seeing stars—vision spinning as he hit that spot inside you with maddening precision. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your head dropped forward against his.
Your hands clasped behind his neck, holding tight, desperate to keep him there. You raked your fingers through his curls, tugging hard enough to make him moan—and dragged your nails lightly down the back of his neck, leaving a faint trail of heat in their wake. His mouth found yours again—tongue hot, hungry—kissing you like he needed it to breathe. His left hand anchored you by the hip, grinding you against him as his rhythm deepened, pulling another cry from your throat.
There was nothing left but heat, hands, breath. And the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he'd ever wanted—needed.
"I'm yours," he whispered, forehead resting against yours, voice ragged. It wasn’t a declaration—it was a truth. Raw and full and real.
Your lips brushed his, trembling. “And I’m yours.”
The moment cracked open between you. You kissed him—desperate, hungry, chasing the high you were both barely holding onto.
You felt yourself teetering, the peak just within reach. Jack looked like he was holding back, focusing on keeping every muscle drawn tight with restraint—putting your pleasure before his. But you needed him there with you, completely.
You leaned into his ear, breath hot. “I need you to cum for me, Jack.” His fingers dug deeper into your hip. "I need you to fill me up."  Your knee wrapped tighter around his torso, drawing him impossibly closer as you held him to you, clinging like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. You bit the curve of his neck, sharp and claiming.
That was all it took.
He let out a guttural sound, hips stuttering as he came undone, pulling you with him into a release that felt like freefall—earth-shattering and unrelenting.
Your release crashed through you moments after his, drawn out and all-consuming. Every nerve lit up, your body shaking with the intensity of it. It wasn’t like anything else—no drug, no high. Just him. You. This.
For a long beat, neither of you moved. Your breath came in broken gasps, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in the aftermath. Sweaty. Beautiful. And quiet.
Jack’s hand smoothed up your spine, grounding you. His lips brushed your temple, and the world finally began to settle back into place.
He gently brushed strands of damp hair from your face, fingers tender where they swept against your skin. The breeze caught a few pieces, but they clung to the sheen on your cheeks. When you finally let your leg down, your knees buckled slightly. Jack caught you without hesitation—arms strong, sure, keeping you steady as your weight shifted. You clung to him without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. When you finally loosened your grip, he didn’t let go right away—his arms still braced around you like muscle memory, like instinct.
Pulling back, you realized what a disheveled mess the two of you were. 
You reached up and smoothed down the front of his shirt, fixing the lapels of his suit, tugging the hem of his jacket into place. Thankfully whatever hair gel he used was bulletproof, only a curl or two out of place. He brushed his fingers along your hairline, gently tucking back strands that had come loose, then adjusted the strap of your dress where it had slipped off your shoulder.
There was a beat of silence—comfortable, but heavy.
Clearing your throat, you tried to gather your thoughts. “I, uh…”
Jack’s eyes remained a little dazed, as if he was still anchoring himself to the moment.
A breath escaped you—half-laugh, half-exhale. “Tea. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come back to mine for tea.”
He blinked once, then his lips quirked.
“Tea?”
“Yeah,” you said, half-smiling. “Or, like… whatever. Just to wind down. You don’t have to.”
Jack shook his head once, slow. “Only if you’re not just holding it for a friend.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “You’re welcome anytime, Jack. You know that, right?”
His gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”
You nodded once, awkward and earnest. “Cool. Good. Great.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You always this smooth after balcony sex?”
You shot him a glare filled with playful menace. "Depends. You always this cocky after someone invites you over for tea?”
He smiled—one of those rare ones, small and sideways. “Only when it’s not just for the tea.”
You groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. “But I’m yours, remember?”
You tilted your head, smirking. “Return policy on that is… nonexistent, right?”
His smile widened just a touch. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
“Careful, Jack. That almost sounded romantic.”
He chuckled, then sobered just enough to meet your eyes. “Maybe it was.”
The breeze danced around you both again, brushing cool air against warm skin. Still, the embers between you remained.
“Come on,” you said, tugging gently at his hand. “Let’s go before someone realizes we’ve been out here defiling the sacred balcony.”
He followed without hesitation. Fingers laced with yours.
This time, neither of you looked back. 
Tumblr media
<3
1K notes · View notes
idontcaboose · 7 months ago
Text
I love the continuation. You have a better filing system than I do, lol.
Poor Bruce, he will never escape paperwork.
1/3
Dcxdp Trope twist
Danny hadn’t expected that defeating Pariah Dark would make him the ghost king, and give him a truckload of paperwork. If he had known, he would’ve let Vlad fight him. He despised paperwork with a passion. So, when the Justice League summoned him asking for help, he made it clear he would as long as three of their members would assist him with a task. Admittedly, he had been in his big scary king form so there may have been some slight confusion.
Batman surveyed the room full of paperwork, the teenager who looked like he was about to cry, and back to Martian Manhunter and Wonderwoman. Then, he sat down and started sorting through the paperwork.
7K notes · View notes
seungkwanniee · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairings : boyfriend!seventeen x gn!reader
genre : fluffyy, lil angst
warnings : mention of food , half naked body (joshua) , cuss word (jun)
synopsis : seventeen coaxing their s.o. after making you upset before bed time
hyung line ,, maknae line [soon]
an : this is a request from anon, hope you'll like it ! sorry if this took awhile but school is giving me hard time that at the end of the day im not in the mood to write smt. I decided to separate hyung and maknae line so I could post more quickly to feed yall. ALSO as a directioner im DEVASTED these days so yeah that wasn't the best timing so start writing again, this also didn't let me to keep up with svt comeback shedule 😭
〔masterlist〕
Tumblr media
SCOUPS 』
i think that seungcheol doesn't have an high pride at all, so it's pretty easy tho
and, come on, he is Choi Seungcheol how you can even resist to him
when after a long day and he finally comes back home he is straight coming up to you
even if you leave the spot immediatly, he will follow you around pouting
but your plans of ignoring him doesn't end well
you heart flutter by just hearing his voice because you are too in love with him
and when a smile accidentally slips out of your mouth, its when he knows you are all his
he picks you up, unconfortably laying you on his shoulders and walks into your shared room
roughly dropping you on the bed laying next to you asap
i know he has a thing for you hair, so he plays with it a lot
wrapping around his finger, smelling them and softly kissing them
has a BIG thing also for your neck so he never let it breath
JEONGHAN 』
he is not taking seriously any argouments and this makes you only angrier
but he really enjoy seeing you angry so anyway it doesn't matter to him
but when he thought he had enough for the day, he transform into a baby
he is following you around the house trying to cling into your side
and when you lay on the bed because it was almost midnight he find the best ways to cling you
he would immediatly hug you so tight without mincing words
KISSES ON YOUR NECK UUGH
driving you so insane with his angelic and innocent face
and his sooo cute voice saying 'sorry' nonstop
when you can't hold your smile in anymore, he is giggling uncotrollably still kissing you
JOSHUA 』
you two had a pretty bad argoument before dinner time because he is way too gentlemen with other women
so you just decided that he doesn't deserve your presence
you prepared your plate of food and insted of take a sit at the table, you walk straight into your room
hoping that he got the message and he will not sleep into the same bed as you
but after about an hour, when you finished your food and were already laying comfortably under your sheet, you hear a door opening
and who if not Joshua?
he doesn't care at all about your annoyed huffing, he is laying under the sheet beside you
and his goal is cuddling you until you fall asleep
you protest when you feel his arm wrapping your waist but his arms are just way stronger
he pull you closer to him as much as he can, he needs to feel you
when your back touches his naked chest, you can't do anything but relax under his touch
his breath against your hair brings so much comfort into you
he traces your arm with his finger until he hears your cute sleepy sounds
JUN 』
it's really rare that Jun is the one making the frist step after an argoument
he is really shy and he just feels so guitly that he made you mad
his precious baby ?!?!
he is usually awkward, the he will NEVER starts a cuddling session
so when you two have an argoument youre always the one that does the frist step
but today he made you way too angry and he can see it by the way you're not even trying to get closer to him
he wants to cry soo bad because he doesn't know what to do, he is worried that every move he will do is wrong
when the second night pass, and youre preparing to sleep on the chouch once again, he understands that he need to move the fuck up
he is in your shared room, where you were supposted to be with him, under the sheet cuddling nonstop
he nervously walks up and down wondering how to approach you in the best way possible
but it's easier than the tought
when he sits beside you on the couch, you were already all over him
because OMG THIS SHY CAT IS SO BRAVE
he is like 'oh, it was that easy?'
pinching your cheeks and nose kissing because he is starving
HOSHI 』
he absolutely hate making you upset but here we go
at frist he don't even got it, he just continue with his stupid jokes and mess around you
he always do this, like almost everyday, but today he touched a button that should've not been touched
he just frowns when he sees you walking awayt without daring a word
and he is like that for at least 30 minutes, you can almost hear the hamsters into his brain
he may need an help too, so he is on his way calling his best friend
and this sounds so stupid to him but hey he needs help with his beloved
bestfriend will 100% facepalming because it seems so obvious to him
but hoshi arrives here a little late
after he got what he did wrong he is RUNNING to you, jumping straight into your body
he lays on top of you kissing every part of your skin that isn't covered with blanket
also he would gently rub his nose against yours
kissing you under the blanket
WONWOO 』
he may seem awkward but this man is a reader so...
he exactly knows what to do and when to act out
he approaches you slowly, he frist want to know if he will get a slap from you or not
and if you seem way more calmer, he is cooking something sweet
looking cute in his apron and his black glasses falling down his nose bridge once in a while
he may not be the best at cooking but It's the thought that counts
and when his shiluette walks through the door with the sweet smell of pancake no shit
YOU ARE ALREADY ON HIS KNEES
he even forgot to take off the apron that hugs his waist
and his glasses getting fogged up because of the plate under is nose
he is way too cute, i want to cry
you dont even think about be cold to him when he lays under the blanket a little too far from you
you love his effort and his attention that he doesn't even need to cuddle you frist, you are the one starting the session
WOOZI 』
oh shit, did you have an argument? well forgot about him coming to you
man has a reaaally high pride, he must done it biiiig if he is the one approaching you after
thats why he is now complaining if sit by your side or just continue staring at your side profile
his eyebrows frown only makes his face looking cuter
i think he prefer think about a thing a hundred times before acting
and you can tell he is thinking a lot now
he is a man of words rather that physical touch, so he starts to talk to you after sitting beside you on the couch
and when all is cleared he surpirse you even more by clinging by your side
intertwine your arms and lay his head on yours
while his thumb slowly caress your hand and wrist
Tumblr media
580 notes · View notes
magic-shop-stories · 19 days ago
Note
Your content has literally made me cry insanely hard several times now, and I mean that as a compliment. As a break from all that bittersweet, would you maybe be up to writing something sweet/funny about bts introducing their s.o to the members?
💌 Reply:
ahhh... THANK YOU so much for the kind words 🥹💜 Sorry this took ages, but I hope this is what you wanted! I accidentally deleted my draft when I was halway through and had to rewrite it all, so I was a bit pissed and ignored it for a while - I'm sorry... Anyway I hope you enjoy reading! — c —💜
BTS Introducing their Significant Other to the Members - HC
Pairings: BTS x reader Rating: G Genre: fluff, comedy, romance Warnings: none
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
KIM NAMJOON (RM)
SETUP
plans a "low-key intellectual hangout" at his apartment
= poetry books, ambient jazz, charcuterie board
he spent two hours arranging cheese by acidity levels
he’s nervous
you can tell by how often he adjusts his glasses
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Formal)
“Everyone, this is [y/n]. They’re a [job] and… uh… they like Murakami?” 
practiced this in the mirror countless times
Stage 2 (Panic)
when Jin raises an eyebrow
he blurts
“They also hate cilantro. Like me.”
as if this is the ultimate compatibility test
MEMBERS’ REACTIONS
Jin
immediately slides you a glass of wine
“Rate his bedroom skills. Scale of 1 to dimples.”
Namjoon drops his knife
Namjoon: “HYUNG. WHAT.”  You: “Solid 8. Loses points for explaining Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason after.” Jin: “Classic Joon-ah.”
Jin high-fives you
Yoongi
lurks by the bookshelf, then deadpans
Yoongi: “You know he cries during Her, right?” Namjoon: “It’s a philosophical response!” You: “He cried at a McDonald’s commercial last week.” Yoongi: “Keep them.” 
= his version of approval
Hobi
drags you to the dance floor
a.k.a. the 3x3 ft space by the speaker
Hobi: “Teach us your signature move!” You: [attempting the sprinkler] Jungkook: “Iconic.” 
he joins in
Namjoon watches fondly, forgetting to be embarrassed
FUNNY MOMENT
Taehyung finds Namjoon’s Notes App open to “Reasons I Love [y/n] (Draft 7)”
reads it aloud
“1. Their laugh sounds like wind chimes. 2. They don’t judge my plant names. 3. They...”
he snatches the phone
Namjoon: "Privacy is a thing, Tae!” You: “Wait, what’s #3?” Jin: “Obviously ‘they tolerate my hyungs.’”
SWEET MOMENT
Namjoon Checks On You
pulls you aside
hands cupping your elbows
“You okay? They’re… a lot.”
his thumb rubs circles on your skin
“They’re perfect. Like you.”
his ears turn red
“I... uh. Galaxy. You’re my... universe. Or something.” 
= poet ruined
AFTERMATH
Jungkook adds you to the “BTS Group Chat” 
nickname “Joon’s Better Half (Literally)”
Jimin texts you later
“He’s so whipped. Welcome to the family.”
Namjoon falls asleep on your shoulder that night
“Told you they’d love you.”
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)
SETUP
transforms his penthouse into a "Michelin-Star Experience"
= candles everywhere, suspiciously perfect table settings, a 7-course menu
greets you in a silk robe that accidentally flaps open
"Relax, jagiya! They’ll be jealous of how hot we look."
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Grand Entrance)
"Members! Meet the reason I’ve upgraded from ramen to truffle oil!" 
winks
spills champagne on Yoongi’s shoes
Stage 2 (Panic)
when Jimin coos "Aww, hyung’s blushing!"
he deflects
"It’s chef’s glow! Also, they beat my Super Mario Kart record. Marry them."
MEMBERS’ REACTIONS
Yoongi
Immediately sniffs the "homemade" bisque
Yoongi: "Tastes like... Yeosu’s Seafood Palace. Three Michelin stars. Interesting." Jin: "I... adapted their recipe!"
he sweats visibly
You: "He burned water twice this week. We ordered in."
Yoongi smirks
slides you his number
"Call me when he starves you."
Hobi demands a "Couple Dance Challenge!"
Jin: "Observe my tango!" You: "That was the sprinkler, babe."
Jungkook films it
caption: "Worldwide Clumsy."
Taehyung pulls you aside mid-salad course
Taehyung: "He owns 37 BTS plushies. Sleeps with an RJ nightlight. Tell no one." Jin: "YAH! Stop seducing my partner with secrets!" 
flings a bread roll
FUNNY MOMENT
Soufflé Incident
Jin’s "signature dessert" collapses
Jin: "NO! MY MASTERPIECE!" Jimin: "It’s a metaphor, hyung! Like... collapsed dreams?" You: "Or just bad baking." Jin: "Fine! Emergency dessert!" 
pulls out a bought cheesecake
SWEET MOMENT
Jin Checks On You
finds you hiding in the kitchen, overwhelmed
"Hey. Worldwide Handsome to the rescue." 
leans against fridge
"They’re idiots, but our idiots. Okay?"
tugs you close, voice uncharacteristically soft
"Yah. You’re my favorite view." 
presses a kiss to your flour-dusted hair
AFTERMATH
Group Chat Add
Jin creates "Jin’s Prettier-Half Protection Squad" 
= members OT7 + you
first message:
Jin: "RULES: No flirting with my partner! No stealing cheesecake! Jungkook stop sending gym selfies!"
Jimin sends a selfie of him and you and Jin’s abandoned soufflé
"New couple photo!"
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
MIN YOONGI (SUGA)
SETUP
does not do "meet the members" events
but after six months of dating, he finally caves
on his terms
brings you to his studio under the guise of "needing feedback on a track" 
= a lie
it's just the only place he feels in control
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Casual Avoidance)
"This is [y/n]. They're... here." 
gestures vaguely
refuses eye contact
Stage 2 (Defensive)
"No, you cannot interrogate them. No, Jin-hyung, they don't want to hear about my trainee-era mullet."
Stage 3 (Unintentional Softness)
when you compliment his equipment
mumbles under his breath
"They know their shit..." 
tiniest smirk on bis lips
this is how the members know it's serious
MEMBERS' REACTIONS
Jin leans against the mixing board
Jin: "So. How exactly did you tolerate this grumpy cat long enough to date him?" Yoongi: "Hyung. Leave."
he is glaring
tho doesn't deny the "grumpy cat" label
You: "I bribed him with coffee. And silence." Jin: "A soulmate."
Hobi immediately challenges you to a "studio dance-off" 
= a.k.a. embarrassing Yoongi
you attempt the "Haegeum" choreo, failing spectacularly
Yoongi: "Yah. Stop." 
he's hiding a smile behind his hand
Jungkook notices the extra headphones Yoongi bought just for you
Jungkook: "Hyung... you never share your studio."
Yoongi: "They're quiet. Unlike some people." 
you catch his pinky brushing yours
FUNNY MOMENT
Jimin finds Yoongi's secret playlist titled "[y/n] Vibes" 
= full of lo-fi and one Taylor Swift song
Jimin: "Oh my god. Yoongi-hyung has feelings." Yoongi: "Delete that. Now." 
too late
screenshot is already in the group chat
You: "I knew you liked 'Cruel Summer'!"
SWEET MOMENT
Yoongi Checks On You
between members' chaos, he tugs you aside
"You good? They're... a lot." 
his thumb traces your wrist
= his version of a lifeline
you whisper "I love them. And you."
he looks away, but his ears are red
AFTERMATH
Taehyung adopts you as his "new muse" 
starts sketching you during meetings
Namjoon texts you later
"He’s never let anyone touch his studio equipment. Ever."
Yoongi "accidentally" leaves his hoodie in your bag
"It’s cold..." 
it’s July
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)
SETUP
plans a "fun, casual, totally-not-overwhelming" dance studio hangout
room is suspiciously clean
there's a snack bar with heart-shaped rice balls
he's changed outfits three times
insists "It's just chill."
he is bouncing on his toes
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Enthusiastic)
"GUYS! This is my favorite person!!" 
lifts your hand like a boxing champ
Stage 2 (Panic)
when you look nervous, he blurts: 
"They can dance! Probably! Watch this..." 
tries to spin you
you stumble
he catches you
 "...Graceful!"
MEMBERS' REACTIONS
Jimin immediately challenges you to another dance-off
Hobi: "Babe, show him your signature move!"
you do
Jin leans in
Jin: "How do you handle his morning energy? Does he sing while making coffee?" You: "He does the cha-cha while toasting bread." Jin: "Ah. A menace." 
Yoongi lurks in the corner
Yoongi: "They seem… quiet." Hobi: "They’re mysterious! And scary good at Mario Kart." Yoongi: "…Keep them."
FUNNY MOMENT
Jungkook: "Do they know about Hobi’s shower concerts?" You: "Oh, I have playlists. Wanna hear his Noraebang version of ‘Dynamite’?" Hobi: "TRAITOR!" 
chases you
you hide behind Tae
SWEET MOMENT
Hobi Checks On You
pulls you aside mid-chaos
hands framing your face
"You good? Too much? I can tone it down." 
you whisper: "I love your chaos."
he grins so wide his cheeks hurt
"Yeah? Good. Because this is your life now."
AFTERMATH
Taehyung adds you to his "Favorite Humans" list
Namjoon texts you: 
"You survived. Welcome to the circus."
Hobi falls asleep that night, head on your lap
murmuring: "Knew they’d adore you."
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
PARK JIMIN
SETUP
plans a "cozy movie night" at the dorm
complete with fairy lights, a mountain of blankets, every snack known to mankind
he’s bouncing with excitement
texting you all day
“Hyungs are gonna love you! Just be yourself! But maybe don’t mention the time I cried over Toy Story 3.”
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Excited Puppy Mode)
“GUYS. THIS IS MY PERSON.” 
literally drags you into the room by the hand
Stage 2 (Possessive Cuddles)
pulls you onto his lap in front of everyone
“Mine. Look at them.” 
Jin coos
Yoongi groans
MEMBERS’ REACTIONS
Jin immediately tests your humor
Jin: “Jiminie sings in the shower. Rate his high notes.” You: “Depends. Is dying whale a note?” Jimin: (gasps) “Betrayal.”
but he’s grinning
Jungkook: “They’re perfect for you.”
Hobi challenges you to a Just Dance duel
you attempt “Butter” 
tripping over the coffee table
Hobi: “10/10 for effort!”
Jimin claps like you won an Oscar
Yoongi raises a brow
Yoongi: “You know he steals hoodies, right?”
you pull up sleeve to reveal Jimin’s stolen BTS tour shirt
Yoongi: “Ah. Another victim.”
he smiles
FUNNY MOMENT
Taehyung finds Jimin’s Notes App open to “Reasons I’m Obsessed”: “1. Their laugh. 2. Their eyes. 3. They let me bite their sandwiches.”
"TAEHYUNG-AH. DELETE THAT.” 
tackles him
“Wait, #3 is accurate though.”
SWEET MOMENT
Jimin Checks On You
between movies, he pulls you into the kitchen
hands framing your face
“You okay? Too much?” 
eyes wide, earnest
“They’re amazing. Like you.”
he melts
“Jagi… I’m so happy.” 
kisses your forehead
Jungkook awws from the doorway
AFTERMATH
Jungkook adds you to the “BTS Chaos Group Chat” as “Jimin’s Favorite Human.”
Taehyung DMs you
“Welcome to the Jimin Protection Squad.” 
sends a selca with Jimin mid-pout
Jimin falls asleep curled around you
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
KIM TAEHYUNG (V)
SETUP:
Taehyung doesn’t plan introductions
he orchestrates experiences
instead of a casual meet-up, he surprises everyone (including you) with a "Renaissance-Themed Picnic" in a secluded garde
there are velvet blankets, antique teacups...
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Dramatic)
wearing a beret and a silk scarf
presents you like a masterpiece
"Members, behold! My muse... the one who laughs at my bad jokes and steals my sweaters."
Stage 2 (Unscripted)
when Jimin coos, Taehyung pulls you into a slow waltz
"They’re also really good at this." 
you are not?
he doesn’t care
MEMBERS’ REACTIONS
Jin raises a champagne flute
Jin: "Finally, someone who appreciates real art, like my face." Taehyung: "Hyung, please." You: "I do appreciate your face, Jin." Jin: "Keep them."
Yoongi eyes the harpist who has been playing
Yoongi:"How much did this cost?" Taehyung: "Art is priceless, hyung." Yoongi: "That’s not an answer." You: "I’ll Venmo you half." Yoongi: "I like them."
Jungkook challenges you to a "flower crown showdown"
Taehyung: "They’re winning." (you are not) Jungkook: "No way! Mine has daisies!" You: "Yours looks like a salad."
Taehyung wears both crowns for the rest of the day
FUNNY MOMENT
Hobi finds Taehyung’s "Love Notes to [y/n]" journal
reads aloud
"Day 87: They sneezed like a kitten today. Perfect."
Taehyung: "Privacy, Hobi-hyung!" 
but he’s grinning
You: "I do sneeze like a kitten." Jimin: "This is the cutest disaster I’ve ever seen."
SWEET MOMENT
Taehyung Checks On You
pulls you aside under a willow tree
"You okay? They’re a lot." 
his fingers lace with yours, squeezing gently
he kisses your knuckles
"You’re stuck with us now."
AFTERMATH
Jimin adds you to the "Protect Taehyung’s Heart" group chat
it’s just pictures of him crying at dramas
Yoongi texts you later
"He’s never been this happy. Don’t break him." 
then sends a "Just kidding. Maybe."
Taehyung falls asleep in your lap
"Told you they’d adore you."
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
JEON JUNGKOOK
SETUP
plans a "chill gaming night" at his place - which means:
8 consoles hooked up to a TV (as big as possible)
snack mountain that could feed a small army
him nervously reorganizing the controller cords for the 15th time
How He Introduces You
Stage 1 (Excited Puppy)
"Hyungs! This is [y/n]! They're... they're THE BEST!"
proceeds to lift you in a bear hug
Stage 2 (Possessive)
"And they're MINE so NO FLIRTING ESPECIALLY YOU TAEHYUNG!"
Stage 3 (Panic)
when you wave hello, he suddenly realizes: "Wait... do they even LIKE video games?!"
MEMBERS' REACTIONS
Jin immediately challenges you to Mario Kart
Jin: "If you beat me, you get my blessing. If I win... you have to call me 'Worldwide Handsome' for a week." Jungkook: "NO FAIR HYUNG YOU'RE A PRO AT THIS"
you proceed to absolutely demolish Jin
Jin: "Okay I hate you. Welcome to the family."
Yoongi takes one look at how JK keeps touching your shoulder and smirks
Yoongi: "So. How long until you move in?" Jungkook: (spits out his drink) You: "About three weeks ago?" Yoongi: "Knew it." 
then goes back to his phone
Hobi makes you do the "ARMY chant" as an initiation
when you nail it:
"OH MY GOD THEY'RE PERFECT KEEP THEM FOREVER"
FUNNY MOMENT
Taehyung finds Jungkook's secret playlist titled "Songs That Remind Me of [y/n]"
plays it on the Bluetooth speaker
it's just 'Perfect' by Ed Sheeran 17 times
Jungkook turns tomato red and tackles Tae to the ground
You: "Awwwwww" Jungkook: "DON'T 'AWW' THIS IS SERIOUS"
SWEET MOMENT
Jungkook Checks On You
between games, he pulls you into the kitchen under the pretense of getting drinks
cups your face
"You okay? They're not too much?"
you smile
"You're doing so good jagiya. They all love you."
kisses your forehead before anyone can see
finds you teaching Jimin an English slang word
watches from the doorway with heart eyes
Jimin: "Yah! Your boyfriend is making that gross lovestruck face again."
AFTERMATH
you are added to the group chat as "Kookie's Heart Attack"
Jin sends you monthly "How to Deal With Jungkook" guides
Jungkook changes your contact name to "My Win 🏆"
shows it off to EVERYONE
161 notes · View notes
ishomieokay · 8 months ago
Text
Biggest issues of the Homelander redemption fics I've read is that the whole point of his character is that he's irreparably broken. He cannot earn redemption in a traditional way because due to his upbringing his sense of empathy and his moral compass are fucked up beyond belief. He's a psychopath. No amount of love, nurture or self-reflection is going to undo that.
Empathy is not something that you can learn or instill in someone. The issue when using this trope is that Homelander can't actually be regretful. That means no repentance = no redemption, basically. At least, following Christian logic.
You can play around with the idea, though. And I'm not gonna lie, it's lots of fun if you know how to do it right. All you need to do is look at his motivations. If doing good things will benefit him in some way, he will do it. Maybe he's trying to impress his S.O/show them that he can change or he's trying to earn back the love of the public. You can even make him do good deeds by accident.
Hell, it can be a fucking comedy. The idea of Homelander actually trying to be Heroic and failing everytime because he can't keep his emotions in check or properly control his powers is hilarious to me, tbh. Specially because he would be such a baby about it. "Why can't things ever go my way?!" He says, covered in blood and standing among a bunch of dead bodies.
The same premise can be used for an incredibly whumpy, you-can't-escape-your fate kind of story.
My point is, you can absolutely try and write that Homelander Redemption fic your heart desires. You just gotta be smart about. And take into account, it's most likely going to end in tragedy, one way or another.
175 notes · View notes
1d1195 · 5 months ago
Text
I love a gooey part 💕
Pucking Rookie IV
Tumblr media
Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words
From me: slow burning!!!
Warnings: ANGST violence. CW: Signs of abuse.
Summary: Harry is very hot. Very sweet. VERY protective.
Tumblr media
“Hey everyone,” she greeted brightly. “How’s everyone today?” She asked while setting down a tray of eight glasses and two pitchers of water on the table.
“Wonderful, baby, so excited to have you.”
She nearly knocked the glasses over (fortunately, since they were water glasses, they were only plastic). She made eye contact with him and felt her heart completely stop for a few beats. Kael smiled wickedly in return.
Fuck.
She kept her smile in place. “What can I get you to drink?” She asked. After eight years, she already knew what he wanted so she focused on his teammates.
“We were hoping to see The Chargers tonight,” Kael told her. “Do they come here often?”
She didn’t respond. “We have a few specials tonight, so if you have any questions, please let me know,” then she sauntered away to place the drink order.
“Already know what I want, baby?” He called. “That’s so sweet!”
She ignored him. Taking deep breaths she headed to the kitchen. Louis wasn’t in yet. Harry didn’t know she was working. Which meant the rest of the team thought she wasn’t working too. Marc and Michael probably had their suspicions that she was with Harry. So, no one knew she was there. Not really.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It was probably just going to be an hour. He had his team with him. It wasn’t like they could have a private conversation in the middle of a restaurant. Yeah, he would probably tease and torture her for the better part of that hour, but she could be civil. She could pretend. She had for ages. He didn’t know she was working for The Chargers—she was sure he had an idea that she might be. But the afternoon set it in stone.
He was such a dick. It was the first time she had seen him face to face since she moved out. Everything about him made her skin crawl and she hated it. Every touch and kiss between them seemed tainted now. All those good memories, dates, hockey games, everything felt ruined. Each interaction was colored now with the hindsight that he didn’t love her. Not the way she did. Not the way she expected him to love her for ever and ever. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that. She knew she didn’t deserve that.
So why did he make her feel undeserving of it ever again?
*
Kael and his teammates came and went fortunately. Just as she predicted. Only a little over an hour. She refrained from speaking directly to Kael and focused on the group as a whole.
When Kael left, she was well past the feeling of relief. There should have been a stronger word for how liberated she felt. She used the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and took a moment to process everything. It was just like Kael to come in and make her feel like shit without even trying. Louis was supposed to be in, so at least she had that going for her.
“Hey love,” Louis called. “Everything good?” She probably looked a little shaken, so she wasn’t surprised he asked. She felt shaken.
“Good,” she smiled assuredly. She flitted around the room, ducked behind the bar, and went about her day. It was a busy night, and she wasn’t going to let Kael sour her shift that he had next to nothing to do with. So she didn’t. The next hour ticked on quickly and she was feeling more herself as the time stretched between Kael’s departure and the present.
“Hi baby,” he cooed.
Her arms felt numb almost instantly, she was lucky she didn’t drop her tray. Her fight or flight swept her and just made her freeze. She turned as she had earlier in the day and looked at him. “Hi,” she said curtly. He was alone, which made her nervous.
“I figured you must get a break soon. I’d like to talk.”
“Not for a while. And it’s busy,” at least that wasn’t a lie. “So I might not take one tonight.”
Louis was hurrying about from kitchen to back room, to front of house. It was busy as it could be, but she wanted to keep an eye on him. If Kael got her alone, she wasn’t sure she would be able to control her emotions as well as if she had someone that knew she was not in a situation she wanted to be in just by looking at her. Louis wasn’t Harry, but he would know all the same that she was uncomfortable.
Kael smiled brightly.
Well, at least someone that cared ifshe was uncomfortable.
“I’ll wait,” he offered.
“Great,” she deadpanned.
She went to the back room and wished that there was a group of Chargers there. If she called any of them, she knew they would break curfew and be there for her in a heartbeat. The thought of Kael anywhere near her would make Callie incensed for ruining her day. Niall would be protective in his own way and focused on her. Asher and Lang would get her away from The Locker Room and make sure Kael never set foot there again.
She could hardly imagine what Harry would do to him.
But she lied. She told Harry that she wasn’t working. The routines the boys had had in place prior to her arrival with the team had been disrupted more than she ever anticipated. It was nice they cared but it wasn’t fair to them to upheave their lives for her. She was just the photographer for the team. Their coach’s niece. They didn’t ask to have someone they needed to babysit.
She was an independent, self-sufficient person.
“You okay, love?” Louis asked.
She nodded and flitted around the room taking order and tried not to think about the feeling of Kael’s stare on the back of her head.
*
It was perhaps another hour, and Kael was true to his word in staying put. Fortunately, The Locker Room remained steadily busy. She didn’t have to lie about not taking her break. She foisted him off on another waiter who grew a little tired of him asking for her each time he went over. “Baby,” he snatched her hand as she went by.
She pulled away. “Kael, I’m busy,” she marched away before he could reach for her again.
Without warning a multitude of memories where he snagged her hand over the years filtered through her mind. His grip tight on her arm or hand. Never in a way that any outsider would notice. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered to herself. She was going to call Harry. His wrath would be well worth it. At least Kael was scared of Harry and the team. Especially if he was outnumbered. She was shaking a little as she headed for the kitchen hoping to catch Louis at least.
“Hey,” Kael said grabbing her again as she passed too close to his table. This time he caught a real hold of her arm and pinned it to the table. To any other onlooker it would look like he was just keeping her in place holding onto her hand in almost a romantic kind of way. No one would see how his fingers dug into her skin, how she was feeling the ache of the hard wood against her knuckles and wrist bone like she just lost an arm-wrestling contest. “I just want to talk.”
She wanted nothing less. “Hey, Louis!” She called quickly and loudly enough so that he would be able to hear her over the din of the whole place regardless of where he had gone off too.
Within seconds Louis was there from the back room.
Harry was right beside him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her arm on the table. Her mouth popped open in shock. She had no clue he was there. Most obviously, she didn’t want him to see this. “Oh fuck,” she whispered and tried to pry her hand away from Kael’s. She squirmed slightly as he refused to release her. He cupped his other hand gently on top of her arm trying to get her to stop.
Harry wasn’t supposed to be here. He was only supposed to come to her rescue because she couldn’t figure out what else she was to do. She was going to hide in the kitchen and wait.
Harry wasn’t supposed to be around Kael.
“Styles,” Kael practically sang. He didn’t release her arm. “Didn’t know you were here. Tough loss today. I hope it’s the same tomorrow, to be honest.”
He didn’t take the bait. His nostrils flared. “Let go of her hand Crowe,” Harry snarled stepping closer to him.
“We were just talking, right baby?” Kael smiled and took his free hand to cup the side of her face. She turned her face away and brushed it away from her skin.
Harry continued to approach him—up close and personal. If they were on the ice the cages of their helmets would have been touching. “Let her go, right fucking now,” his shoulders were heaving.
“It’s fine,” she croaked. Harry didn’t even acknowledge her.
Was he trying to keep it together? Not make a scene, maybe? Harry was quick to anger—like most hockey players. He probably would have torn Kael limb from limb by now if this wasn’t a local place where fans and the rest of the team went.
“Let go of her,” her he repeated, his voice was so deep. His body shaking.
“Harry, I’m fine—”
He ignored her still and Kael continued keeping her in place despite her squirming. She wanted to whimper as he squeezed her tighter and pressed her hand harder into the table. To the untrained eye, you wouldn’t know. But Harry was watching like this was his favorite movie and they were at the climax of the plot. He saw the way she winced and her body bend slightly as he pressed harder. “Mind your fucking business, Styles,” Kael shook his head. “This doesn’t involve—”
“She is m’business. Especially when you’re fucking hurting her,” the whole bar area went silent as they realized one of their favorite celebrities was about to punch the lights out of one of the best names in hockey. “If y’don’t let her go, m’gonna rip your hand off, Crowe. And m’gonna enjoy it,” he promised shaking his head. “Let go of her.”
She wanted to move more but was utterly terrified. Harry could get in serious trouble. Kael wasn’t particularly dangerous, but his grip was making her whole arm ache. Harry’s threat made her stomach swoop; he was so ready to protect her. Of course that was nice, but she wanted to cry. Hurting one of the top professionals in the league (even if Harry was also at the top) was a great way to get a hefty suspension and fine if he was caught.
Just another way she was going to upend his perfectly normal, happy life.
“Harry, stop,” she begged.
“Yeah, Harry, stop,” Kael mimicked. But she inhaled sharply, pulling and moving again uselessly to try and get away from the grip he had on her wrist. She whimpered despite herself as the pain continued. “Mind your business Harry,” he snarled. “M’talking to my girlfriend.”
Harry didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Stop fucking touching her, Crowe.”
“She’s mine. I’ll do whatever I want to her.”
Harry stared at him, his gaze flicking to her wrist still pinned to the table. She was still squirming, looking to get away. Louis reached for her and Harry put his hand on his chest and pushed him away. He walked to the bar, grabbed a shot of whatever the bartender was pouring. His head tipped back as he sucked the liquid down. The quiet clink of his glass hitting the bar was the only sound in the room. Silently, Harry plucked the rings he wore when he wasn’t playing hockey off his fingers. He tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. It felt like the seconds were ticking by in slow motion. Not even the pain from Kael’s tight grip on her hand was enough to draw her attention away from Harry’s movements.
She swallowed, her eyes pleading with Harry not to do it. It wasn’t that bad. She could take it. The pain she was feeling now was hardly anything in comparison to what he could do. This was nothing.
“One more time, Crowe... Let go. Of her,” Harry’s voice was even. Measured. It had the tone of I’m not asking again.
“She’s mine, Styles. Find someone else to stalk.”
Harry smirked, shook his head, and his eyes flickered to hers for only a second. Then they were back on Kael. “Oh. No. No she’s very much not yours.”
As slow as the seconds had ticked by, they all came rushing back at full speed; maybe time even sped up. Harry delivered a lightning-fast punch to Kael’s nose causing him to gasp and drop her hand as he instinctively reached for his face. With the toe of his boot, Harry tipped his chair before Kael could get his bearings, and he fell flat to his back. The chair broke into pieces with his weight. He gasped, trying to right himself and protect his nose from bleeding everywhere. Harry reached down before Kael could get a grip. He yanked him up by the collar and front of his shirt. A stupid, ugly orange and blue sweatshirt that Harry was delighted to wrinkle hard in his hands. Before Kael was barely on his feet, Harry hauled him backward. Shoved him hard into the bar so the edge dug into his spine, no doubt. Without pause, Harry delivered a solid punch to his cheek, a heel stomp to his foot, and knee to his stomach.    
Kael bent forward, gasping for air and Harry’s breathing was as even as if he was sleeping.
Her hand went to her mouth and the other to her stomach as she tried to hold herself together. Everyone looked in pure shock. Surely someone was supposed to try and stop Harry. Even if he was a hockey player for the town that everyone loved. But given he incapacitated Kael in a matter of thirty seconds it wasn’t like anyone wanted to try and stop him. Even Louis was speechless and looked in horror. “Are y’gonna touch her again?” He didn’t say anything, which was the wrong answer as Harry twisted him in an instant, pressing his face down into the bar, pulling his arm back behind his body. “I said, are y’gonna touch her again?”
“No,” he rasped.
“M’letting y’keep your hand. Don’t make me regret it,” he snapped and shoved him a final time into the bar. He dropped a few hundreds on the bar for the damage and his drink. “Louis, keep the change,” he muttered over his shoulder without sparing another glance at Kael. “S’time t’go, Bunny,” he murmured lowly for no one else to hear but her. He placed an arm around her waist, and tugged her toward the exit. Every pair of eyes followed them.
“B-but m-my shift—”
Without missing a beat, he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and stuffed it in the front pocket of her apron. “Let’s go,” he repeated and ushered her outside.
Harry opened his passenger door and gestured for her to get in.
She looked nervous, which made Harry uneasy. This strong, brave woman who bantered with unruly hockey players and dealt with fans and drunk patrons looked a bit lost. “What about my car— I mean... your other—”
“Get in the car, Rookie,” he ordered.
She followed his direction. Harry waited until she was safely buckled inside before closing her in. He locked the door for the short walk around his car, only unlocking it so he could slip inside. Once seated and buckled, he turned the car on and immediately exited the parking lot. After driving in silence for several moments Harry dropped his hand on her thigh like it was an instinct.
He didn’t ask if she was okay. Which was kind of him, because how could she be? Her heart was thudding in her chest, her wrist hurt, and her brain was a mess. Harry’s hand on her leg should have made her uncomfortable given he didn’t ask. But it was almost too comforting, and she dreaded the idea that he would have to let go of her eventually.
“Don’t y’dare cry over him, bunny,” his voice was tight.
She sniffled, not realizing she was, in fact, crying. She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered looking toward the window.
Harry shook his head and sighed. His hand squeezed her leg while he pressed his head back into the seat hard—if the head rest wasn’t there and he didn’t have to watch the road, she was certain his eyes would be facing the ceiling of his car, searching for strength somewhere above him. His jawline seemed sharper than ever as he clenched his teeth. “Y’don’t have t’apologize.”
“Thank you,” she croaked quietly. “For doing that, I...” she swallowed hard. “I don’t really know what I would have done,” she admitted. The scenario didn’t seem to play out in full if Harry wasn’t there. Yeah, Louis would have helped, but this was different. Harry didn’t say anything. She pulled his wallet out of her apron and placed it in one of the cup holders between them. “I don’t want—”
“It’s yours.”
 “Harry, it’s not that—”
“Bunny, I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you all afternoon. Since I met you, really. I can’t stop. I used t’think ‘bout nothing but hockey. But s’like you’re the only thing on m’mind now. M’happy when I see you around the rink taking pictures. M’happy when y’try t’skate on m’pond. I love our lessons, and I want t’have y’in my house all the time. M’happy when you’re around. Happier than I’ve been in years, and I didn’t even know I wasn’t completely happy. I can’t have one-night stands anymore. I tried, I did. You’re a long shot. I know that. Someone who deserves a guy so much better than a hot-tempered hockey player as evident by the piece of shit that hurt you in so many ways,” His voice is quiet. “S’not a secret I like you. A lot. If we can only be friends and roommates—because m’sure as hell not bringing y’back to that sorry excuse of an apartment—then s'what I’ll do.”
There was only a brief beat of silence while she contemplated all he said. “I worked really hard on my apartment,” she whispered.
This seemed to soften him a little. He sighed. “It’s adorable, Bunny. It is. But m’constantly worried you’re going t’be kidnapped, robbed, or worse. You can move in this week,” he insisted. “I have the day off after tomorrow and I was going t’spend it at the gym t’lift with the guys so we can pack and move your shit all the same instead.”
“Harry, I don’t think that will work... I have to pay out the rest of my lease if I move out early.”
“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed. She didn’t say anything. Because she kind of agreed that it was bullshit. But she couldn’t move in with Harry. Not when he just admitted he liked her the way she did. It set her heart into a dramatic flutter. Being legally bound would hopefully be enough of a reason for Harry to agree to let her stay until her lease ran out. Then she could figure out her next steps. “Fine,” he decided after a moment. “The black debit card in m’wallet will take care of it.”
She snorted unable to hide her shock. “Harry, you can’t—”
“M’done arguing with you ‘bout this, Bunny.” She frowned and looked at her hand, turning her wrist and wincing ever so slightly. “Is your wrist okay?” He asked.
She shrugged and answered instinctively. “It hurts; but I’ve had worse,” she gasped at her own mistake almost instantly. “Oh fuck, I mean—” she stopped speaking. It didn’t matter. It was too late. Harry saw through it and understood exactly what she meant. He clenched the steering wheel tighter and he swallowed. The bob in his throat looked like he was drinking a glass of nails.
“Did he ever hurt you like this before?” Harry’s voice was an octave lower than she ever heard it. His eyes narrowed as he stared forward.
She didn’t want to make matters any worse, so she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. For several seconds, the car seemed so silent it was as if the tires weren’t even on the ground anymore or if she was breathing.
“Harry,” she whispered eventually.
Harry took a deep breath not liking the tone of her voice and pulled off to the side of the road.
“What are we— Harry!”
Before she could understand what was happening, Harry was outside and opening his trunk and the car doors locked her inside. Instantly, he pulled out one of the back-up sticks he had in case his two in the locker room broke in the middle of a game (or if he wanted to practice while he was home on the pond out back). He slammed it hard on the pavement multiple times grunting as he did until the stick snapped. Then he grabbed a second and repeated this process again, swearing and cursing like he was imagining Kael was under the stick.
Once satisfied with his destruction, he collected the broken pieces and dropped them in the back before sitting in the driver’s seat again, his breathing only slightly elevated.
She stared at him wildly. Her eyes were wide and beautiful. “If he touches you again, m’killing him,” he said simply. It was a promise. His breath was heavy from the exertion.
She nodded; Harry put the car in drive and continued back toward his place. His hand went right back on her thigh, which she still found comforting and warm, even though she had only had the luxury of his hand on her for no more than a few minutes. “Okay,” she whispered hoping there wouldn’t be an again to speak of.
Harry let the silence linger again. “My apartment is the other way,” she reminded him.
He rolled his eyes. “I just told you, Rookie, y’not living there anymore.”
“Oh my God, Harry. You can’t be serious.”
He snorted. “No. I am. As a heart attack.”
“Harry I can’t move in—”
“Of course, y’can. I have like five bedrooms. Pick one. Pick three for all I care.”
She swallowed. “What if I pick your bedroom?” She was attempting to lighten the mood, maybe. Harry wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was trying (and failing) to be annoying. But Harry was never annoyed by her. He was amused at worst. She was adorable. Every little thing she did was adorable.
“Then it’s yours,” he shrugged. He was hardly home during the season anyway. With his niece, Mum, and Gem out of town, he wasn’t home much in the off-season either. He could easily move into another room if she wanted his. In fact, he probably would give her his room. It wasn’t the only one with a bathroom, but it had a nice tub that he knew was being wasted without proper use and it felt like she deserved a relaxing night to soak in the tub until she got pruney and everything else that stressed her in her life disappeared.
“I thought you didn’t bring women home to stay,” she reminded him.
“Never had one that I wanted t’bring home,” he shrugged.
She pressed her head to the window. He was quick. Didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay tonight, but I’m not moving in. My uncle is going to kill you.”
He shrugged. “S’a long line of Glacier Wolves who’ll want t’kill me before him.” She giggled softly under her breath. Harry glanced at her peripherally and smirked at the little smile that graced her lips. “M’niece is over a lot in the off season,” he told her. “Gem and Mum come by too. So s’had women there before.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Then, yeah. Never had a woman I wanted to bring home,” he repeated. Harry parked in his driveway, turned to her, his hand still on her thigh and honestly, she never wanted it to move.
“Are we still friends?” She blurted. He just admitted he liked her. It was no secret she liked him too. It could make things very awkward going forward so she wouldn’t blame him if he really didn’t want to be friends any longer.
“What a weird fucking question, Rookie,” he shook his head.
“Can you just tell me?”
“Yes, we’re still fucking friends. Despite the fact I would love t’be more.”
She closed her eyes. “He really fucked me up, Harry,” she whispered. “He... he wanted some trophy girlfriend that doted on him and worshipped him for being a good hockey player. He didn’t want me to be my own person. He didn’t want me to have my own hobbies or interests. Like I was nothing, a nobody—”
“Rookie,” he whispered.
“—and I just let him treat me that way. Because it was easier than confronting it—”
“Rookie.”
“—So I don’t want to keep falling for you because you... you’re so talented and you will overshadow me and you should. But it’s so fucking cold living in the shadow of someone else and I don’t think I can do it anymore.”
He winced. “Bunny,” he wanted her to stop.
“I don’t love that nickname either,” she sighed. “I want to. It’s cute and it’s even cuter when you say it. But the connotation of being a puck bunny is just more of what Kael insinuated and I don’t—”
“I don’t think you are a puck bunny. S’not why I call you that. Y’wrinkle your nose like a bunny when y’concentrate. S’the first thing I noticed when I met y’taking pictures rink-side. And you’re always going and going like the little Energizer bunny. But mostly, s’because you’re so fucking cute like a bunny. S’honestly nearly nauseating sometimes.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed trying to keep all the feelings of falling for another hockey player at bay. “So, I make you sick?”
He smiled. “Excessively.”
“And you want me anyway?”
“Excessively,” he whispered cupping her face. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, and sank into the way his hand caressed her cheek for a moment.
Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked at him shyly. “You probably know that he cheated on me,” she reminded him. “And the worst of it, I don’t know if it was the first time, and I don’t want to know. Because I already felt stupid for letting him belittle me and letting me forget parts of myself.”
Harry tilted his head back fully staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Yeah...” And now Harry knew this wasn’t the first time he had hurt her either. Whether it was intentional or not.
“And...” she swallowed. “I don’t think you’re like him... if you take anything away from this conversation, please know that I think you’re nothing like him. You’re up front about most of everything. He kept things from me. But... you’re you and you could have any woman you want in any city you want. I don’t fault you for that—I really hope you know that... but I don’t want to be a number anymore, Harry. I don’t want to feel like an idiot, and I don’t think you would intentionally make me feel like an idiot but—”
“Bunny,” he interrupted, turning back to gaze into her eyes so intensely it felt like everything around them disappeared except for the space between them. The seriousness in his green eyes made her stomach flip. They seemed darker. Like the color was changing to a darker shade to explain how serious he was and how he meant every word that spilled from his mouth. “I think you’re brilliant,” he whispered. “In every facet of your life. I’ve thought about nothing but hockey m’whole life. It has been eat, sleep, and breathe ice, pucks, and sticks. The second I met you, every thought has been ‘bout you,” he reminded her. “If I never played another game of hockey, I really think I would be okay s’long as y’were around.”
Her heart felt like it was broken and whole all at the same time. It was too sweet. She bit the inside of her lip. “Well, I don’t want that,” she whispered. “You’re quite good,” she reminded him.
He chuckled. “The point remains, Rookie... I want you t’have everything y’could possibly want. I want t’do anything I can t’help y’achieve anything y’want t’do.”
She looked at her lap. “I can’t believe you went to get a drink.”
“I really didn’t think y’would be there... was hoping I’d run into Louis and maybe he would know if y’were okay. Y’never answered my texts. Didn’t tell me y’made it home.” he frowned. “Why did y’lie t’me, Bunny?”
She took a deep breath. “The whole team has been so nice to me,” she whispered. “I’m not really used to that...” she trailed off. “Callie got so many penalties, you had to interrupt your post-game cool down to walk me to your car, everyone wants to take shifts to watch me... you have to drive me home, give me one of your car... I’ve seriously disrupted your lives... and it was all just too much today. I don’t want to bother you guys. You didn’t sign up to have a kid or a pet you need to watch. Uncle Charlie didn’t have to give me a job with a hockey team. I feel like I didn’t earn anything. It’s so sweet that all of you care, but it’s weird for me...”
God, she was cute. Even sad she was cute. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Y’haven’t disrupted our lives,” he promised. “We’d do this for anyone.”
“That’s comforting I suppose.”
“C’mon, s’late... we have a game tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.
“Course, Rookie,” he squeezed her leg one more time and then got out of the car. (As she predicted, she hated the feeling of Harry’s hand anywhere else but her thigh.)
Entering his house, Harry kicked off his shoes and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She texted her group chat with Michael and Marc as she flopped onto the couch until she got more direction from Harry.
I’m at someone’s house for the night so don’t worry about me.
Michael reacted to her message with a thumbs up.
It better be a HOT hockey player.
Michael reacted to Marc’s message with a thumbs down.
Good night, Marc!
I want every INCH of detail
That earned a vomiting emoji from Michael. I do NOT want any details.
GOOD NIGHT MARC
*
Harry hated that he had a big house. If they were at her apartment, they could have been squished in her bed right then. She wouldn’t be down the hall and half of Harry’s mattress wouldn’t have felt so cold. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Fortunately, his phone vibrated almost immediately. Like she somehow knew he was awake.
Are you awake?
M-hmm
Can we get breakfast, please?
Harry would throw himself down a set of stairs for her if she asked. “You could jus’ come in here t’ask,” he called.
“I’m creating boundaries!” She answered from a guest room. “Besides this bed is comfy and I don’t want to get up,” she giggled.
“Well, I don’t want boundaries,” he grumbled to himself. He wondered if she slept without pants on. Not that it mattered. He was turned on by the thought of her naked in his bed or if she was in a full snow suit.
“What did you say?” She called.
“Nothing,” he grumbled and pressed the palm of his hand over the front of his shorts willing the blood to rush anywhere but his dick at the thought of her in a goddamn snow suit. “I just have t’shower,” he mumbled.
“Okay, I’ll be here,” she sighed, and Harry could picture her snuggling herself further into the mattress. Maybe it was for the best she was in another room. If she was there looking all cute and cuddly on his bed, he would have to quit hockey. He would probably spend the rest of his life worshipping her on his mattress in every possible way.
Plus, his dick would never be anything but hard.
“Jesus, fuck,” he sighed to himself under the spray of the warm shower. He tried to think about anything but her pretty self in the other room. In his house. In his bed. In his clothes. She was probably changing into her uniform from the night before, so at least he wouldn’t see her in the shirt and shorts he gave her to wear for bed.
He shook his head and focused on shower and not what it would feel like to press her against the tile or—
“Fuuuuck,” he touched his forehead against the tile. Hockey. Defense. Goals. Niall. That’s good. Niall, gross. Callie—FUCK Callie. Asher owes me ten dollars for betting Lang wouldn’t say “good effort” in their pool game the other day.
His shower took twice as long to shower because he had to actively think about something other than his pretty friend. Once he was out, he slipped into a pair of sweats and one of his long sleeve practice shirts. As he put on his deodorant, he realized it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize what she was doing as he got dressed. “Rookie, you are not,” he called as he hurried down the hall.
“Not what?” She asked innocently.
“Doing my dish—Rookie, what the hell!”
“They were just there! And I was bored, Harry. Plus, you didn’t say I couldn’t!”
“I told you last time.”
“Well yeah, but that was last time.”
“Please stop,” he begged and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re supposed t’be going t’breakfast.”
“Well, I figured while you took two years to get ready,” it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes max but maybe his effort to not think about her in his shower took longer than he thought, “I would make myself useful,” she shrugged and set the final dish on the drying rack beside his sink. She turned the water off and ran the dishtowel over the counter and edge surrounding the sink. She turned, leaning against the counter. Her black and silver uniform top for The Locker Room was on her again. Her leggings from the night before clung to her legs like a second skin.
He wondered how she could look so cute after working a hectic, busy shift, then slept all night and it barely looked like she had a hair out of place. “What?” She asked looking down at her shirt. “Do I have something on this? We’ll have to stop at my apartment first if I do. I’m not going out with you to breakfast when you look hot and I look like trash,” she frowned.
He snorted. “Y’don’t look like trash, Rookie.”
“Well, do I smell or something?”
“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re beautiful. Stunning really,” he shrugged one shoulder and reached out to touch her face. He skimmed his thumb along her cheek wishing he could lean in and kiss her until they were both breathless. He smiled softly enjoying the way her cheek warmed under his touch. For someone so snarky, she was awfully shy. “Let’s go,” he tilted his head toward the main hallway. He made his way before she could read into it as he was sure she was wont to do.
Harry opened her passenger door and smiled wickedly at her as she got in. “What?” She asked, her eyebrows pinching together.
“You think I’m hot,” he sang.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Harry chuckled, closing her inside.
*
Kael didn’t play because he was injured. The report sustained it happened at practice the day before but everyone on The Chargers bench knew. Kael kept his gear on but moved to the end of the bench for the starters and lines of his teammates that would be playing. He hardly cheered, hardly moved.
The rest of The Wolves sent death glares to everyone on the team. Harry was checked into the boards more times than he could count. But every time he caught sight of the pretty photographer twirling her wrist in between photos, he felt grateful for each hit. She continued to take pictures, placing her camera into the cutouts of the glass around the ice.
Kael hid from pictures from his own media specialist, the news outlets, and even the fans during the game and in between periods.
“Coward,” Asher growled as they left the ice and headed to the locker room at the end of the game. The group that typically resided in the back of The Locker Room was livid when they found out from Harry that Kael hurt her. They too must have seen the way she twisted her wrist around between pictures. Harry wondered if she noticed she was doing it. It ate at him that it wasn’t the first time that piece of garbage hurt her. There was nothing Harry could do—well, maybe if he ever did figure out time travel, he could. But for now, he could take the hits from Kael’s stupid team and make sure the pretty photographer was okay.
Besides.
He may have had a tough game physically, but Harry was truly on cloud nine.
“Sweetheart, you good?” Lang called from the front of the line heading back toward the locker room.
“I’m good!” She answered.
Harry didn’t even care that Niall was walking alongside her and not him. Or that Callie gave her arm a squeeze when he walked by. It didn’t bother him that Asher was as irate as him either.
Because the word Styles was on her body. It was purposeful. If Kael paid attention, he would see it. He would know she supported Harry, regardless of how outlandish it was (or wasn’t) that he defended her last night. Harry knew the second he saw it, that Kael was going to look at the pretty girl with his number on her and start fuming in his seat. Maybe that’s why his team aimed for him so vehemently throughout the game as well.
Whatever, Harry could take it.
It was well worth it to see his name on her jersey.
Harry realized it was his time to shine after they went out for breakfast. He drove her to get her car at Louis’. He followed her home to the shady apartment building. He wasn’t in the mindset to leave her for any bit of time given the night before. Maybe not for a good few days either if he had it his way. They had away games coming up so they would be all but trapped together on a plane, a bus, and in a hotel so that was in his favor.
He really hoped she would be in a nearby room at the hotel. Or better yet, there wouldn’t be enough rooms, and he could share his with her.
“Why’d you choose eleven?” She asked when she came out of her room after getting ready. She was fluffing her pretty hair and tugging at the hem of the jersey that she had put on. It took a moment to register in Harry’s mind that she was talking to him and was anticipating a response. In her mind, it was no big deal that she was nonchalantly wearing his name and number. That she was by far the prettiest thing he had ever seen. The sweetest person he knew.
He swore his heart skipped a beat as his vision refocused on the lovely girl wearing his name on her back.
He cleared his throat. “S’the first number I ever got,” he shrugged. “But now I say m’so good, m’number twice.”
She grinned and laughed quietly under her breath as she put earrings on with The Chargers logo. “I like that. You are very good. I’ve seen a lot of hockey myself. I like to think I’m a good judge of ability.”
When Harry was younger, he thought if he could have a superpower, he would want to time travel. As he got older it changed a bit, he wanted super strength so he could be the strongest hockey player. Read minds so he could predict the movements of opponents on the ice. Since he met her, he returned to the tried and true: if he could time travel, he could figure out twenty seconds after he kissed her if she hated him or kiss him back, he would have done it right then.
He smirked. “So m’the lucky one today?” He asked pulling on the sleeve.
“I don’t know, does wearing someone’s jerseys constitute as lucky for the day?”
He nodded. “Yeah, very much so, Rookie.”
“Then sure; you’re very lucky, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.
Harry had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his smile from splitting his face in half. He turned away slightly and caught sight of a string of pictures on her little kitchen bar. “What’s all this?” He asked, picking up a photo and inspecting it. It was one of the ones she took while Harry was practicing before the rest of the team showed up. Another photo she got laying down on the ice of Callie’s skates when Harry wanted to rip his teammate’s arm off for holding her so close that day. One from Niall’s empty net. Another of Asher’s locker, his jersey on display. A close up of the C on Lang’s jersey. One of just the empty rink—no fans, no players, nothing.
“Oh... I don’t know,” she looked away shyly piling them together. “I was playing with the idea of making a series of photos,” she flipped one over to indicate the back showed the number three in the line. “You guys are attractive and stuff, but I thought there was a lot of beauty in the little things behind the bench, you know? It’s not just fights and points. The rink is so pretty,” she shrugged.
Harry grabbed her hand before she could stack any more of them away. He looked at each of the pictures painstakingly selected from the hundreds of photos she took each day. The way the light shone off a helmet, the way a shadow fell on the bench. “They’re beautiful, Bunny. Why don’t y’do it?”
“Do what?”
“Make it a series?”
She shook her head. “No... I don’t know. Not many people care about sports photography,” she shrugged. “Not like this anyway.”
“Rookie, I think every team owner and manager in the league would pay t’have this set in their arena.”
“No way, there’s not a single headshot of a star player. In sports, the only thing that really sells by far is you guys and your pretty faces,” she patted his cheek. “It’s tragic, I have some incredible photos of a few baseball diamonds at sunset. But there’s no fans and no players so it just wouldn’t sell well.”
“Show me,” he urged.
She sighed and put her jacket over “We’re going to be late, Harry. Uncle Charlie is already going to be annoyed with me that I’m wearing your jersey. And so will the rest of the team.”
“They all had their turn, Rookie, y’made me wait forever,” he grumbled. They didn’t have to be annoyed. They didn’t have a crush on her the way Harry did. They all knew that. His teammates were his family, but they made him cranky no less; teasing him about how smitten he was about their photographer.
She smiled sadly. “Harry,” she sighed. “I’ll show you another time.”
“Promise?” He pleaded.
“Promise?” She repeated in disbelief. Harry was nearly thirty years old and sounded like he was in kindergarten.
“Promise you’ll show me,” he said pointedly.
“Alright, yeah," She shook her head, sighed with a smile still on her lips. "I promise.”
--
general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach
@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals
@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams
@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland
@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles
@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter
@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles
@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921
@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502
@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine
@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl
@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10
@tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269
@jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle
I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)
If you like this, check out my masterlist here
684 notes · View notes
ellssbellss · 11 months ago
Note
Hey! I love your writing so much, especially lavender roses! I was wondering if you could write a Host Club x reader who has a lot of random hobbies (woodworking, painting, fencing, singing, writing, etc)?
I just know that if I had Ouran money, I’d have so many more hobbies. Thank you!
my life is a little hectic right now, as all you lovely people know. but I had this written, or most of it anyway, and I wanted to post it :) thank you for your patience with me while I deal with this difficult time, and for your amazing request!
The Hosts and their S.O. with too many hobbies! {Ohshc x Gender Neutral!Hobbiest!Reader}
missing Honey and Haruhi - will add them when I can!
Tumblr media
.oOo.
Tamaki’s reader:
Ballet
Gardening
Painting
Tamaki’s eyes sparkled as you leaped across the stage, never daring to look away from your sculpted body framed in the dramatic stage lights. Tears had been glistening in his violet eyes since your first pirouette, and now he was wiping his cheek every chance he could get. Quickly, so he didn’t miss a single moment. 
The prince was left breathless as you danced. The art of ballet flowed so naturally through your form, you looked like you belonged on that stage. Through the kaleidoscope of his tears, Tamaki sighed as you spun and jumped and just moved so fluidly, the emotion on your face making him feel with you.
Your technique dazzled every single member of the audience, and when you bowed, the blonde man was the first to shoot up from his seat. He shoved his palms together unceremoniously, whooping and cheering as everyone politely clapped around him, but he didn’t care. When you tipped your head up and found his wet eyes in the crowd with a playful smile on your lips, he knew he had never seen anything more beautiful. 
Scratch that. 
“Tamaki!” Your hand shot up from the sea of people filing into the theater lobby, and he zoned in on it. On a mission, a blonde head and a (h/c) head come closer together, pushing through the black suits and long dresses in order to greet the other. Finally, the waters part, and Tamaki takes in your glory with a grin. 
“Mon amour…” He breathes, and it’s all you can do not to skip to him as you hold your pointe shoes in your hand. The bouquet of flowers he brought are set down in favor of catching your form and spinning you in the air. His hands come flat against your back as he buries his face in your neck, whispering your praises into your hair. 
“You did so well, my love.” He feels your hands wrap tighter around his neck. “You’re so incredibly talented.” 
Setting you down gently, he cradles your face. Your beaming at him, pride and adrenaline coursing through your pupils as you try to catch your breath, and he revises his initial thought. 
This is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Your gorgeous features enveloped in pure joy. 
Chuckling, his voice is like butter as he runs one of his fingers over your cheekbone. “How do you feel?”
“Amazing.” Your chest heaves, but your smile is bright. “Especially after seeing you in the audience.”
“Please,” He says, tugging you closer. “I never would’ve missed the opportunity to see you shine.”
Tamaki kisses you then, and you melt. His fingers are gentle against your jaw, peeking into your hairline for a moment as your lips meet sweetly. You hum when he pulls away, wacking him when he smirks at the blush on your face. 
“Everytime.” He says, teasing you with a kiss to your cheek. 
“Shut up.” You groan. “You can’t kiss me like that and not expect it to affect me.”
“Like what?” A blonde eyebrow quirks up. “Like this?”
He leans in again before someone clears their throat. A man with a collar too high on his neck gives you two a disapproving glare as he walks by, clearly upset by the dramatic display of affection. 
You just giggle as the man moves on somewhere else. “Maybe we shouldn’t kiss like that in front of all these people.”
Tamaki rolls his eyes but steps away from you ever-so-slightly. “When you look at me like that, I can’t help myself.”
“Contain yourself.” You tease. 
“That will never be possible, mon amour, when my heart can’t even contain its beat with you in this leotard.” Shrugging off his suit jacket, he drapes it around your shoulders. “Maybe cover up a little though, huh? Just for my sanity?”
Laughing, you pull your arms through the too big sleeves, basking in the cologne smell and the sense of security it brings you. “Okay. You can just take it off later.”
Tamaki’s eyes widen as a blush forms on his cheeks, but he grins. “You’re such a flirt.”
“Look who’s talking.” Putting your arm through his, you lean against his side and giggle, his stature supporting you like it always does. But as you turn him towards the front door of the theater, he gasps. 
“Wait!” Your boyfriend quickly spins and grabs the flowers that were almost forgotten on the carpet, luckily not trampled by the crowd of opera goers. 
“These…” Separating your arms softly, he stands in front of you, bowing as he holds out the gift. “...are for you, darling.”
He hears you gasp, and when he straightens, your eyes are wide and sparkling at the flowers in front of you. (E/c) pools scan every petal, every leaf and stem, and your hand gently cradles the buds. 
“Tama…” Your voice is soft enough to not disturb the flora in front of you. “These are from my garden.” 
He nods. “I wanted to make the bouquet special enough for you.”
“You wrapped them up so beautifully…” You breathe, and you scan them top to bottom. Your eyes pause at the bottom of the stems. “You didn’t give them a diagonal cut?” 
A hand comes to cover his mouth. “Oh, no! I forgot to give them a diagonal cut!” Tamaki swallows before running a hand through his hair. “Before I fix it, of course, just remind me what that is.”
Your hair doesn’t jostle from the hairspray that holds your ballet hair together when you shake your head. “Silly prince. It’s when you cut the bottom of the stem diagonally when you pick them, so that they can absorb more water.”
“Oh…” And with that, a determined gleam twinkled in his eye. “That’s an easy fix! Let me find some scissors.” Quickly, he looks around the bustling lobby, waving his hand. “Who has scissors?!”
“No! No, Tamaki.” Laughing, you bring his hand back down to your side, cradling the large bouquet in your other arm. “It’s fine. Just remember for next time.” 
He sees your throat bob, as if you’re holding something else back. “Is there something else, amour?”
You take a breath, fully prepared to deny anything, but you sigh, slumping your shoulders as another critique spills out of you. “And also, for next time, just get me chocolate? I work really hard on making sure these flowers stay alive, and they look much prettier on the bush they were grown on then arranged only to die in a few days.”
Your heart lunges when you see a darkened expression take over his face. “Oh my god, I killed your flowers.”
“That’s okay! It’s fine, roses are easy to grow this time of year, I promise.” You hurry to correct him, putting your palm on his jaw. “I was trying to make it special, I swear.” He whines. His hand comes to rest over yours on his cheek, his fingers grasping your own. “I just didn’t think about it that way.” 
You simper at him. “It was special. Knowing how much care you put into arranging them like this is so special to me. Thank you, Tamaki.”
It’s your turn to kiss him on the cheek, and he practically melts. As you’re about to walk out of the busy theater, you feel Tamaki’s arms wrap around your form. He lifts you, cradling you like the royalty you are. 
Before you can protest, he shoves your face into the crook of his neck, blonde wisps tickling your cheeks. “Your poor legs, they must be so sore after all that dancing.”
“I can walk just fine.”
“I know.” He squeezes you closer to his chest, and your arms betray your words as they wrap around his neck. 
Tamaki takes you back to your home, your parents having missed the recital in favor of a business trip somewhere. There was a long shower, a hot meal, and plenty of cuddling and soft touches before the evening sky touched down into night, and the moonlight poured into the large windows of your place. 
Now, he leans on the couch, his feet propped up as he stretches his long form across the length of the white cushions. The serene night fluttered as he opened his eyes from a lazy nap he took, inhaling the scent that was so perfectly you. It calmed him. 
To his side, a clanking sound rang into the quiet space. He slowly turned his head to see you gently setting a cup of tea onto one of the side tables. He meets your sheepish gaze when you realize you woke him up, biting your lip. 
“I know you’re better at making tea, but I tried.” You offer, spinning the saucer with two fingers so that the handle was facing him. A sweet smile pulls his beautiful face as he sits up.
“Thank you, mon amour.” Reaching for the tea cup, he sees that you are about to walk away from him towards the arching window in your bedroom, the one that looks out over your garden. There is a paint easel set up facing the view, a nearly-exact replica of it being portrayed on your canvas. 
Tsking, he lightly grips your wrist, putting pressure to spin you back around. With a yelp, you fall seamlessly across his lap, his arm bracing your back. 
“I didn’t get to thank you properly.” His voice rumbles, and his lips are pressed to yours again, leaving you to soften into a lovesick puddle. Your mouths move once, twice, and you can’t resist holding him there for a third time before you separate. His violet eyes transfix on your features, a gentle smile on his lips. 
“What?” You ask, laughing as he zones out once again. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he sinks into his, what you like to call, mental theater. “Tamaki, you’re staring.”
Blinking, that sparkle in his eyes fades, but not very much. A finger comes out and wipes off a smear of paint from your cheek. “No, I’m falling, amour. All over again.”
Humming, you pick his chin back up into your grasp. “Then I’ll be here to catch you, darling.” 
A cherry blush coats his cheeks when you initiate the kiss this time, and he makes a sound of pleasure against your lips. When you pull away, he is stuttering and hiding behind the tea cup. Chuckling, you watch his hand shake slightly as he tries to regain his cool. “You okay there?”
“What? Of course, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” He rambles, taking a very purposeful sip of the tea you brought him. Then his cheeks bulge, struggling to hold the liquid in his mouth. 
“Oh god, it’s terrible, isn’t it?” You say, covering your mouth. 
Tamaki shakes his head, but he is breaking out into a nervous sweat. 
“Tamaki, spit it out if you don’t like it.” Urging him, you push the cup back to his closed lips. He refuses, his face turning a slight shade of green. 
“Tama!” You laugh a little, pleading with him. His grip on the tea cup tightens, and you see the struggle in his swallow as he forces it down his throat. 
“G-great as always, angel.” He lies, still wincing at the aftertaste. “Oh mon dieu…” He curses underneath his breath. 
Rolling your eyes, you place the cup back on the saucer. “You don’t have to lie.” You insist with a teasing smirk. 
A weak grin escapes his full lips. “You are such a talented person, (Y/n).” He starts, nuzzling into your shoulder. “You’re perfect.” And even as his stomach turns, he is grateful to have a significant other with many talents, even if making tea isn’t one of them. 
.oOo.
Kyoya’s reader:
Debate club
Woodworking
Reading
Long legs race down the hall, dressed in perfectly iron slacks and shined dress shoes. His black book is clasped in his hand as Kyoya turns another corner, the door to his destination finally coming in sight. Breathing a sigh of relief, the megane fixes his glasses, gray eyes trained on the entrance down the hall. 
Students are bustling outside of the auditorium, waiting in line as the start time for the debate draws nearer. Kyoya, at his height, pushes past his fellow peers, easily being able to see over the ocean of yellow dresses and lavender jackets. 
Before he can reach the heavy double doors into the theater space, he’s stopped by a hand at his arm. 
“Excuse me, sir, but you can’t enter the auditorium yet. Not until I’ve been given the green light.” The voice of a security guard sounds over the noise of side conversations, and Kyoya’s dark lashes flick up to meet her stern ones. Clearing his throat, he gently detaches his arm from her grip. He matches her polite smile, a fake one stretching his own lips. 
“I understand, Miss. But I’m actually late. I was supposed to meet someone backstage, but I unfortunately got mine and their schedules muddled.” 
“I’m sorry, sir, but these doors are closed to the public until the start time.” 
Squinting slightly, his host smile grows a little longer on his pale skin. “It’s Miss Kato Hisa, isn’t it?”
The security guard’s eyes widened, knowing that her name tag had been lost in her car for weeks now. “Yes, sir. Have we met?”
“Not formally, no.” Tucking his black book under his arm, he reaches his palm out, grasping her hand in greeting. “I am Ootori Kyoya. Third son to the Ootori family.” 
Her hand tightened in his before he let it drop, and she gasped excitedly. “Oh, my gosh, I didn’t realize! Your police force is the top force in the nation.” She smiles sheepishly. “I actually submitted my application a few weeks ago–”
“I’m well aware.” His deep voice cuts her off. “My family only accepts the best, you know. But, I’m sure my father and the chief of the force could be urged in a different direction, with the proper motivations.” 
Hisa’s grin widens. “Wow, Ootori-san, that would be amazing! I would be so grateful–”
“If I could be let in now, then you may have your chance.”
Her grin falls. “But, I can’t do that, sir. I am under strict orders not to let anyone in until the appropriate time.”
“Then I’m afraid your application would fall to the bottom of the pile unseen.” Kyoya’s facade is too sweet for his words. “Forgotten.”
The security guard’s face falls into a thin line, searching the Ootori son’s eyes for the joke, or a speck of unseriousness. Of course, she will find none. She can’t read him the way you can.
“You’re cruel.” Swallowing, her fingers grip around the door handle. Pulling it open a crack wide enough for his lithe frame to slip through, she mumbles as he passes. “Enjoy the debate.” 
“Thank you, I will.” His tone is low as he moves down the aisles to the sides of the stage. What a weak integrity, he muses, flying down the carpeted stairs. She couldn’t last a day on our police force. 
Soon, he hears bustling from behind the debate stage, and he swishes the curtains to the side, slipping into a crowd of debate teams. A stormy gaze sweeps over the crowd, looking for a conglomerate of dark blue suits, the official uniform of the Ouran Debate Team. Once he finds them, he makes a beeline for an (h/c) individual bouncing their leg, a historical fiction novel in their hands. 
He simpers at the genre. You only read historical fiction when you’re nervous. 
You don’t hear the click of his dress shoes before he is stopped right in front of you, too engrossed in the story to pick out your boyfriend’s movements.
“(Y/n).” That voice shocks you from your trance, and you sweep your gaze up from your seat to find Kyoya smirking down at you, a little flushed. Gasping, you stand immediately, a wide smile taking over your lips. 
“Kyo.” You greet him happily, placing your book onto a lone table next to you. “I’m so glad you made it.” Reaching out, you fix a strand of his hair that had been sticking up from his wind-swept look. Then you notice his rapid breaths and his pink cheekbones. 
Chuckling a bit, your smile grows. “Are you okay? Did you run here?”
Scoffing, he rolls his eyes at you. “Of course not. Just a brisk walk.” He steps closer, the palm not grasping his journal resting onto your hip. “I apologize for being late. I got the dates confused.”
“The dates?”
Nodding, he flips open the famous black book as he pulls you a little closer into his side so that you could see. You lean into his shoulder as he shows you the section that acts as his planner.
“I thought your debate was tomorrow, when, in reality, your woodworking exposition is tomorrow evening. Since your exposition starts an hour later, I incorrectly believed I had more time to work on my club’s budget.”
“You do tend to get lost in the numbers.” 
His eyes slip past you to the book next to you. “We all have our methods of escape.” 
“I can’t argue with that.” You agree, (e/c) meeting thunderstorms. 
“Now, that’s not true.”  He teasingly gestures to your debate team. “Isn’t that the point of all this?” 
Groaning, you lay your head on his shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”
“(Y/n), my dear.” Pulling apart from you slightly, he takes your hands in his. They are smaller, and he likes that he can encapsulate them in his grasp, keeping them safe. “You’re nervous.”
“You know, it’s not like you to state the obvious.” 
“It’s not like you to be so anxious.” He retorts. “You are usually very confident in your debate abilities.”
You quirk an eyebrow at him, a smirk blooming onto your lips. “But being nervous is a natural reaction. Especially when talking about competition.” 
“But don’t you agree that confidence is a more helpful emotion?” He responds, eyeing the smart style you have slicked your hair into. “Empirical evidence supports that people achieve more when they are of competent mind, instead of pushing themselves down.” 
You take a step forward into his space, your shoulders back. “True. However, a study recently conducted in Switzerland concluded that when an individual person is nervous, or feels anxiety, they tend to work harder towards their goal, as their brain specifically prioritizes that achievement rather than any other.”
He hums thoughtfully, also taking a step forward. “Is that so? Wouldn’t more anxiety hinder that ability to do well? Some people succumb to the state of nervousness. Students procrastinate all the time in fear of not doing well, so they don’t end up actually starting.”
Your hands swing lower, till clasped together as you inch forward even more, his angled face only a few breaths from yours. His eye-line makes a triangle shape across your features, going from your left pupil, to your full lips, and then your right. 
“Maybe so, if you are specifically talking about education.” Your voice drops a little lower, falling into a bubble with him. “But in competition, especially group sports like debate, there is an added social pressure. Competitors are not only nervous about their own preparedness, but how that preparedness might affect their team, a team that relies on them. Those anxieties grouped together enhance an individual's motivation to do well.”
Kyoya’s heart drummed a little faster in his chest. Here you were, standing in front of him in a very flattering suit, the color striking against your skin tone. Your words were concise, your tone was steady, and your touch had already been drawing him closer into you. His throat had gone dry at your smart demeanor, your intellect shining in the reflection of his spectacles. 
He needed to pull himself together. 
But he indulged a little more, pulling one of his hands away from yours to grasp your chin in his fingers, tugging your temptations into his hold. “I yield.” He murmured. 
Before your lips could connect, however, another student from the opposing debate team jostled his shoulder. You steadied him as the student grumbled under his breath. “Get a room. Fucking horny high schoolers.” 
Kyoya glared daggers at the man, already calculating the next strike to his reputation before he heard your laughter. He felt you pry his fingers off of you, and he turned to see you smiling curiously at him, the sharp edges of his gaze already softening. 
“Kissing in public?” You tease, placing a small peck on the inside of his palm. “Being late has made you so scrambled.”
Scoffing, he turns your head to the side. Favoring a far more appropriate kiss on the cheek, he responds in your ear. “You’re right, what was I thinking? You have to win to earn it.”
A gasping breath rushes through your lungs. “So not only am I competing in the finals for my debate team, I’m also competing for my boyfriend’s affection.” You narrow your gaze. “You're cruel.” 
He smirks, and now it’s your turn to feel a skipped heartbeat. “So I’ve been told.” 
But you hum, leaning closer. “If I don’t deserve a kiss from my boyfriend, I guess you don’t deserve the present I made for you.”
A black eyebrow raises. “You have a gift for me? Isn’t it my place to get you a gift before your critical night?”
“Yes, and I’m fully expecting whatever incredibly thoughtful gift you’ve managed to hide from me up until this point. Because I know you got me something to commemorate this day.” Turning, you move to your backpack, shuffling through it. “But I made this in Wood Shop. Just to clear my head before tonight.” 
Pulling the wrapped object out of your bag, you hand it to him, beaming proudly at him. Gently, he takes it from you, immediately trying to guess what it was from the weight and size of the box. 
“I’ve been trying woodcarving more often than actual carpentry.” You explain as his pianist fingers unwrap the present. “I wanted you to have my first successful product.”
God, he was almost disgusted at how bright his heart was glowing, how much lighter it became at your words. Swallowing, he pulled a nearly black object out of the decorative box, his lips parting at the sight. 
A carved rose laid elegantly between his fingers. The detail was impeccable, the petals imitating something delicate even if it was created from something so solid. The flower was heavy in his grasp, but with its weight came an accurate beauty. He hadn’t really studied the skill it would take to create something like this, but he planned to do some extensive research when he was able. 
Still, he knew it took an intense study on angles, and an assured hand to make cuts in the right places. Kyoya also realized the time, the focus, and the determination that someone must have to make something as perfect as this. To see an image in the wood and reveal it to the world. 
The Ootori son gently began to put the rose back into the box. 
Your lip worried between your teeth. “It’s made out of Gaboon ebony, which is the darkest wood available in nature. I know you have a very specific color scheme for your spaces, so I thought that would fit perfectly as a desk decoration.”
Kyoya met your gaze, placing the lid on the giftbox.
Shrugging, you shifted, wondering why a man of many words had gone silent. “And I don’t know why, but I thought a rose would be a good image. It’s romantic, sure, but…I don’t know, they have a grace to them that matches yours. In my eyes, at least.” You say.
A finger pushes up his lens as he steps towards you, placing the box slowly onto the same spare table you had set your book. 
His cologne washes over you as he does, and you swallow. “Do you not like it? I could make you something else, maybe something a little sharper. A rose might’ve been too feminine–”
Your doubt is halted as Kyoya surges forward, both of his skilled hands framing your face as he pulls your mouth to his. Surprise sounds against where your lips meet before it dissolves into a wanting breath, tilting your head a little more to absorb as much of his spontaneity as you can. 
It’s a closed kiss, but you both fit together like a puzzle piece, and you feel every unspoken emotion between you as he holds you to him, your own arms slipping to his waist. 
When he breaks apart, you’re blushing deeply, eyes scattering to see if anyone saw the public display of affection, but the crowd was too busy with their own conversations of boosting morale and good luck.
You came back to the moment, taking a breath as you clasp your hands behind his back. “What was that for?” 
His own voice was breathless, but the dazed look in his eyes sharpened, and his kissed lips smirked back at you. “You earned it.” 
And even if your many talents and expositions busied his schedule, the smile that grew on your face and the way he had to gently shove you away before you stole another kiss made it worth it. 
.oOo.
Hikaru’s Reader:
Kickboxing
Nail Tech
Sewing
“I’m gonna kill ‘em.” 
“No, baby. You can’t do that.” 
“No, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna kill ‘em.” 
You sigh, holding a piece of gauze to your right cheek, and your other hand holds an ice pack to the back of your head. The swelling hadn’t gone down, so the skin was plump and red as you watched Hikaru pace the empty locker room. He ran his hands through his ginger locks, pivoting on his heel as he fumes. 
Your costume fluttered around you. Since you made your own regalia, you had gone with a gold look this time. A spandex material grabbed against your muscled, shining in the metallic color, with stylish cut outs where you felt really emphasized your figure. Your hair had subtle gold streaks through it, but you were most proud of the cape you had draped over your shoulders. 
It was embellished with a gold trim and heavy velvet fabric, something you wore before you entered the ring. It was luxurious, elegant, and it matched the same color in Hikaru’s eyes, already making you love it even more. 
Hikaru made sure to find a pair of boxing gloves that matched, and he even offered to do your makeup before your match. He swiped gold eyeshadow over your (e/c) pools, and yellow gems traced under your waterline. 
He had pretended to not be able to look at you, saying that you shine too brightly and he couldn’t stand your beauty any more. 
Now, with these scratches and minor swellings, he wouldn’t look at you. Not in your sparkling eyes, at least. Only at the scratches. 
“Hikaru. Kyoya would kill you if you murdered someone. You’d have to go to prison, leaving him down one Brotherly Love package.”
He puts his hands on his hips, pulling his lips between his teeth. “No, I don’t care. Kaoru will figure something out.”
He pauses when the referee of your most recent kickboxing match walks through the door. The ref clicks the door behind him, making eye contact with you as he makes his way towards you, the actual competitor. 
But someone else wanted to step into the ring. A blur of orange stepped into the ref’s path, ginger clashing with black and white. “You’re gonna do something about that, right?”
The ref sighed, putting his hands up in a surrender move. “Sir, there isn’t much we can do–”
“No, shut up. You’re gonna fucking do something, right?” Hikaru gestures wildly, his eyes wild as he gets into the referee’s space. His arms direct over to you, his golden eyes scanning over your injuries for the millionth time. “Look at the love of my life. Look at them. I mean, something has to be illegal here, right? Those hits, they weren’t–, I mean, they were unconscious and they kept going!”
“Hikaru, please.” You say, bringing the gauze to another cut right above your eyebrow, chuckling a little bit. “Let the man speak. Maybe to the actual competitor. ”
Huffing, Hikaru turns to you, eyes fierce. But that fire melts into a warm sunlight as he realizes the fact that your hands are full trying to stop the bleeding and the swelling on your own. Exasperated, it takes two strides for him to be by your side.
“What’re you doing? Trying to do this yourself…” He criticizes, but you know there isn’t any fire behind it. Taking the ice pack, he grumbles, glaring daggers at the referee that moves to sit across one of the benches in the locker room. Hikaru holds the ice pack to your face, his other hand rubbing up and down your back softly. 
The ref’s eyes look over the pair of you, sighing deeply. You rolled your eyes as the referee shuffled on the bench, looking guiltier by the second. 
“I know I should’ve stopped them.” He admitted. “I hadn’t realized you were down for the count.”
You shift the gauze against your cheek. “Just be glad it didn’t result in anything more than a few scratches. But you should’ve been paying attention.”
Hikaru opens his mouth, but you shake your head. The referee nodded his head before hanging it. 
“I know.” He spoke, clasping his hands in front of him. “You are usually such a good competitor, (Y/n), I thought you were going to get back up.”
Hikaru scoffed. “Are you pinning this on them?” He growled as he gripped the ice pack tighter. “That they should’ve been a better fighter so they didn’t get K.O.’d?”
“Hikaru–” You warn, but your boyfriend was nothing if he wasn’t stubborn, his fierceness burning under the surface. 
“Of course not!” The referee stuttered. “I was only trying to explain–”
“Yeah, well, all I hear are excuses.” Hikaru bites, the arm on your back becoming tighter around your shoulders. “Get your boss in here. I want to speak to them.”
The man across from you gulped. “Are we sure that’s necessary?”
The Hitachiian twin’s teeth must’ve been razor sharp the way he barred them at the ref. “One hundred percent. I have no idea how ref’s like you get hired anyway, but I want to see who was dumb enough to actually sign the paper.”
“Baby, that’s enough.” You were scowling, but on the inside you couldn’t help but laugh at the way the ref’s face morphed from horror to the acceptance of his fate. 
“Of course, sir.” Sighing, the referee offers one last apology before scratching the back of his head, the locker room door swinging behind his exeunt. 
Hikaru was still muttering to himself as he brushed your hair out of your face, the strands wet with the sweat on your forehead. “Fucking people, don’t know how to do their jobs…”
“Hikaru…” Your voice is gentle as you pull the ice pack and gauze away from your face, your attractive features finally looking a little more normal. Your hand frames his cheek, and the anger in his eyes completely goes away. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“I know that.” He frowns, the rasp in his voice carrying a sigh. But you could tell his eyes were still scanning your skin, making sure there weren't any other injuries that he missed. “And you’re tougher than you look.” 
“Exactly.” A proud smirk plays on your lips. 
“Plus,” That smirk that both annoys you and warms you rises to his mouth. “You’ve got a pretty thick skull. I think you could take a few more hits before it becomes a problem.”
Scoffing, you push him away. “I’m gonna hit you if you don’t shut up.” 
“I think I wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh really?” You wrap your arm around him, bringing him closer. “You’re a freak.”
“You’re a tease.” His canines sparkle when he smiles, and it’s all you can do to make the kiss you two share as short as possible. Otherwise, the way he gently cradles your face, or how his lips move against yours would pull you in forever. 
A door swinging open interrupted your bliss anyway, and you two jumped apart. Hikaru groaned softly, a small blush coming onto his scowling cheeks. 
A woman in a fine pressed suit walked across the tile, her heels echoing within the locker room. You recognized her as the manager of the ring in which you’ve had most of your kickboxing matches, and you rose to meet her. 
“(Y/n).” 
Clutching her hand, you shake it gently, aware of your sore shoulder. “Nice to see you again.” 
Hikaru just folds his arms in the background, standing at your side. The manager gives a sidelong glance before giving you a business smile. 
“I wanted to personally apologize for the oversight our referee had during your match tonight.” She says, her lip gloss catching the fluorescent lights above. “You are one of our most beloved fighters, the audience loves you and your unique costumes and looks.”
In her handshake, the manager felt the smooth texture on your fingernails, and turned your hand over in hers. “Your vibrant, fearless creativity inspires many people in our kickboxing world, even if you are a little unorthodox.”
Your nails are painted with a metallic background, and when she presses your fingernails together, they create a picture of an intricate, swirling gold dragon across your nail beds. It was beautiful, it was detailed, and it had been incredibly time consuming. 
You kept your nails short, and the art was absolutely covered by your kickboxing gloves, but it made you feel powerful knowing that you creation was there, even if you were the one of two who knew it. 
The manager's dark eyes slid to your boyfriend who had crossed his arms, still glaring daggers at the lady. She just smiled, her gaze dropping to where his hands were visible in the crevice of his elbow. 
“And it seems you have a supportive partner, as well.” She comments, causing both of your eyebrows to crease before you realize what she is talking about. Hikaru flared out his own hands, and how you had done a small but still detailed nail piece on his own hands. His fingers matched yours in color and style, but instead of having the dragon across all five of his fingers, there was a baby one swirling on his thumbs and ring fingers. 
He huffs, a smirk coming to his lips as he looks at your art for the millionth time today. “Yeah, they’re pretty incredible.” 
“I don’t doubt it.” The manager nods, a sweet smile on her lips. “Both in the ring and out of it, you are definitely a prize. Which is why we’d like to give you one.”
“You want to give me a prize?” You ask, a little surprise leaking into your voice. “For losing?”
The manager hums. “More for winning over the crowd, or for keeping this little instance between us. No one was seriously injured, and–”
“How about I give you the same bruises that competitor gave my partner, and then we’ll see what you think counts as ‘seriously injured’.” Hikaru growls, cracking his knuckles. He steps forward, but you stop him with your arm. 
“Threatening them won’t do anything.” You sigh, but your mouth turns into a scowl. “But I’m not taking your ‘hush’ money.” 
“Well,” The manager scoffs, her calm facade cracking slightly. “We must do something. If you are to continue to fight here, then all of us have to–”
“They aren’t gonna fight here anymore, then.” Hikaru’s voice cuts through the manager’s pompous assumptions, and he grabs your hand, gently moving you around her straight posture. 
Her heels clack as she follows you in earnest. “Wait, you can’t speak for them.”
But as you follow behind your boyfriend, a man who is angry for your safety and your honor, you spin around, smirking through your scratches as you give them the middle finger. “You’re right, he can’t. But, even if it’s rare, he’s right. I’m out of here.”
Her slick ponytail is fraying. “But, you can’t! You have a contract!”
Hikaru mirrors your actions, and now you both are flipping her off as you back out of the locker room, your glorious cape draped across his arm. 
“I’ll pay whatever it takes to break ‘em out of it,” He says, his smirk growing. “And for you to leave them alone.”
Then, you both do a lazy salute as you finally step out of that locker room, out of that situation. 
Laughing, Hikaru stops his walking, causing you to stumble into him. He catches you, and you both break out into a fit, holding onto each other as you walk to his car. 
Easily, he presses you up against the passenger side, using a finger to push a piece of gold-painted hair back into place. His other hand comes to gently cup the other side of your face, his thumb lightly tracing a scratch on your cheekbone. 
“Let’s get you home, yeah?” He says, his scratchy voice vibrating into the setting sky. “Gotta get you bandaged up, baby.” 
.oOo.
Kaoru’s Reader:
Sketching
Baseball
Writing
“You know,” Kaoru said, pins between his teeth as he took them out of the bodice of your outfit one by one. “Everytime we do this, I still get distracted by you. Everytime.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes even as a blush comes to your cheeks. “You’re an even worse flirt than Tamaki.”
A groan sounds behind you as you feel hands pry the bodice off of your torso. “Don’t talk about the Boss when I am literally undressing you.”
Cool, conditioned air rushes across your newly bare skin as Kaoru throws the garment across the car seat, the leather sticking to your back as you lean into it. Arching your hips, you tug the bottom of your dress pants off, making sure the divider was up between you and your boyfriend’s family driver. 
“You sure he can’t see us?” You ask, wiggling out of your underwear. 
Kaoru sets the pins into his cushion, smiling. “Per usual, no.” Then the redhead turns, his smirk revealing a sharp canine. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing?”
“Kaoru!” 
He cackles, but he can’t help his eyes when they drag over your bare form. Yes, changing clothes in his car was a normal thing due to your busy schedule with your many hobbies, but he never got tired of having you naked in his backseat. 
He tsks. “Are you sure we don’t have time to–”
The pants you had been wearing flew into his face. “No!” You sounded a laugh as he pulled the garment off his head, and you chuckled at the way his red hair fluffed when he did. 
His pale hand reaches down and grabs the duffel bag, packing the black tie outfit you wore to your art show into it and pulling out your team uniform. You pulled on the right undergarments that would support you sliding across the dirt in a baseball diamond, and caught your jersey when Kaoru threw it at you from across the car seat. 
“Going from riches to rags.” He says, arranging your cleats next to you with the appropriate socks. 
“You literally made these uniforms, babe.” You say, deadpanning as you squeeze yourself into the form-fitting bottoms. 
“I know that.” He says, eyeing the way your toned body fills the sporty look nicely. “But I much prefer the elegant attire that I pinned you into earlier.” 
“Oh, I forgot to mention.” You add, distracted as you put the baseball cap on your head, your team logo facing out towards the front seat. “Everyone loved what I was wearing.”
His lips quirked to one side. “Well, duh.”
“Expectedly so.” You tighten your belt around your waist. “But this afternoon’s outfit was…well it was just really spectacular.” Your smile reflects against the city lights. 
Now dressed in the full baseball regalia, you lean over to your own personal fashionista, putting a finger under his chin. 
“I’m really lucky to have Japan’s second best fashion designer as my quick-change roadie.” 
Any sweetness in Kaoru's eyes vanishes, and a second after your lips are a breath away, he is pushing you to the other end of the backseat. “Oh yeah? Then someone else can get you dressed for your book reading tomorrow.” 
You gasp. “Oh no. Whatever will I do without the expert way you zip a zipper?” 
The Hitachiuan twin feigned offense. “That’s what I majored in.” 
“And what about your knowledge on what colors I look best in? I’ll be so washed out.” 
He crosses his arms, still looking at you with a smug simper. “You’ll just have to figure it out.” 
Shrugging, you cross your legs, your cleats knocking against each other. “I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to undress me in the backseat of their family’s car.” 
A hum sounds to the other side of you, like honey being poured into tea. “Now that’s something I know no one can do better than I can.” 
Two manicured hands are suddenly around your waist, and you are dragged across leather. The soft material of your pants are seated into Kaoru’s lap, while, like instinct, your arms wrap around his neck. 
“I think we can finally agree on something.” You concede, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. The city rushes by outside of the limo’s glass, but time stands still when your lips touch. A pleased sound resonates in the back of his throat when you nip at his bottom lip, and you feel him smile into the kiss.  
Pulling away, you share another longing moment before you groan, your head resting into the crook of his neck. 
“Are you sure the art show went well?” You ask, hiding your insecurity as you bury your nose into Kaoru’s cologne. 
Chuckling, you feel his hands casually lock around your hip. His cheek comes to rest on the top of your head, the two of you squished to one side of the seat. “I’m sure. You’re talented, you know that.”
“I do, but I’ve just been so distracted with everything that I have going on.” You can hear his pulse inside his throat, encouraging you to open up a little more. “I balance so much that it feels hard to put 100 percent of my effort into everything I do. I feel like I’m half-assing it.”
“(Y/n), babe.” He brings your face away so that you can look at him clearly. The driver makes a right turn, the force pushing the two of you closer together. “Sketching, sports, writing. All of these things are your life. You’re allowed to put your energy into multiple outlets at once, as long as it’s not draining you.” 
“I don’t think it is.” And he knew that. He knew that even if you seemed tired after a hard day in the studio, or maybe a tough day at practice, the smile on your face was genuine. You always put everything you had into everything you did, and that was just one of the things he adored about you. 
“My partner is an all star, author, and an artist.” Kaoru says, a proud glint in his golden eyes. “And you know what? Because of that, I’m never bored.” 
“Thank god for that. It ceases your regularly-scheduled destruction.” You say, a finger twirling into his ginger strands. “Although Hikaru probably misses his partner in crime.” 
Kaoru just shrugs. “Hikaru has always been able to create his own chaos, he’ll be fine.” 
“So, if you have this much confidence in me, then you must think my first book reading tomorrow is going to go well too, right?” 
“I couldn’t be more sure. I was able to read the whole thing, and I don’t think I’ve been able to finish a fiction book in my life.” The twin admits, and you smirk. 
“Well, that’s obvious.” 
His golden irises roll. “Very funny.” 
“Then, what about this game?” You ask, looking out the window to see the baseball stadium peek out from the horizon. You still had a ways to go. “Think I’m gonna win?”
There was silence. You got lost in the city’s sparkling skyline a little longer before your gaze snapped down to your boyfriend’s, just to see him avoiding your gaze. 
“Kaoru?” 
“Huh? What?” He says, and he runs a hand over your jawline. “Wow, babe, you’re so beautiful.” 
Scoffing, you lean away from him. “You don’t think we’re gonna win?” 
“I didn’t say that!” 
“Kaoru, you only have so many thoughts that can fit into the pea-sized brain of yours.” You say, laughing. “You should not be wasting that space doubting me.”
“I will never doubt you.” He says, grabbing your hand that began to poke at his forehead to see if you could hear an echo. 
“I will, however,” the Hitachiian brother raises your hand to his lips, “realize that while you are immensely talented, baseball is a team effort.”
You give him a blank look. “And my team sucks.” 
He kisses your hand. “They suck so bad.” 
And you're laughing. A few seconds ago, you were drowning into your anxiety, but Kaoru made you feel light enough to float above them all. Balancing multiple things at once was hard work, but having a man like him at your side made it easier. 
Your laughter dies down, and there’s an extra spark in Kaoru’s eye that paired well with the city lights reflected in his pupils. 
You hit his chest, even as he snakes kisses up your shoulder and onto your neck. “Kaoru, we can’t.” 
“The stadium is still a ways away. We have time.” 
Your skin tingles under his touch, and you sigh. “Kaoru…” You weakly try to push him away, but he holds onto your hips. 
“(Y/n)…” 
Huffing out a breath, you take off your baseball cap so you can properly kiss him without it bumping into Kaoru’s forehead. “Fine, but we have to be quick.” 
His laughter rings out as he pulls you into his chest, and you are already second-guessing his intentions on making it quick as he draws his tongue slowly up your throat. 
It’s a good thing the divider was up. 
.oOo.
Mori’s Reader
Fencing
Yoga
Poetry
Swords clashed, the metal twinge sounding against the Hinoki cypress that covered the dojo’s walls. And each time you and your opponents’ swords would cross, your heart would pound in sync, both beats echoing with your efforts. 
Thirteen touches. Your opponent had scored thirteen touches against you within this bout, and you were determined to not let him get the last two he needed to win. Lunging, your sabre jabs across the piste with a grunt from your lips, only to have it wacked away immediately by your competitor. 
You clench your jaw as you ward off one of his own jabs, trying to see through the mesh of your fencing mask. The long torso of the man across from you twists, leaning to the right. But once you move to block it, he swerves, turning to the left and touching you in the ribs. 
Huffing, you rip off your mask, your hair fluffing out once freed of the hard shell. “You’re kidding me.” 
Mori easily slides off his own helmet, letting the smug grin on his face widen at the sight of your exasperation. His black hair fell slightly in front of his face before he pushed it out of the way, a few drops of sweat beginning to bead on the edge of his jawline. 
Grumbling, you point your saber half-heartedly at him. “I’ve been fencing my whole life and you only started a couple months ago. How are you so good at this?”
He shrugged his shoulders in a way that was so irritatingly handsome, you had to force your head back into your mask. 
“Again.” You demand. 
With one hand, Mori effortlessly readjusts his own gear, and you both fall back into a fighting stance. 
Your boyfriend had always been good at things without ever trying too hard. It seems he had an eerily accurate way of breaking any sport, art form, or hobby down to its basics, and extorting it in front of his opponents. Easily, he analyzed the strengths and weaknesses of any obstacle he was put up against, and bent them to his advantage. 
He was smart, analytical, and having way too much fun watching you become frustrated as he brought you both to match point. You could tell by the way he stood, slightly bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep himself agile, his martial arts training coming in handy. He held his sword out with one arm, and the other bent at his back, but his shoulders were dropped low, a casual stance as he became more confident in his victory. 
Growling, you lunged first, starting your combat again. You were aggressive, and you took pleasure in seeing his shoulders rise as he took a defensive position against your attacks. Arms burning, you swiped and slashed at his white suit, all of your fencing training becoming honed into this very moment. You were sure a soundtrack could be made to emphasize the way you moved forward, forcing him to step back and block any chaotic jabs and swipes that you threw his way. 
You heard him gasp as his foot dropped off the piste, and his tall body tripped, falling backwards as you stood over him, the vertex of your sabre denting the clothing on his chest. 
His chest heaved with the effort, and you crouched, once again pulling off your headwear. “That’s more like it.”
You pulled off his mask as well, this time leaving the thick strands that fell into his brown eyes. His confident smirk had been replaced with a slight scowl. Stepping in between his legs, you met his eye level. 
“Fourteen to fourteen.” You bragged, letting your sword rest on your shoulder. “Now, we’re tied. Again.” 
A displeased grunt came from the stoic's mouth. 
“This little competition of ours has been fun.” You say, molding your voice to sound bored as you exhale, standing up and putting out a hand for him. “But it looks like I will emerge victorious.”
Your boyfriend’s visage fell blank, and he rolled his eyes before grabbing your hand and lifting himself up, towering over you as he folds his arms around your waist. 
Bending like a branch in the wind, Mori tightens his hold as he presses you into his chest. One of his hands came to cup your face, forcing your gaze to focus on the small beads of sweat dancing across his skin. “We’ll see.”
Then he kisses your cheek, turns you around, and pushes you back to your end of the piste. Refusing to wipe the smirk off your face, you reset, readying your sabre with new confidence. 
This time, you both take the offensive, aggressively sparring as your blades crash together in hurried movements. He blocks your jabs, and you leap over his attempts to sweep you off your feet, ignoring the legality of your movements. Sweat begins to gleam on your forehead under your mask, but your smile only grows. 
As he takes another step to jab at your shoulder, you lean to the side, effectively dodging his attack to see that he has left himself wide open. Victory fuels your heartbeat as you lunge, even going as far as letting out a confident hah! as you aim the point towards the side of his ribcage. 
Suddenly, Mori turned on his heel. With incredible speed, he swipes your sabre away as if he knew exactly where it was going to strike. He grunts as he pushes you back, both you and your sabre stumbling to the floor with his strength, and all you can do is sit there empty-handed as he juts the end of his sword right above your heart. 
Huffing, you fall, letting your back hit the piste with a disgruntled groan. You hear a dark chuckle as steps move towards your fallen body.
“That’s fifteen.” Mori confirms as he stands over you, his already-tall form looking enormous from your position on the ground. 
“Yes, I can count, thank you.” You grumble, ripping off your mask for the last time. 
He puts pressure on the point where his own sword pinpoints your skin, your heart fluttering for different reasons when he reveals his face. Flushed, disheveled, and confident in his win. 
The way his lips slightly lifted on either side, the way his dark chocolate eyes glimmered over your exhausted form. You wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. 
But you wanted to win more. 
Batting the sword away, he reaches out a hand to help you up, pulling you to your feet. The Ouran Highschool Gym bustles with students. Some engage in kendo matches that Mori observes silently, most likely learning from other’s mistakes. 
Picking your sabre up from the aftermath of your loss, you gently raise the end under his chin, quirking an eyebrow as he tenses and focuses his gaze back on you. 
“Your opponent is in front of you, Takashi. Shouldn’t you be paying attention?”
His gaze melted into something smooth and dark. “The game is over.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of his victory. 
“Far from it.” The end of your blade dips gently into his skin for a second before you flick it away, nudging his chin softly. Turning from him, you call over your shoulder. “On to the next event!” 
After changing out of your fencing attire, you’re sat across from him, a(n) (f/c) yoga mat splayed out below you as he sits atop a dark blue one. Given the charged looks he gave you before you entered a dressing room, you knew that it was game on. Both of your competitive spirits had been stoked, and you only had more motivation to kick that – admittedly very nice – ass of his. 
Taking a deep breath, you let the air in the gym still around you. Yoga was another one of your hobbies that you enjoyed because it gave you a chance to center yourself in the midst of chaos a certain club instilled within your life. You had picked it up when you started high school, and even your teacher said you were a natural, as you were able to really embody the purpose and true zen of yoga. 
Flicking your eyes towards your boyfriend, you find that he is already looking back at you, patiently waiting for your instructions on the next round of your spontaneous competition. His eyes are warm, the smallest of smiles on his lips as they track your figure, watching as you find peace in your posture. 
Shaking your head affectionately, you rock on your hips, nudging him gently with your arm. “Stop staring and listen up. I’m gonna choose a pose, and whoever holds it the longest wins.” 
Mori gives you a suspicious, playful glare. “But you’ll choose something that you’re good at. That I can’t hold.” 
You smile, sickeningly sweet, and Mori rolls his eyes. “Fine.” 
“Great!” Your grin only grows as you call out the position: Vrschikasana, or the Scorpion. Mori’s eyes flash in recognition, remembering the weeks you spent perfecting it while he trained in his dojo, and the knots he had to massage out of you afterwards. 
You narrow your eyes, planting your palms on your mat. “Unless you want to give up?”
His dark gaze hardened before something fierce ignited in his visage. “No. It’s fine.”
You laugh, the sound echoing off the gym’s expensive walls – honestly, it really over the top for a physical center. Shifting your weight onto your hands, Mori follows your movements as you both lift into a handstand before arching your back, pointing your toes as they bend to touch the top of your head. 
God, you loved the burn through your hamstrings, the strength of your muscles holding yourself up, seemingly weightless off the ground. You sucked in a breath, allowing your lungs to open up, your throat to loosen, and let yourself just breathe. 
“You’re smiling.” A strangled voice drenched in disbelief observes next you, and you turn your head carefully so as to not knock your balance. 
The chuckle that runs through you nearly does, though. 
You catch yourself as you watch Mori’s arms start to shake, his breathing a little haphazard as he puts as much effort into the stretch as he can. You also watch as his muscles flex, his shirt discarded in order to cool off from your fencing tournament, eyes traveling as the lines flinch and twitch with the commitment to keep himself off the ground.  
Mori was a strong guy. Defined, agile, and built with pounds of lean muscle. But yoga took a different kind of strength. It was a test of endurance and balance, a mental strength that knew no limits. 
There was a reason you and Mori worked so well together. 
About ten seconds from your record time holding this position, Mori topples, his legs falling over his head as he somersaults, landing with his back flat against the mat. 
You chuckle, half concerned for his health from the fall, half gloating for your win. Easily coming back down to the ground, your breath heaves a little as you try to catch your breath. 
“You okay, Takashi?” You ask, it being your turn to stand over him, smirking in victory.
He just grunts, giving you a bored look. 
“Crybaby.” You say, sitting next to him. 
“Show off.” He retorts, warmth in his eyes. 
You laugh again, the rare insult leaving the exhausted stoic’s mouth. “Wanna do one more round?”
Mori’s eyes search yours for a second before nodding. “But I get to pick.”
“Sure, that seems fair.” You say, peeling back the hair on his forehead. “Go for it.”
He gets that thoughtful look in is gaze, a glint that taught you to wait patiently by his side in silence until he was comfortable to speak. 
“Poetry.”
A surprised scoff left your mouth before you could stop it. Quickly, you cover your mouth, shaking your head. “Sorry, sorry. It just…that’s not a test of strength.” You say, laughing a little. As much as you loved poetry, reading and writing it, it seemed a little out of left field. 
Mori shrugged his shoulders, still laid out on the floor. “Emotional strength.” He said, smart eyes smiling up at you softly.
And how could you argue with that? 
Ten minutes later, sweatpants and pump covers are thrown back on your bodies as you both sit in a small corner of the gym, legs tangled as you lean against opposing walls. Notebooks in hand, your pens fly across the page, the scribbling sounds comforting as you each get lost in your own thoughts. 
When it comes time to present, you go first. When Mori realizes you wrote yours about him, about how strong he was, and how safe he made you feel, it makes his tired, sore body slump against his side of the wall. His hand reaches out for yours, listening intently to your words. 
His poem had a smaller word count, but the vocabulary was moving, and you laughed gently when you realized he wrote his about you. About how strong you were, and how safe you made him feel. And he held your hand the entire time he read it to you.
Let’s just say your game ended in a tie.
.oOo.
not proofread, but i enjoyed writing it!
hope you all have a great day. just give me some time to get back into the groove of things. writing is my escape, and i truly do love it. just need to find the energy :) love you <3
219 notes · View notes
orangesaek · 2 months ago
Note
Hiii I hope you’re doing good. I love your writing and i was wondering if you could write something about jaemin picking his s.o from work after a tiring day and just have a chill evening like dinner and movies. Thank you so much <3
PLEASE IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TT^TT I hope you're still around, and thank you for requesting this :') <333
a/n: not proofread but will update if I find something off!
Tumblr media
The office lights buzzed overhead as you gathered your things. Your limbs ached from a long day. You were mentally preparing to zombie your way home when your phone buzzed—it was a text from Jaemin.
'Outside. No arguments. Let me be your hero today UwU'
You blinked before your brows furrowed in confusion. ‘Hero???’
'Babe, I’m so tired rn my brain can’t even process your message,’ you replied. As you waited for the elevator, another text arrived.
'Cute. You’re being rescued, my princess.'
Your brows furrowed once more in confusion, and right when you were about to type in a response and ask him what he meant, the elevator arrived. You quickly put your phone back in your pocket, deciding to just respond to him once you’re home.
After what seemed like forever in the elevator, you finally got off and walked towards the exit when you noticed a familiar car outside. 
‘...Jaemin?’
A smile crept across your face when your suspicions were confirmed.
There he was, leaning casually against his car, dressed in comfy neutrals with that warm smile that never failed to melt your exhaustion away.
Jaemin opened the passenger door.
“Your special carriage awaits, my gorgeous queen.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at his theatrics.
“You didn’t have to—”
Jaemin interrupts, placing an index finger on his lips.
“Shhh. We both had a long day, baby. Let’s be tired together but in comfort, okay?” he said, a gentle smile on his lips. You just nod quietly.
“Good girl. Now, get in,”
You weren’t sure where you were going. Apart from asking each other how your day went and the music playing softly in his car, the ride was pretty quiet. But it was the type of silence that was comforting. It never actually mattered where Jaemin took you because you knew that as long as you were with him, everything was going to be perfectly all right anyway.
As the car finally came to a stop, a grin spread across your face when you realized where Jaemin had taken you. He smiled softly at your reaction.
“You’re that happy?” he asked, although the answer was obvious already. You nodded enthusiastically.
Jaemin chuckled before mumbling ‘cute’ as he pinched your cheek affectionately.
“Come on, princess,” he softly called as he got out and helped you out of the car. You were standing outside your favorite restaurant, a small family restaurant outside the bustling city.
It had been a long while since the last time you both were there, so the familiar smell made everything feel like a warm hug to you.
The owner greeted the two of you warmly when you came in, happy to see you back again. When you were finally seated, Jaemin ordered your usual without asking because, of course, he remembers. As he jokingly called it, your ‘I’m-too-tired-to-function’ meal.
You both just sat there with his hand holding yours across the table.
“Thank you,” you smiled softly at him.
“I love you, too,” Jaemin responds, gently rubbing his thumb on your hand with a loving smile.
While waiting for the food to arrive, both of you listened intently to what the other was saying as you talked more about what happened at work. Your eyes widened in excitement when your food finally arrived, with Jaemin giggling at how cute you looked while clapping your hands in tiny.
“I swear I almost fell asleep in the elevator earlier,” you casually said before slurping on your noodles again.
Jaemin chuckled.
“If you fall asleep mid-slurping, I’ll carry you out like a princess. No shame.”
You laughed at this response while covering your mouth to keep the food from accidentally spilling out.
“Will you tuck me in with my chopsticks then?” you playfully asked.
“No, but I’ll wrap you in these napkins like a burrito.”
The two of you laughed and talked about whatever for the rest of your dinner.
“Ready to go home, gorgeous?” Jaemin asked as he opened the passenger door for you like it’s second nature. You nodded, getting inside with Jaemin quietly saying, ‘watch your head’.
You clung onto his arm and sighed in content with Jaemin expertly driving with one hand.
“There’s this movie Xiaojun said made him question his sanity because of how absurd it was.” Jaemin suddenly said. “Do you feel like watching a dumb movie with me tonight?”
You giggled at the thought and looked up at Jaemin.
“Of course, babe. Let’s,”
As soon as you arrived, you both kicked off your shoes in a hurry. Jaemin was already changing into one of your oversized hoodies that he somehow claims was ‘ours’ now. He set up a blanket fort on the couch while you grabbed some snacks.
“All set?” Jaemin asks, and you nod, opening one of his favorite snacks for him.
Movie night finally begins, but just barely 20 minutes in, you were already curled up with your head on his chest, half-watching, half-snoozing.
Jaemin runs his fingers through your hair affectionately, chuckling lightly at how hard you tried to keep your eyes open but failed anyway.
“This is my favorite kind of night. Just you, me…” he sighed, smiling to himself in content. “And a dumb movie.”
“What was that...?” You mumbled in your sleep.
“I said, ‘I love you’,”
And you swear, right before drifting off, you felt him kiss the top of your head and pull the blanket a little tighter around both of you.
61 notes · View notes
spaceorphan18 · 10 months ago
Text
The Contessa (Polin Fic)
Tumblr media
Rating: E for very explicitness
Summary: Colin returns home one evening to find Penelope reading his journal. She has some inquires about some undocumented time, and he tells the story of the infamous Contessa...
Notes: I've had this idea forever and just needed to get it out of my system. It's one part slice of domestic life, one part porn without plot, all of it full of love and emotions because how can you not with these two? There's a little pregnancy talk as it takes place in the months between the Butterfly ball and the epilogue.
For anyone wanting to read on Ao3 Here is the Link.
Thanks for reading!!
****
The Contessa
It’s evening when Colin arrives back at the house.  He shuffles through the door, flushed a little from the warm, late summer air, a little from the half bottle of brandy he and Benedict had finished off not an hour earlier.  It is still somewhat a foreign sensation -- leaving the family he had spent a happy afternoon with and the house he had grown up in to return to a place where the halls he now walks feels new and unfamiliar.  But it’s not a bad sensation.  In fact, he relishes the fact that he now has a place of his own.  A home.  A home for his own family. 
He grins, and it’s not just the alcohol that makes him a little dizzy. 
“Pen!” He calls out.  They spend a considerable amount of their time together but on days they’re apart, he’ll usually find her at the desk in the study.  Curiously, she’s not there.  “Penelope?” 
“She’s retired for the evening, sir.” Penelope’s hand maid, Rae, passes him in the hallway.  She points back to the bedroom. 
Colin furrows his brow.  His wife has been fatigued more often than not as of late, and it has had him concerned. “Is she well? Perhaps I should have stayed…” 
Rae holds one hand up, and shakes her head with a smile.  “She is fine, sir,” she assures him.  “And doing well for one in her condition. Besides, her mother was with her most of the day.  Nothing to worry about.  She only wanted the comfort of her bed for reading.” 
“Thank you, Rae,” he says, giving a nod to dismiss her.  
He isn’t entirely comforted.  Lady Featherington has been a source of contention recently; wanting to be at Penelope’s side more often than not.  Never in her life, Penelope has complained to him, has her mother shown her so much attention.  Perhaps it has to do with Prudence and Phillipa giving birth to two, sweet little girls that now Lady Featherington’s sights are set on her third daughter to produce the heir she so desperately desires.  And it would give Colin a slight sense of satisfaction if he and Penelope were the ones to bring that heir into being.  But Penelope’s comfort has always come first, and Lady Featherington’s unusual form of mothering is often too much.  He can only hope that she hasn’t pushed Penelope past exasperation.  
Colin is indignant as he enters their bedroom.  He doesn’t care that it’s evening, or that it might be seen as improper, he’ll head straight to the Featherington estate to give his mother-in-law a piece of his mind if he finds she’s been the source of his wife’s discomfort.  His emotions are easily bubbling to the surface but the minute he catches his wife’s reflection in the mirror, they shift from discontent and worry to… something else.  
He pauses, watching Penelope in the mirror.  After a day of being apart, his chest tightens at the sight of her.  She’s sitting, soundly, on her side of the bed, legs curled under her as she reads.  She is already in her pale, pink nightgown; her red curls down and resting gently against her bosom.  Her skin glows softly in the candlelight.  He has wondered that maybe after months of marriage if the deep desire he felt upon looking at her would eventually diminish or change but it has not and instead he has accepted that it will always be a part of him, always simmering in the back of his mind, waiting for an appropriate time to be unleashed. 
Penelope is too engrossed in her reading to look up.  He notes that it’s his journal that she’s reading so intently, a thought that brings a smirk to his lips, and he can’t help but wonder what part of his journeys has her so captivated.  She scratches a note in the margin, then continues reading, the feather of the quill lightly dancing teasingly against her lips.  He watches, mesmerized.  
“I can feel you staring at me,” she says, suddenly.  She doesn’t look up from her reading, taking the moment to jot down another note, but a smile climbs on her lips.  
Colin crosses the room, over to her side, bending down to give her a kiss on top of her head.  “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to stare at one’s wife.  Especially, when that wife is as beautiful as you.” 
He goes to move away, but she pulls him back, looking up at him with that same mix of wonder and slight disbelief she gets whenever he compliments her.  “You are really too much sometimes,” she says, tugging him down for a quick kiss.  “I am ghastly.  Bloated with child.  Sweaty, swollen, and uncomfortable…” 
Concern crosses his face.  “Is there anything I can do?” 
“I think that you have done enough,” she says.  It’s a gentle tease.  Despite any worries he has, she seems in good spirits, tenderly cupping his face as she draws him in for another, quick kiss.  “Mmmm, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time with Benedict tonight.”
It’s the alcohol on his breath.  No denying that.  “He’s a nuisance, really.  Insisting that we celebrate Gregory going off to Eaton with cards and a drink.”  He moves away, sliding into the chair near the bed and begins unlacing his boots.  
“So he coerced you into it?” Penelope asks, her eyes bright with humor.  
“Of course,” he jokes.  He’s only half in jest about Benedict.  Lately, his usually free spirited, energetic older brother has become listless.  Colin is glad, at least, that Anthony is away in India, handing over the household duties, giving Benedict something to do. Otherwise, he worries Benedict would attempt to find his purpose at the bottom of every bottle.  He tells Penelope as much, but leaves out the part that before them, before her , he had felt the same way. 
“I’m sure Benedict will find his own happiness,” Penelope says, as if she can read his thoughts.  “But what of the rest of your family? Is your mother well?  How is Eloise? I feel terrible that we haven’t seen each other much in the past few weeks.  I do miss her.”  
“Mother is good,” he replies. He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the stand next to the dresser.  “Hyacinth sends her regards.  Eloise is… as Eloise always is.  She talked my ear off about some book that she said I must tell you about.  Some horrific novel about a scientist who creates the perfect man only for it to be a disaster.  She called it a literary masterpiece, and claims that you must pick it up when you have the chance.”  
“That sounds thrilling,” Penelope says, delighted.  “Will you be able to pick me up a copy?  Reading might be the only thing I can do soon, and one can never have too many books.” 
“If it is your wish,” Colin replies.  “It does sound like an absurd tale.  But that might be the way Eloise described it.  She’s always had a flair for the dramatic in her commentary.”  
“And that is why we adore her,” Penelope says.  “I think I’ll try to have tea with her at Bridgerton House.  The fresh air would be nice and I would very much like to get out of this house.” 
“But your condition…” 
“Is fine,” she lets out a laugh.  “I am not bedridden yet.  There is plenty I can do…” 
Her eyes remain fixed on him as he undresses.  He enjoys the way her gaze lingers as he casts off his layers, preening a bit as he unbuttons his shirt and discards it onto the chair.  Her eyes are wicked with want, and after a four day disruption due to her not feeling well, maybe they could return to their usual nighttime routine.  
Pen licks her lips as he approaches the bed, but continues with their conversation.  “It’ll have to be Thursday,” she says. “Friday, my mother wants all of us girls and their husbands for a dinner.”
His trousers remain on (for now) and he comes to the bed, flopping down on his back to stare at the ceiling, letting out a protesting groan as he does so.  “Are you sure we need to be there?” 
“You won’t be forced into conversation with my sisters,” Penelope says, reassuringly.  “You can spend time with Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch in the drawing room as you always do.  I promise to keep my mother busy so to keep the two of you apart.” 
He grumbles, turning on his side.  In truth, Albion and Harry have grown on him some.  They’re two of the biggest dolts he’s ever known, but they’re kind and amusing and seem to have embraced him as their leader in the secret club reserved for men who adore the Featherington sisters.  It’s charming, really.  And while he much prefers his own brothers, he’s well aware he could do much worse when it comes to brother-in-laws.  
“So, you mother…” he broaches the subject carefully.  Penelope’s relationship with her mother is fragile but mending, and he treads carefully.  “Was she too much for you today?” 
“She’s too much any day,” Penelope says, though her demeanor remains light.  “She just wants what’s best for me.  She did try to force me some horrid, green drink that’s supposed to manifest a boy instead of a girl.  I really doubt it, but even Varley was swearing by it.” 
“I dare say,” Colin says, “as much as I would revel in you having the heir to the Featherington estate, I would be pleased in having a girl, because it would annoy her so.” 
“Colin!” Penelope says, chiding him playfully.  
“Well, it would.” 
She rolls her eyes at him.  “Let’s move on from my mother.  You’re right, I have had too much of her today.  Besides, there’s something else I wish to discuss with you.”  She looks down to his journal, nervously playing with the pages.  
His curiosity is piqued, and he scoots closer, trying to see the page she’s on.  He can’t quite tell what passage she had been reading, and only sees a few words marked on the page here and there.  “What is it?” 
“I have been reading all evening,” she says.  He takes a beat of pride in how fondly she speaks of it.  “Your words are beautiful.  The way you talk about the moonlight shimmering on the Mediterranean sea; the bustle of Paris and Madrid and Rome; the shady, mysteriousness of the forests of Eastern Europe… It’s like I’m really there.  I can feel it.  Only, I’ve never even stepped foot outside of London.”  
He takes her hand, laces it with his own.  “I promise I will take you, someday.  I’ll take you to see the world.  Wherever you want to go.”  He kisses the top of her hand, as if to seal his promise.  
“I would love that,” she says.  She smiles but looks down at the journal.  There’s more she’s not saying.  “There’s something else that I noticed, though.  There are some dates that don’t quite add up.”  
“Oh?” 
She narrows her eyes, as if she’s hesitant about asking.  “Here you write about Rome, but then here,” she flips a few pages forward. “You are in Milan over a week later.  And yet you don’t speak at all of the journey.  Clearly it didn’t take a full week, did it?  What happened in that time that you do not wish to speak about?” 
He takes the journal, scanning it, wanting to refresh his memory, but there had been so much that had happened in such a short time, he could scarcely remember every detail.  
“Is that when you met her ?” Penelope asks.  He gives her an odd look, unsure as to who she is talking about.  “The Contessa.  I have read all of your journals now.  Twice.  And I haven’t read about her at all.” 
Oh .  He bites his lip to refrain from laughing.  Oh, his dear Penelope.  “How do you even know about her?” 
“Lady Whistledown hears everything eventually,” Penelope explains, she tickles his nose with the end of her quill.  “I have heard stories…” 
“Lady Whistledown…” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he takes the quill from her, and places it in the journal.  He snaps it shut.  “There’s not really anything to tell.”  
“You write extensively about your exploits in Paris, in Berlin, in… every city.  And you never mention her.”  She looks at him, unsure.  “Is the reason you don’t write of her… was she your first?” 
“No,” he says easily, reaching over her to place the journal on the nightstand.  “That experience was bought and paid for.  I have told you about that already - Rosalita...” He shudders to think of his first bumbling time.  Awkward and inexperienced and very short.  But at least she had been kind.  
Penelope’s eyes go wide with amusement.  “The Spanish woman! The one you said had the delectable bosom.”  
He grins, admiring her ability to recall such details, then leans in, giving her a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, while he brings his hand up to cup her breast.  “Mmm, you know I can’t resist a delectable bosom.” 
“I will not be distracted so easily,” she says, it’s a playful warning.  “But how is it that you can boast about this Contessa to the entire male population of the ton and, yet, not tell me a single word about her?”  
He grins as he considers.  There is a reason he’s never shared this with her… And despite whatever she may have heard as Lady Whistledown, no one knows the actual story.  “Okay…” 
“Okay?” she stares at him, wonderingly.  There’s something special about the way she looks at him, so eager to hear any of his stories abroad, becoming especially attentive the more intimate in nature they are.  He once thought he’d never share such private thoughts with anyone, but she makes him want to open up, to share everything.  He could never really withhold anything from her.  Not even if he tried.  
He takes a moment to trace her forehead, her cheek, her chin, wanting to feel close to her.  He combs his fingers through her hair as he begins.  “She had red hair…” 
“Red hair?” she tilts her head in disbelief.  
“Orange-ish, really,” he says, with a small laugh, curling the end of her hair around his finger.  “Wild and fiery.  She was one of our hosts on the long trip from Rome to Milan, which did take nearly a week, now that you’ve got me thinking about it.  One of our horses had trouble and she kindly took us in.  It was a rainy night, but at least not a chilling one, and her cook made us the best stew I’ve ever had.  That evening, we stayed up to talk.  She was an impressive conversationalist.”  
“Oh, was she?” 
“She was,” he continues.  “She was a widow.  A young one.  But she knew things.  Had seen a bit of the world herself.  And I found her captivating.”  He cups her chin and uses his thumb to trace along her bottom lip.  He wants to kiss her. Wants to scoop her up and make up for all the days they’ve missed.  The desire he’s kept carefully at bay is coming front and center again, but he refrains.  
“So you talked?” 
“We did - late into the night.  The others, they one-by-one went to bed, but the two of us.  She said we had a connection and so I stayed.  And talked.”  
“Just talked?” It sounds like disappointment.  
He comes in close, cupping the back of her head carefully, as he whispers into her ear.  “There are plenty of things two people can talk about.”  
“Tell me.” 
He begins to give her feather-light kisses.  “The weather.”  He kisses against her cheek with a grin.  “Embroidery.” Another kiss against her jaw.  “The likelihood of winning at a game of cards.”   He travels down to her neck, but keeps his touch light.  
“Did you kiss her?” She asks.  
He pauses, breathing against her skin.  “I did.” 
“Show me.”  
He kisses her lips.  It’s gentle and tender and as easy as every fleeting kiss they’ve given each other over the past few months.  It’s not enough and he knows it.  
“Show me,” she says again, a harder demand.  
He kisses her harder this time, firm and strong and lingering.  It’s connecting and the heat of his desire begins to grow.  But it’s still not enough.  
“You’re holding back,” she challenges.  
“I am not,” he grins.  
“Don’t tease me,” she says, it’s almost a plea.  
“I assure you, I am not…” 
“Kiss me like you kissed her.” 
“I--” 
He can’t. As much as this had been almost a game between them, he realizes he can’t follow through with that request. Because kissing her is unlike kissing anyone else.  The gentlest brush of skin against skin lights his body aflame in the way that passionate kisses with anyone else does not.  
He pulls back to look at her -- really look at her.  The remarkable thing that he’s discovered since they’ve been married is that there are two of her.  Not her and Lady Whistledown, those are one and the same.  But there is the Penelope whom he fell in love with.  The one he’s always been in love with on some level.  The one who makes him laugh, who grounds him, who always has his best interests at heart.  His dearest friend.  
And then there is the other Penelope.  The woman who looks at him with those darkened eyes; whose lust for him is beyond anything he’s experienced with another partner.  She makes him feel raw and exposed and wanted in the most intimate of ways, even without the shedding of all their clothes.  And he wonders if he’s ever able to fully satisfy her hunger.  
“I cannot kiss you like her,” he says finally.  She looks at him confused.  “Because kissing you is an experience unlike any other.  Nothing feels as good as kissing you.” 
She gives him a proud look as she lunges at him, kissing him fervently.  And this… this is a kiss.  The world melts away, and there’s nothing but her, and her lips against his, her tongue sliding against his own, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer.  He deepens the kiss, feeling her everywhere.  
His own desire is becoming achingly apparent and if he had wanted to, he could end it all in a matter of moments, but he stops himself.  And pulls away, giving them a moment to both catch their breath.  
“This had to have happened after Spain,” she says, breathing heavily, still able to follow the narrative he had been laying down.  “And after France, as you visited Italy after both of them.  You’ve gained some experience by then, so I assume you did not stop with just a kiss.  Tell me, did she have a delectable bosom as well?” It’s her turn to tease, but she does so with the most sultry look upon her face.  
He admires her cleverness.  “Of course,” he gives, and tugs down on her nightgown, exposing her breast.  “As if I would settle for a woman with anything less.”  
He wastes no time latching onto her nipple.  She rakes a hand through his hair, encouraging him to kiss and suck and lick.  He reaches into her nightgown, to grasp at her other breast, squeezing it, causing her to moan and shiver under his touch.  
“I need more,” she manages to cry. 
He keeps his mouth firmly on her, sucking hard, as his hand travels underneath her nightgown.  Her legs fall apart, and he finds her wet and ready for him.  He’s soft at first, teasing where she would like him to be most, then pushes in with two fingers, while his thumb circles her most sensitive of spots.  She lets out a guttural groan that completely undoes him.  He never thought he’d be able to deliver such pleasure to someone else, but she closes her eyes and bucks her hips and lets him take control.  
He begins to kiss up her body as he works her, loving the fact that she has become so familiar to him that he knows exactly the right place to touch, the right pace to move, the right crook of a finger to push her over into release.  She is close, so close and all she needs is a little extra push.  “Let go, Pen,” he whispers into her ear.  “Let go, for me.”  
She screams his name as her release rips through her. He kisses her through it, wanting to feel her everywhere.  
He then pulls away, giving her a minute to come down, and he takes a moment to drink her beauty in.  Her hair is dark red across the white pillow, her breasts out and pink and raw where he’s kissed them.  Her nightgown is a knotted mess that he’ll have to untangle her from.  She has never looked more desirable.  
It doesn’t take long for her to sit up, intense and determined.  She pushes him back, giving herself a moment to free herself from her nightgown.  
“Did she touch you like you touched her?” she asks.  
He scoots back against the headboard, allowing her to undo his trousers.  “...Yes.” He lifts up, allowing her to pull them down and with a few kicks, he manages to cast them off.  
“Like this?” She wastes no time grabbing him.  It’s rough and the angle is awkward but he needs her touch.  
“Yes…” he gasps.  
“What about this?”  
“Penelope, you don’t have to…oh…” 
Her mouth is over him, sucking him down with a sense of determination he’s never seen from her before.  It’s almost too much.  
“Pen…” he says, almost losing himself over to the pleasure of it all.  “Pen, I need you to stop if…”
She pulls off, then straddles his lap.  “Did you lie with her like this?” 
“You really are still comparing any experience with…” 
“Did you lie with her like this?” she repeats. 
“No, but to be fair, we are sitting, not lying down.” It gets her to crack a smile.  “Are you sure you want to continue? Your condition...” he rubs a hand over her stomach.  “I don’t want you to push yourself more than you need to.”  
“Please do not speak to me as the mother of your child,” she says, staring at him deeply.  “Talk to me as your wife.  Your wife who needs you.”  
He nods.  “Okay…” 
They reposition some so he’s sitting on his legs.  She still straddles his lap, reaches between them to grab him, then lowers herself on him inch by delicious inch.  It is ecstasy feeling her around him, warm and tight. She begins to roll her hips, torturously slow.   He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close as possible, wanting to feel connected in every sense of the word.  She brings her arms around his neck, drawing in for a deep kiss as they rock together.  
They pull apart, and he watches her, lets her lose herself in her own pleasure, lets her use his body for her own needs.  His body aches for its own release, but there’s something beautiful, something satisfying about watching her come undone over him.  
He senses when she begins to tire, when her legs begin to give out and lifts her up to lie her down on the bed.  
“Are you still okay?” he checks in.  
She nods.  “Don’t hold back.  I want to feel it.  I want to feel you .”  
He doesn’t. 
He begins to piston his hips, pushing into her frantically.  She moans into his mouth as they kiss and touch and get lost in each other.  There’s nothing in this world that feels as good as her, as feeling deep in her, as if she’s fully encapsulated him and they are one and the same.  There is nothing outside this room, this moment.  Nothing but her.  His thrusts speed up, become more erratic, and it’s not long before he’s pushed over the edge, spilling deeply inside of her.  
“Colin!” she screams.  His name on her lips, needy and desperate makes him dizzy and he crashes their lips together for another long kiss.  
Coming down, he pumps his hips shallowly a few more times before pulling out. He reaches between them to feel her, to touch her, to let her have her second release that evening.  Her body spasms around his hand, wildly and unyielding.  She calls out his name again, as she clings to him, letting wave after wave of pleasure wash over her.  
He remains over her as they both settle, catching their breath.  She reaches up, cups his face, runs her hands over his arms, his chest, his back. Neither quite ready to be done.  He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, sweet and gentle, just wanting one more taste before he rolls to his side, collapsing beside her.  
“Your time with the Contessa,” she says, “was like that?” She giggles as she says it.  
“Penelope…” he laughs, taking her hand, lacing their fingers together.  He doesn’t have to say it.  She knows. 
She shifts, curling up into his arms, cuddling against his chest. 
“Thank you,” she says.  Her voice is soft and sweet and the first Pen has taken over again.  “I needed that.” 
“I could tell,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He remains quiet for a moment, holding her tight, enjoying the press of her body into his, the sweet smell of her scent she has after they’ve been intimate, the feeling of deep emotional connection that remains even after the physical connection has ended.  
“I think I’ve figured it out,” she says, a bit unexpectedly.  She looks up at him, her eyes bright and engaging.  
“Figured what out, love?” 
“The Contessa,” she gives him a grin.  “I know your secret.” 
“Oh?” 
“She does not exist,” she says plainly.  “You’ve made her up.”  
He gives her a smirk.  “Have I?” 
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Penelope says, as if it’s the most obvious answer.  “There’s no real woman with fiery red hair who happens to be a great conversationalist and has a delectable bosom and can satisfy you so thoroughly.  Not one in Italy, anyway.”  
He chuckles into her hair.  “Oh, I assure you, she is very real.”  
“Real in your imagination.” 
“Real in my bed.”  He leans down to kiss her.  
“What did happen in that missing week then?” she asks.  
“I did tell you,” he says, with a grin.  “We had to get a new horse.  And then stayed for days in the most boring lodge waiting for a storm to pass.  There was nothing to do but stare at the wall…” 
“And create a fake Contessa?” she teases. 
They share a laugh together.  
“Oh, how I love you, Pen.” 
“And I love you .”  
After all of his travels, after all the adventures, he’s glad he’s there now with Penelope; his love, his best friend, his home.  He snuggles her close as his eyes flutter shut, and lets sleep take over.  
199 notes · View notes
just-a-creep-babe · 5 months ago
Note
SFW REQUESTS FOR VALENTINES DAY?????? *blows up*
What about Jeff, Toby and BEN with a deaf s.o.?
I wrote these with the assumption that the s/o was born deaf and mainly uses ASL/BSL to communicate—I hope that’s alright!!
Also, I’d love to hear more about people's experiences being deaf—so feel free to share and let me know if I did alright with these headcanons! ^^
Requests are closed but commissions are open!
Masterlist: x
Jeff the Killer
This motherfucker likes the sound of his own voice so damn much, just because his s/o’s deaf, that absolutely doesn’t mean he won’t stop talking
So, like, even though he knows his s/o can’t hear him, he’ll still yap all damn day without pause
Which, honestly, kind of makes being deaf a benefit for when it comes to enduring him
He’s, unsurprisingly, really fucking stubborn, so getting him to learn sign language won’t be the easiest
He’d much rather just flap his arms around like an idiot or write whatever he wants to say on a piece of paper or something
Which isn’t very intuitive because A: it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say when he’s doing the chicken dance
And B: his handwriting absolutely sucks
Even if his s/o really tries to persuade him to learn ASL, he’ll likely only double down on his refusal to do so
But if he notices that it genuinely upsets them, he’ll secretly pay more attention to their style of nonverbal communication
And he’s actually not horrible at learning new things, so he might be able to learn a few words here and there just through observation
Who knows—after a few months, he might even be able to string a whole sentence together!
If his s/o teases him when he messes up though, then it’s absolutely over
He’ll be even more adamant about not knowing a damn thing about ASL
But, on the other hand, if his s/o encourages him, then he’ll become increasingly more open to learning it
Other than that, Jeff’s a pretty protective boyfriend
If anyone tries to make a nasty comment about his s/o being deaf, he definitely won’t let it slide
Nobody disrespects his s/o—and he’ll make damn sure everyone knows that
Even though he acts like a big tough guy, he, ofc, is always soft for his s/o
And since their communication can be somewhat restricted at times, he’s very much so comforted by physical contact instead
Like, he still understands and appreciates it when they sign their love to him, but it means a lot for him to feel it too
So any kind of kissing, hugging, and touching of any sort is super important to him
Despite Jeff’s many flaws, the relationship is actually really cute~
Tumblr media
BEN Drowned
BEN actually knows ASL!
So there isn’t much of a communication barrier between him and his partner
And dating him is, well, fairly easy-going
That is, of course, with the assumption that his s/o mainly communicates with ASL
But even if that isn’t their preferred method of communication, he’s a fast learner, and he’ll be quick to adapt to whatever they prefer
Either way, he really likes that they can both share this secret language no one else understands
It’s actually kind of his dream come true <3
He loves shit-talking the people around them whenever he gets the chance lmao
Which inevitably leads to them sharing a lot of inside jokes
Which, like, might get annoying to the others—but hey, that’s their problem, not his
Eventually, their secret language brings them close enough to the point where they can communicate based on expressions alone
Which, of course, only leads to so much more mischief
They inevitably develop a bit of a reputation around the mansion, rightfully dubbed the dreaded partners in crime
Even the other residents would think it’s cute—if they weren’t such little shit-disturbing miscreants, that is
Other than that, if his partner struggles to communicate with some of the other creeps, BEN will happily act as an in-between mediator
He’ll try to encourage the others as much as possible to learn the best methods of communication for his sweet lil’ s/o
Honestly, all he wants is to be as helpful as possible
His partner’s brought so much joy and ease into his life, he just wants to return the favor
Ultimately, their deafness really doesn’t change much in their relationship
And, if anything, it really only makes them closer
He’s happy he can be there for them, and he’s truly blessed to have them in his life as well <3
Tumblr media
Ticci Toby
Toby also knows ASL!
There are times when he goes nonverbal, so he actually really appreciates not feeling pressured to speak all the time
He also ticks less when he communicates via sign language, so he really enjoys it
And, again, if ASL isn’t his s/o’s preferred method of communication, he’s more than happy to learn and adapt to fit their needs
Once he understands what they prefer, like BEN, he’ll also try to get the others on board with learning their preferred method of communication
And he also similarly acts as a mediator between them and the others
Toby needs a decent amount of accommodations for his various disorders, so he never makes his partner feel bad for any of their accessibility needs
He actually always encourages them to be more assertive about their necessary accommodations
And he thinks the different way they maneuver the world without their sense of hearing is super interesting
So his s/o should get used to regularly being asked plenty of questions lmao
Like they could just be chilling, and he’ll randomly bring up this thing he heard about deafness once in passing
And he’ll give them his full attention as they explain their point of view on the matter
Like—he’s definitely curious about hearing sounds through vibrations, for one
And he also once heard that many deaf people assume the sun makes a sound—does his s/o think that too?
What do they think sounds sound like??
Do they think in sign language or in abstract concepts???
Honestly, if the questions get exhausting, his s/o will have to straight-up tell him—no beating around the bush, because he might not get the hint otherwise ^^;
Even though he tries not to be, he’s generally insecure about a few sound-related things he does—like snoring and ticking verbally and such
So he’s actually glad his s/o can’t hear everything he does
It’s also a huge relief that his partner doesn’t judge him for things out of his control—whether it be sound-related or just accessibility issues he faces
He feels much more comfortable around them just knowing they also deal with stuff most people don’t otherwise understand
He loves his precious lil’ s/o <3
Tumblr media
53 notes · View notes
devilmaymetalgear · 1 year ago
Note
Sparda boys with a goth g/n S.O. pls how would they react djdhshsh
Tumblr media
dante sparda x reader // vergil sparda x reader
gn reader // hcs with a goth s/o
a/n: just realized I don't have anonymous asks turned on lmao, also, I am working on the step kid request with vergil and Dante, I just tend to write like 5 things at once lmao
ᴅᴀɴᴛᴇ
- thinks it's so cool, he always marveling at your outfits and just overall vibe. Very supportive. Loves how I extra and dramatic it is.
- would def wanna match with you, while he does find your contrasting outfits super fun, he also would love to match with you
- constantly giving you pieces of clothes he 'finds' that he thinks matches. And you have no idea at all where he gets them from. But with his income he probably didn't pay for them
Unrelated but I think Dante would like Lowkey fuck with corpse paint
Tumblr media
ᴠᴇʀɢɪʟ
- he's all for flair, I mean look at him, so he definitely approves of your fit. While it wouldn't be something he might wear himself, he admires it from afar. Thinks you're stunning.
- he's constantly analyzing every single piece of clothing you wear, from the craftsmanship to the quality to the intricate detailing.
- he's always eager to listen to you talk about music to literature, uses it as inspo for what he should get into next. That way if you ever happen to ask him if he's familiar with something he can say yes and then pretend like he had no idea you'd asked him about it before
Requests are open, characters listed on my request rules. And anonymous asks have been turned on :3
197 notes · View notes
mysadcorner · 2 years ago
Note
Hi! I love your Jason Todd stuff and idk if you write stuff like this, but I was wondering how you think Jason would react to his s.o safe wording for the first time?
If you don't do things like this that's completely fine and I'm sorry about asking.
Jason Todd x Reader Using The Safe Word Headcanons
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
————————————————————————
-Credit to the images owners - Please be specific about characters wanted in requests -
Masterlist Navigation
• When you first use the safe word while being intimate with Jason he’ll absolutely freak out. The last thing he would ever willing do would be to hurt you, so the thought of you having to ask him to stop because he’s going ti far will cause him a lot of distress on top of your own.
• If the two of you were engaged in something on the “hardcore” side of intimacy then he’s be a mess, begging for forgiveness as he stops what he’s doing and checking up on you. He’ll assess the damage and try to soothe you both emotionally and physically since he clearly wasn’t ensuring you were fine enough during the act.
• If you said the safe word simply because you were overwhelmed, not that Jason was doing anything which resulted in you being hurt, then he’d try his best to ease you out of you discomfort and bring you back to a stable condition. He’s also going to soothe you when this happens and try his best to calm you down from whatever limit he pushed you too far over.
• He’d sure you’re cleaned up so that you can settle down easier and get rid of the discomfort you may be feeling in that moment. It’s easier for him to get you wrapped up in bed and get you back to feeling alright again if you’re not sitting covered in sweat and other things that occurred during intimacy.
• Afterwards, Jason would make sure that you were comfortable and feeling able to lie in bed properly while he checks over you. He’d bring you food and drinks, and massage any places that ache, as well as checking in on you emotionally to make sure he hadn’t caused a negative impact on your relationship with him or made you feel like you can’t be comfortable around him again.
• He’d ask you to open up to him and talk about what had just happened and why it may have been too much for you, but only once you feel like you’re ready to. He needs to know how he overstepped so that he never makes that same mistake again, and communication is something Jason hugely values for a healthy and understanding relationship. No matter how big or small the problem was, he’ll take whatever you say on board.
• He may be slightly hesitant to be intimate again with you for a little while due to feeling like he made you overwhelmed or hurt you and feels ashamed about it, even though he never meant too push you too far. You may need to reassure him and talk to him about what happened a few times before he starts engaging in that way, but it will still take him a little while to get back into rougher or kinkier kinds of things with you again.
• After you use the safe word for the first time, Jason will be checking in on you a lot more and asking for verbal input regarding everything he’s doing towards you while being intimate. He already dod this before, but after pushing you too far he feels a lot more comfortable knowing how you’re feeling at all times so it’s much less likely of happening again.
555 notes · View notes
seungkwanniee · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
ANGELS STILL EXSIST?
pairings : barista!seungcheol x fem!reader
genre : angst with little fluff in it , strangers to acquaintances
warnings : mention of food , lonliness , agoraphobia (being scared of crowded place) , overthinking , anxiety / panic attack , reader being harsh to herself , struggle to breath , people making fun of reader , mention of bulimia ( not at all ) , tears , few swearing
wc: 1.8k
synopsis : s.o. just has a messed up mind, and Seungcheol is in the right spot in the right time
an : starting school in one day so manifesting that it will be not hard write trought the school year + changed my dividers because the previous ones were basic asf. My frist time writing a thing like that so yes i know this isn't the best 😭
〔 masterlist 〕
Tumblr media
today was not your day but again, when it was ? At least, you got dropped earlier from work, so you just decided to make a quick stop to the near bar. You went here for like, 2 times? and it was long ago but you always overhear your coworkers talking about how they always try to make in time to eat ones of their breakfast. They must have gold hands then?
[5.17pm]
as you enter in the cozy bar, the little bell above the door makes everyone knows your presence. It wasn't that crowdy, fortunately. You just wanted to chill and eat as you were starving after your tiring work today. In you sight, you can only see an old couple ejoying their tea while behind the counter a young and lovely man raise his head as soon he hears the familiar sound
"what we order for you?" he asks when you stand up in front of him. His soft smile shows his single dimple and makes his eyes go so cutely tiny "a capuccino" you reply, completely forgotting about your hungry state "that's all?" he involountary remembers you that you haven't eat nothing for hours "oh, a brioche too" the guy behind the counter nods, inviting you to take a seat
and now, you get why they love this place. It wasn't for the food (well, also this) but you founded this so comfortable, maybe you liked it better than your home. From your house you can't eat a spetacular brioches, smell the good things that they prepare at the moment, you can't hear the sound of the laughter filling the athmosphere while watching the stunning sun setting down the flower sitting outside the bar. Your house was nothing compared to his: your cooking skill weren't this good, the smell was nothing but the atrocius gas coming from the cars running down the street. Your house was always so soundless, no laughter filling it, and from your window no sunset can be seen.
It wasn't a home, it was just an house, but you never really realized how sad and underwhelming it was.
Your thoughts got distracted from the same guy - Seungcheol, you can read from his tag now - serving you what you ordered, "eat well" his smile was always here, and you find it so cute but you wonder how many times he fakes it, what's under it. You just smile back at him, thanking him. Overall, they were so right about this place, its like entering in another world.
[2 days after]
you never liked waking up early, but what you were doing today? You just woke up 30 earlier than usual just to experience the same coziness before going to work. It was so additcing, not your fault
You get dressed in your usual clothes, swatpants and big coat because it was damn cold outside. Just the walk from your front door to your car, freezed your cheeks and nose making them slightly red. Maybe you were too sensitive, but anyway you rushed trowards the car door, making inside and putting on your playlist to wram you up. You hum along the songs, tapping your fingers on the wheel, involountary smiling as you know the warm and cozy place will confort you.
It wasn't like you expected tho, you widen your mouth when you see the amount of person entering and exting the bar. Even tought it was all cute, the big sign with the cutest writing and the colorfull flower standing outside, you didn't finded it cute anymore with all this people. You was so stupid, ofcurse it would be crowded if they are making the best breakfasts. Your soul was fighting inside: you were a grown woman, how you can't go inside a place only because people were in there. It sounded so redicolous to yourself, you can't even imagine what people would think. Otherwise, you wanted to taste another time the delicious brioche you eated only two days ago, it was so good that just thinking about it was making your mouth watering. You didn't even did breakfast at home for this reason, it was time to take aside your childish fears, no?
The cold weather hitted once again your cheeks, making you walk faster trowards the entrace and without even thinking about it, you were in. Maybe it was a bad choice as your legs were trembling under your warm sweatpants, but now you're here. You can't just walk outside againg, you would look dumb. What the other people would think of you? an odd weird kid. They would laugh while telling the not-so-funny story to ther friends, coworkers, family. And what if they recognize you in the street again? they would laugh right in your face for sure. What if, what if, wha-
"omg, y/n is here" the sound of a voice calling you out makes you raise your eyes from your shoes. You hide your head more into your scarf when the familiar faces are right in front you, and this makes you wish you never left your car or maybe your house. You awkwardly smile at their not welcomed figure, letting out an hand from your pocked to give the girls a little wave. You never get along your coworkers that much, you just ended up with no friends inside the place so they just makes little fun of you. Nothing you can't handle, it was common, but you being already overwhelmed because of the crowd inside of the place wasn't helping you at all. "what are you doing here? you eat for real?" you giggle with them, when they make fun of yourself, "it wasn't even funny" you wish you had the courage to say that, but in reality you just stand here while they makes fun of you. "make sure you don't throw up after eating, mh" the disgusting hand lands on you cheek, caressing it while her fake caring tone only makes you feel dizzy. Making fun of you just because you're skinnier than them wasn't funny.
You watch them walking away, well you can't properly do this. Your eyes were itching because of the tears wrapping them, and your head spinning wasn't helping at all. Your slightly trembing hands were making a pounch inside of your coat pockets because you were angry, sad, tired, defenceless and weak at the same time. The troath was now completely dry, you weren't even sure if you were able to speak to someone in few minutes, adding to your heavy chest. You were having a panic attack for sure. You went trought this many times before, so you should know how to deal with it, but it was like you can't even think straight right now, never wishing more to someone rescue you.
And it was like today the planets were all on your side, literally an angel falling from the sky. When you hear the soft voice speaking almost near to you ear, taking one of your arm walking you somewhere, you tought you was in heaven. 'This is real life or I just died?' were your exactly tought. "i'm sorry to bother you, I just saw what happened" the guy says, but it was like you weren't even listening him. "sit down" he places both hands on your shoulder, forcing you to take a sit in a place you never seen, but it seems more like the back of a local. "okay, kay, it's okay" probably he was looking at you with pity eyes, and it just sound so ridiculous. Your eyes weren't able to contain this amount of water, they just needed to escape somewhere. Your elaborated breath was making your chest havier and more painful, at the point that it started to be harder to breath by yourself. "gosh" he humble, Seungcheol was mad worried for you. It may sound weird but as an empathetic, yes, he was so worried about a stranger, half-stranger. He noticed you right away when you entered for the frist time to the bar, you looked so pretty in your big coat that was pratically eating you. It looked so obvious in your face your tiredness but in his eyes, you still looked so gorgeous. Something in you attracted him that he almost jumped from happiness when you appared again today. He was praying all day long hoping that you would show up so he could make a move and well, now he is making a move, not the one he expected tho.
"watch my breath, can you?" he kneels in front of you, his hand slipping down to your shaky arms and it may looks nothing, but his hands were bringing you the comfort you always wanted, not only when your mental health was messing with you. His brown eyes never leaving yours for a sec, piearcing right inside of you. "you need to match my breath, you can do it" his voice like honey for your hears, he wans't rushing you neither disrespecting your boundaries. Your heart was literally racing inside of you, and so many thoughts were going inside of your head. Why you weren't able to controll your attack today, you always deal with it but it was like you weren't in your body anymore. You was wondering why a stranger was helping you, there were still angels in this earth. What the fuck he was thinking of you, maybe you just looked so ugly, rediculus or like a kid. His bar was so full of people, he must be working right now but you were probably just a pain in the ass for him.
"stop thinking, focus on my breath" his hand moves on your chin now, slightly raising your head, while he gently caress your cold cheek. It didn't disgust you as before, his touch was gentle, almost scared of breaking you, that it brought a feeling of inexplicable calm. Your eyes glued on his lip, following his same peace.
"i'm so sorry" you take deep breaths when you were able to talk again without killing yourself for the lack of air. Now that you were able to think straight, the face of the guy seems so familiar to you. "for?" the guy tilt to one side his head, still kneeling in front of you while his hands lay on your knees. He looked so cute when his dimple shows, while his hair moves to his forehead because of the movement. Your hands were playing with each other, still feeling a little embarassed. Doing this, your eyes land on the tag attacked on his brown apron. "Seungcheol" it was supposted to be a thought, but it involountary slipped out of your mouth, "yeah, that's me. What's your name?" your cheeks turn red when you realize, making him giggle. Almost wishpering your name, you stand up from the chair, making Seungcheol standing up too. "you must be busy, i'm sorry that i bothered you. We can go back inside" you words were almost impossible to understand as your voice was so low and still a little cracked for the crying.
"don't worry, stay here, I can bring you something to eat" he invites you to take a sit again, but you were to stubborn. You already fucked up his schedule, you weren't bothering him any more. Plus, your work was waiting you soon. "Don't bother, go back to work. I have to go to mine soon" your still red eyes looked at him, and those were the things that weren't convincing him at all. "I insist, you must be hungry. I can take you to work if you want"
how angels can still exist?
Tumblr media
131 notes · View notes