#I CAN BREAK THEIR RELATIONSHIP INTO PIECES AND FIX IT

[yukioos]

helloo i hope you’re having a blessed day, afternoon, or evening (:

can i request an angst fic where the reader is from class 1 a & is trying not to breakdown after a very tough day at UA but couldn’t stop tears from falling down and tries to hide to hide it?

hopefully a pre-relationship situation with monoma, shoto, katsuki, and shinso but platonically with ochaco?

i was also wondering if you were okay with accepting reqs with other characters, thank you so much ❣️

trying not to break down in front of them after a bad day

featuring ochaco (platonic), katsuki, shoto, hitoshi, neito (pre-relationship)

ochaco uraraka

sweat drips from your forehead as you scatter toward the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and whimpering as you try to stifle your cries. your parents were near a villain attack, bakugo ridiculed you in front of everyone when you lost in a fight, and you failed another test after thinking you aced it. everything is going wrong, and you don’t know how to fix it.

but you hear someone walking into the bathroom, so you cover your mouth, trying to silence your breathing. the feet stop moving near the entrance of your stall.

fuck, those are ochaco’s shoes.

“y/n? are you okay?”

you hesitate. she’ll know you’re crying if she hears the smallest slip-up in your voice.

you sniffle, “yeah.”

“are you crying? you can tell me what’s happening, i’ll try and help! how about you come out of the stall and we can talk about whatever’s bothering you?” there’s a sense of urgency in her voice, one she shares and uses for many people.

hesitantly, you open the door and meep your backpack on your shoulders, continuing to wipe tears from falling down your cheeks. ochaco looks at you with sad eyes and sits you down on one of the benches, keeping your backpack on her lap.

only after you’re done ranting about your day, with her little comments and pieces of advice, does she suggest with a grin, “how about we take a trip to the bakery nearby? maybe that’ll take your mind off of everything!”

nodding is the least you can do, so you do just that, and the rest of your day is filled with laughter and joy with ochaco.

katsuki bakugo

for the whole day, you’ve been acting weird. not talking as much, avoiding people, and hardly even eating. it’s been too much for katsuki, and he’s fed up with it. in the middle of lunch, he comes up to your table and sits next to you on the spotless table.

as soon as he sets foot near you, you avert your gaze, embarrassed. he asks, “the hell is the matter with you? you’ve been acting weird all day.” when you don’t respond, he grumbles, “your problem won’t be solved if you don’t let people help you.”

the genuine advice makes your lips tremble, although you know it was common sense. katsuki shows he cares when he wants to.

you whimper, “do you think i’m weak?”

katsuki laughs, “do you think i’d be friends with someone weak?” you looked up at him with teary eyes, and his face softened, “the answer’s no. what in the world makes you think you’re weak?”

“i don’t know, i was just thinking… what if i can’t save someone when i need to? i almost fucked up during the internship the other day.”

a sigh comes from his mouth, “when the real thing happens, you’ll know exactly what to do. don’t doubt yourself with your skills and the quirk you have.”

you hum and nod, smiling once he slides his lunch tray to you. he mumbles, “eat, i know you haven’t all day.”

shoto todoroki

you walk back to your dorm, defeated and trying not to let tears fall down your cheeks after what just happened. it may not have seemed like a big deal to others, but you studied hard for a test, and just hardly passed. hours spent dedicated to studying all went to waste, and the worst thing is, you were confident you’d get a high score.

but it’s the last class of the day, so you're a bit pleased you can sulk about it in the comfort of your room. though, you hear a soft and calm voice behind you.

“y/n?” shoto asks, but you continue to walk to the dorms, slowing down your walking so shoto can catch up to you.

you softly mumble, “yeah?” and avert your gaze to the ground when his shoes are in your eyesight and are synchronized with your walking pattern.

“i saw you looked upset when you received your test from the teacher,” he pauses, “were you not pleased with your score?”

you feel your heart sink, as you aren’t too fond of people knowing about your mistakes. shoto’s trustworthy, however. he won’t ridicule you for slip-ups.

“um— i just,” a tear finally slips down your cheeks after, and you’re quick to wipe it away as your voice cracks, “kinda studied for a while and did shitty on the test.” you try to laugh it off, not wanting to appear overreacting.

shoto was quick to respond, “would you like to study together so maybe you can retake the test? i bet ectoplasm would let you.”

you nodded, “sure, i’d like that.” then paused for a few minutes, “thank you, sho.”

the two of you gazed into each other's eyes, and he gave you a rare smile, “anytime.”

hitoshi shinso

you speed walk to your dorm, soft pants and whimpers coming from your mouth as you hear footsteps behind you. you clutch onto your backpack before clumsily opening the door and throwing yourself in the room, locking the door behind you. slowly sitting on your bed, you cover your mouth and try to muffle your cries.

but a fist knocks on the door, and a familiar voice, hitoshi’s, concerningly asks, “y/n, is everything okay?”

you shudder and pull your hand away from your mouth, keeping your elbows on your knees, “yeah.”

“for some reason, i don’t believe you, and you looked like you were crying. can i come in and maybe we can talk about whatever’s bothering you?”

you hesitate, it would be so embarrassing for him to see you like this.

but you begrudgingly stand up and open the door, eyes falling on hitoshi’s worried and sad ones. he reaches a hand out to you and rubs your scalp with a warm hand before leading you both back to your bed.

when the two of you lay down side by side, he asks, “would you prefer to talk about it now or later?” he wasn’t letting you out of this one.

so you mumbled, “later,” and curled up into him, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

you quickly fell asleep in your best friend’s arms.

neito monoma

today was horrible.

you had an internship at an agency and were called to a mission with real villains. you couldn’t even stop them on your own, and you unfortunately froze up in fear. after, you were scolded for your actions and sent back to UA.

so you walk back to the dorm rooms, still with your costume on and tears forming in your eyes. everything turns into blobs of color, and your lips tremble in embarrassment when you hear footsteps behind you.

“y/n?” neito’s voice calls out to you, and you hear the steps scattering up to you. once he stands next to you and sees your face, he asks, “uh oh, did something go wrong?”

you sniffle and wipe your tears, “i— i don’t wanna talk about it.” your voice cracks in the middle.

he pauses, his voice softening as he looks into your puffy eyes, “are you just saying that or do you mean it?”

you hesitate, mumbling, “i don’t know, ‘m sorry.”

neito shakes his head and places his hand on your head, softly ruffling your hair. he suggests, “how about we train for a bit to get your mind off it? you can go as hard as you’d like.” he teases you near the end.

a soft chuckle escapes your mouth, and he grins at your smile and the creasing near your eyes. you roll your eyes, “shut up!”

[acescorazon]

Changes

Chapter: 3/?

word count: 2514

Rating: M

Warnings: Crocodile , Explicit language, minor violence (slightly less than last chapter's lol.)

Chapter excerpt:

Crocodile glances around the room before looking back down at his papers, “It turns out with Buggy’s new status…” He pauses, grimacing slightly, “With the Clown’s new status, the marines won’t just come attacking us out of the blue, but these bounties will definitely be seen as a threat, possibly even a declaration of war, and we have to be prepared for when they do decide to come after us or the event of a buster call.”

A buster call?!

“W-Woah, woah, woah!” Buggy stammers, feeling the familiar sensation of dread rising in the pit of his stomach. “They…They wouldn’t do something crazy like blow up the entire island…right?” He asks, voice starting to crack a little as he speaks, “R-right?”

Mihawk speaks up, in a calm, flat tone, seemingly unworried about the possibility that the island could be wiped off the surface of the planet, “Of course they would,” he replies bluntly, “It’s only a matter of time before they try to annihilate us.”

[Previous part]

Buggy manages to avoid both Crocodile and Mihawk for about a week after the official public debut of Cross Guild, only catching brief glimpses of his ‘underlings’ out of the corner of his eye here and there around the island, before his luck comes to a rather abrupt end one morning. Crocodile calls for their first official meeting, after ordering Buggy beforehand to clear out a space for a makeshift meeting room, and even now Buggy has no idea why they even need a meeting room or to hold a meeting…

The quickest ‘meeting room’ Buggy can come up with is a storage closet filled partly with weapons that he cleared out a little and then put a table, a whiteboard, and three chairs in, and as soon as Crocodile steps foot inside the makeshift room, he sticks his nose high up in the air and sighs, “Whatever, let’s just get started,” He says, tossing an overstuffed manila folder onto the table in the middle of the room and having a seat first. Crocodile is impossible to please, and Buggy questions whether he’s an actual pirate or some kind of corrupted CEO with overly high standards.

“As briefly discussed before, our first step will be putting bounties on the Marines’ heads.” Crocodile opens up his folder, pulling out a couple of neatly stacked papers, “I’ve compiled a list of over one hundred marines, categorizing and ranking them all from highest to lowest bounties already to make things go a little faster,” He hands his papers over to Buggy, who looks at him, stunned and slightly horrified, “You make the bounty posters for them and have them distributed, but do come and see me before you distribute them, I don’t want a repeat of last weeks incident.”  

Yeah…Neither does Buggy.

Buggy looks down at the papers Crocodile just gave him, scanning over the list in utter disbelief… There are so many names here…where did he get all these from?! Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp… Vice Admiral Tsuru….  Vice Admiral Smoker….He reads, and the list continues to grow from there. Crocodile has everyone from Vice Admirals to Captains, to lieutenants and even lowly ranking officers on his hit list, he has people Buggy didn’t even know existed on the list, and for once he’s glad he’s on Crocodile’s side and not one of his enemies.  

“Of course, I don’t expect anyone to be able to take on any admirals, or even Akainu, but you never know what’ll happen,” Crocodile states, handing over what has to be the scariest list of names Buggy’s seen so far. “Moving on, We’ll also need ships, weapons, medical supplies, and most importantly, men and land.”

Woah, woah…Buggy’s still not even over this whole marine thing, are they really just going to skip over the fact that Crocodile was able to compile a list of hundreds of marines within a week? Where did he get this kind of information? “For the time being I want anyone we can get, making these bounties and offering protection to any brave individual who’s willing to take on the marines and or make a criminal out of themselves is the quickest way to get more people on our side because as it stands we only have about two hundred and thirty-five men, and there’s no way we could withstand a possible attack from the government.”

Crocodile glances around the room before looking back down at his papers, “It turns out with Buggy’s new status…” He pauses, grimacing slightly, “With the Clown’s new status, the marines won’t just come attacking us out of the blue, but these bounties will definitely be seen as a threat, possibly even a declaration of war, and we have to be prepared for when they do decide to come after us or the event of a buster call.”

A buster call?!

“W-Woah, woah, woah!” Buggy stammers, feeling the familiar sensation of dread rising in the pit of his stomach. “They…They wouldn’t do something crazy like blow up the entire island…right?” He asks, voice starting to crack a little as he speaks, “R-right?”

Mihawk speaks up, in a calm, flat tone, seemingly unworried about the possibility that the island could be wiped off the surface of the planet, “Of course they would,” he replies bluntly, “It’s only a matter of time before they try to annihilate us.”

Crocodile, who seems equally as unbothered by the idea of a buster call, simply nods, “Exactly, which is why we need more men and land. These bounties will give us men, power, and higher status, but obviously, it’ll come with consequences. There will be a lot of injuries, deaths, and overall destruction by doing this.”

“So why are we doing it?!” Buggy exclaims, “This seems…”

“We can’t live in the world government’s world, can we?” Crocodile asks, still acting a little too nonchalant for Buggy’s liking, “So we’re going to create our own utopia.”

What the fuck does that even mean…?  

Oh, god. They’re going to die. They’re going to be blown to pieces and if they aren’t, they’re going to be executed in front of millions just like…

God, Buggy can’t do this. He can’t handle the idea of his home being blown up, or having to go back to Impel down, or, or being publicly executed. He-

He can’t just leave Cross Guild, Mihawk and Crocodile will kill him. But…remaining in Cross Guild will also get him killed. He’s really going to die. Any path Buggy chooses in life seems like it’ll lead to certain death, and he’s exhausted, he feels like he’s the one with a hit on his head. Buggy thinks back to when he was just a small-time pirate and finds himself missing those days where no one knew who he was or about his past. Back then he could run around freely without worrying about his men or his home being destroyed, but now even if he tried to run away from all his problems, there’s nowhere for him to hide.

God, he’s actually going to die.

There are tears in Buggy’s eyes as Crocodile rises from his seat, pulling out a photo before pinning it to the whiteboard in the room, “We can discuss ancient weapons in the next meeting, but for now let’s move on to land. In the event of a buster call, we’ll immediately have to get off the island and relocate. Now, I’ve picked a few islands out, but this one right here is the most interesting and closest, boys.” He points to the picture on the board, “This is Prickly Pear island, a spacious desert kingdom with a tyrannical king who’s starving his people and hoarding most of the country's wealth and resources. It’s easy pickings, we don’t even have to turn the people against their king, we just show up and ‘save’ all the citizens, and take over.” He grins.   

God, Buggy doesn’t want Emptee Bluffs Island to be blown up and he doesn’t want to live in the desert with Crocodile where he’s practically invincible, he just wants this nightmare to end...He just wishes he were still a warlord, no.. no, he wishes he were just a lowly pirate in Orange Town.  

God, he hates his life so much.

…

Their meeting lasts a lot longer than Buggy would have hoped it would, and he could hardly keep up with all Crocodile’s plans because, you know, there’s that new silly possibility of the world government blowing them to kingdom come… ahaha, so silly. Anyways once the meeting is over, he quickly gets the hell away from Crocodile and Mihawk as fast as possible and looks for men who can make the bounties for the marines because Buggy sure as shit isn’t going to do it himself, though he doesn’t know if they should really be doing this in the first place...

Whatever. Whatever, it’s too late.

Buggy counted one hundred and seventy-five different marines on Crocodile’s list, and the worst part: Crocodile says he’s actively trying to find out more names, and they’re…They’re fucking doomed. At this point, Buggy just has to pick which way he wants to die, and to be honest… He’d rather die by the Marines' hands than Crocodile’s.  

He finds himself anxiously roaming around and just… taking in the view of his island and all the men at work. Even with Mihawk and Crocodile around, Emptee Bluffs Island is bustling and filled with life, and to think that all that could be taken away in a moment's notice just because of Crocodile’s stupid pla--

“Hey, Clown.” God, what now?  Buggy thinks to himself, hating the way that Crocodile can’t be bothered to use his actual name most of the time. “I forgot to tell you that I want a main ship built right away.”

Buggy sighs, turning around to face his tormentor, ”But my men are already busy trying to fix the ships the marines didn’t completely destroy.”

“And? Find someone to build me a flagship, and make it quick.”

So bossy and annoying… Buggy closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, trying to remain calm. If he lets his pride and his ego get the best of him right now, he’s going to lose his life. For once in his life, he should just shut up… But the urge to tell Crocodile to go to hell is so strong…Crocodile’s so demanding, and Buggy… just wants to…

“Yes.” He replies a moment later, not wanting to get on Crocodile’s bad side again, he’s had enough of that for a lifetime. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.” He tries to end the conversation there and walk away, but Crocodile stops him, “One last thing, clown, about your appearance…”

After Crocodile has threatened to sell him into slavery, beat him senseless, took over his island, and gave him the world’s most unreasonable requests and expected him to fulfill everything in such a short amount of time, why was the straw that broke the camel's back Crocodile criticizing his appearance? “I don’t want Cross Guild to be seen as a joke. Get rid of the onesie and the annoying red nose.”

Get rid of the annoying red nose…

He told him to…He told him to…. Buggy stares at Crocodile, speechless, he feels like saying something he might regret, but it’ll get him killed. He wants to live… this whole time he’s been fighting for his life…and to throw it away so carelessly… “Understand?” Crocodile asks with a displeased look now on his face, not that Buggy knows why he’s looking at him like that.

Get rid of the annoying red nose.

This altercation marks the first (and last) time Buggy tells Crocodile to, “Eat shit and die.” and things go as well as one would expect them to as soon as the insult leaves his mouth. He really should have kept his big mouth shut, but he didn’t, and instantly ends up regretting his actions, like always.

Crocodile chases Buggy all around the island, face red and filled with rage as he screams every cuss word imaginable at Buggy, and Buggy runs away like he owes Crocodile money, which, coincidentally, he does. “I’msosorry,” He babbles out, and the phrase ‘I’m sorry’ has to be his favorite phrase considering how often he uses it these days, “I didn’t mean to…” Oh, who is he kidding? He met everything he said, but he doesn’t think he should get murdered for his words alone.

Buggy runs past a few of his beloved crew members: Cabaji, Mohji and Richie, and finally, Alvida, but no one seems interested in helping him out. They all watch as he runs by, looking confused, then horrified, then once realization finally sets in, they simply look the other way. Cowards! All of em are cowards, and they have absolutely no loyalty!  

Crocodile does end up capturing Buggy though, he’s incredibly stubborn and that is yet another thing that Buggy has come to find out about his new business partner. He also really hates being insulted, go figure, and ends up punching the shit out of Buggy’s poor face, again, leaving welts all over him as he so graciously reminds Buggy that he can gut him like a fish at any moment if he wanted to and that he’s lucky to be alive.

Buggy begs for mercy the entire time, but that only seems to anger Crocodile more and he calls him…What was it…? Oh, that’s right, he calls him ‘A worthless coward who should have never been made an emperor’, and then proceeds to tell him how much he hates him.

He makes Buggy feel so good about himself…haha…

They never come to an agreement, Crocodile just grows tired of kicking Buggy’s ass and leaves, and Buggy winds up filled with more hatred than before for Crocodile, picking himself and his teeth up off the ground after his beating, skull still throbbing from Crocodile’s wrath. Okay, maybe he deserved that ass-kicking, but he still thinks Crocodile went a little too far… Nevertheless, Buggy continues on with his day, now instructing some of his crew who are shipwrights to build Crocodile his stupid ship for stupid Cross Guild, hoping that for once his crew will do something half-assed and that the ship will end up sinking or capsizing when Crocodile (and hopefully only Crocodile.) is onboard.

((A/N: Redeeming this fucker (Crocodile) is going to be a BITCH. Trust in me and the process, we'll get to where we need to go though. Thanks for reading, i love you pookies~! ALSO P.S ...Think the next few chapters might have depressed Buggy sooo.. BUT TRUST IN THE PROCESS BABIES.))

[floorpancakes]

i have no idea how to put this but other than the actual things they end up doing both halves of dough water have a really good resume of skills and personality traits you can imagine them doing all sorts of jobs or hobbies in AU scenarios. mostly i like to imagine them volunteering with animal shelters tho its like free serotonin

[alittlebitofrainbyyourside]

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[navybrat817]

Make It or Break It

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is determined to not let the kitchen sink defeat him.

Word Count: Over 2k

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, swearing, implied smut, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Another new AU? Why not? Inspired by a wonderful nonnie. And thanks @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me discuss this. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a peaceful day for Bucky. Well, it was supposed to be a peaceful day. He should’ve been snuggled up with you on the couch, reading a book or watching a movie. He could’ve taken a ride on his bike, or gone to that bakery you love to surprise you with something sweet. Instead of doing any of those things, he was stuck under the kitchen sink that suddenly decided to stop running hot water.  

Heaving a heavy sigh, he mentally reviewed the list of things he had checked: the shut-off valve, a possible leaking hot water line, and the aerator for blockages. No such luck. He hoped it wasn’t a water heater issue. That was the last thing you needed to deal with.  

He grunted and reached for the wrench, not understanding what the problem was. He was handy, and had fixed everything around the house. So far he patched holes in drywall, replaced windows, repaired the roof, and remodeled the kitchen, to name a few. Sam could vouch for his skills since he fixed things on the boat. Surely he could repair this.  

Or it might be the thing to finally defeat him.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, gripping the wrench so tight he nearly bent it.

The former brainwashed assassin had faced worse: superpowered enemies, a world war, experimentation, losing a limb, brainwashing, torture, PTSD, and more. For Christ's sake, he was dusted by Thanos. He refused to let a kitchen sink defeat him, especially since he had promised you he'd fix it, and he always kept his promises to you.

Bucky stared down the pipe with a withering death stare. Why the fuck wasn’t the hot water running? “I’m not going to let you break me, you piece of shit.”

“Bucky?”

As he crawled out from under the sink, his gaze softened at the sight of you. Your bare feet gently padded across the floor as you moved toward him, a tender smile on your face and a hand on your belly. He hadn’t grasped what pregnancy glow was until you became pregnant with his child. It was like a soft ray of sunlight that glowed through you and touched everything within its reach. It was beautiful, just like you.

Sunshine to his moonbeam.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasped, still in awe of your beauty.

You ducked your head and smiled to yourself, something you had done from the first time he called you that term of endearment. “Sink still giving you trouble?” you asked, keeping your tone light since you knew it was a sore subject. With a clench of his jaw, he nodded. “Maybe we should-”

He cut you off with a point of his finger and saw you struggling not to smile. “Do not suggest a plumber.”

He felt his resolve begin to crack when you batted your eyes. He couldn't resist that look, which always got you what you wanted, but he couldn’t bend on this. “We don't have to call a plumber, but it might not be a bad idea to have someone take a look.” Bucky’s lip curled in a snarl, but you just smiled. “I don't mind.”

“I mind because I said I can fix this and I will. I promised you that,” he argued.

It was irrational for him to feel jealous at the thought of someone else fixing the sink, but he didn’t want you depending on someone else to fix stuff around the home you made together. If he couldn't take care of your home, it meant he couldn't take care of you, which he would always do. Just as you took care of him, being partners meant you relied on each other.

Additionally, the idea of another man checking you out, which he knew would happen because you were stunning, both infuriated him and filled him with pride, as he didn't want anyone else to admire your beauty, but was happy to call you his own.

You shook your head after a moment, as if you read his mind. “Okay, He-Man. We don’t have to call anyone.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, but then sat up abruptly, his heart racing in alarm as he was about to go back under the sink. “Wait, why aren't you lying down?”

Fatigue hit you out of nowhere earlier, and you went to rest, which he felt a pang of guilt for. It was a common symptom in pregnancies, but he couldn’t help but wonder if any of the serum would pass on to his kids or what it would do to your body. But you didn’t complain, didn’t show any signs of worry. He may be a super soldier, but you were the one with the strength.

“I’m fine,” you assured him before a sheepish smile crossed your face. “Except I'm a little hungry.”

He chuckled and sat up to wipe his hands, relieved that there was nothing wrong. He couldn’t help feeling protective. “You or the baby, sweetheart?” 

Rubbing a hand over your stomach, you giggled. The sound wrapped around him like a warm hug and urged him to exhale his frustration. “I think we’re both hungry. Something sweet and salty.”

He crawled on his hands and knees, making you giggle again, until he reached you and sat back on his heels. Pulling you close by your hips, he pressed a gentle kiss to your stomach and smiled. “Hey, sprout,” he whispered. 

A blossoming life was growing within you like a sprout.

“Sprout loves your voice,” you whispered, running a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes.

Bucky hoped so. He read books to your belly and sometimes talked when you had fallen asleep, telling stories of his past and how excited and nervous he was for the future. He also talked about how amazing you were, how he was lucky to have you as a wife and how lucky they’d be to have you as a mother.

Despite everything life had thrown at him, he got a family, a dream come true he had tried not to hope for.

“Well, I’m glad our little sprout hasn’t heard me swearing today,” he joked, kissing your stomach again. “That kitchen sink is trying to get the better of me, but I won’t let it.”

“Your father is a stubborn man,” you smiled, clutching Bucky’s head to you as he rested it on your belly.

“And your mother is a stubborn woman, don’t let her fool you. She also suggested calling a plumber, which I’m against,” he said, keeping a hand beside his head. “Give me a kick if you think I can fix it myself.”

“Bucky, we-”

Both of you gasped when your baby kicked where Bucky’s palm rested. He stared up at you with wide and happy eyes, his heart swelling in his chest. “D… Did you feel that?” he whispered.

“I did,” you smiled, your eyes shining with unshed tears. Your baby kicked, and it was one of the most incredible things he had ever felt. 

He let out a slow breath. For years, he was forced to fight. The war, HYDRA, and everything that followed. No one ever really asked what he wanted. At the end of the day, it all came down to this: building a home with a loving family.

As he knelt there, you smiled down at him, feeling your baby move, and he realized he'd do it all over again for this moment. 

“Help me get a snack, and then you can finish fixing the sink,” you suggested.

“And no plumber?” he smiled, more determined to keep his promise to you, since your baby believed he could do it.

“No plumber,” you promised with a sly smile. “Unless you want to pretend to be a plumber and help me clear out my pipes.”

His nose crinkled when he laughed. “Earmuffs, sprout. You don’t need to hear those things your Mama is saying.”

“Me?!” He chuckled when your voice went up an octave. “What about all the dirty things you say? Like this morning when I woke up to you doing that thing with your tongue and-”

Bucky suddenly stood up and silenced you with a deep, sensual kiss that would send your hormones into overdrive. As he pulled away from your lips, he was met with your shuddering breath, and he trailed soft kisses along your face. “Now, sweetheart, we both know you seduced me in your sleep, and I couldn’t resist having a taste.”

How could he ever resist you?

“I seduced you in my sleep, huh?” you asked with love shining in your eyes. His eyes reflected the same. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, giving your ass a gentle pat and smirking when you gasped. “Now sit tight while I get us a snack and finish fixing the sink. You said something sweet and salty, right?”

“Right,” you nodded.

“Peanut butter pretzels?” he suggested, hoping he was right. He’d hate to see your face fall if he guessed the craving incorrectly.

When your face lit up, he breathed a sigh of relief, especially since he had just stocked up. “Yes, please.” Guiding you to the island stool, he felt your eyes on him as he moved around the kitchen. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said, setting a filled up bowl in front of you. He didn’t care if it was the middle of the night. If you were hungry, he would get you something or go out to find what you wanted.

“No, I mean, thank you for… everything.” He stopped when your eyes welled up, his heart aching at the sight. “God, these hormones,” you teased, wiping away tears as they spilled over.

“Hey,” he whispered, turning you on the stool, and gently framed your face to wipe away the remaining tears. Your hormones made you cry at the drop of a hat, and he was thankful that you allowed him to comfort you whenever that happened. “I should be thanking you.”

Bucky had found love and a family thanks to you, which filled his heart to the point of overflowing. He had purpose, and he was still a hero. He had a life he wanted, one worth fighting for. To him, it meant everything and more.

“You do thank me. Every single day,” you reminded him, bringing your hand up to trace his wedding band. 

“Does that mean I get a reward after I fix the sink?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows before you smacked his arm. “Worth a shot.”

“Tell you what,” you smirked, picking up one of the peanut butter pretzels. “If you get the sink fixed before I finish this bowl, I’ll reward you.”

When you popped the treat into your mouth with a hum and licked your lips, he bit back a groan. “And if I don’t?” he asked, determined not to lose. 

You shrugged and inspected the next piece. “Then you don’t get a taste of me for a whole week.”

He gawked at you. Withholding that delicious nectar between your thighs from him for a whole week? That was cruel and unusual punishment.

“Listen. I know you can fix it and our baby knows you can fix it, too,” you said, nodding to the sink. “So get to work because I’m hungry.”

He kissed you for luck, tasting the sweet and salty snack on your lips. “You’re on, sweetheart,” he said, winking and rushing back to the sink as you watched. 

“Domesticity is really sexy on you.”

He winked again. “Don’t I know it.”

It turned out that your belief in him, along with your baby’s and the promise of a reward, provided the exact motivation he needed to fix the sink. Just as he had kept his promise to you, you kept yours and rewarded him right there in the kitchen. After carrying you back to the couch, ignoring your protests about your weight, he felt lucky once again to have such an incredible wife and mother of his child. 

And if he was really lucky, you two would have more than one.

What other domestic things do we want to see Bucky get up to? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[reilemon]

🌹Surrender❄️

♡︎ synopsis: Sylus and Zayne show you that you can't get away with lying.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader x Zayne

♡︎ tags: barely any plot, mfm dynamic, oral (both male and female receiving), orgasm denial, dvp

♡︎ word count: 5.5k

♡︎ a/n: this fic is part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange event made by @nanamiscocksleeve and I wrote for @laddelulu30 . It was challenging ngl, but I had fun and I hope you'll like it!

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping. divider by @anitalenia

The car hums softly, the tension inside it palpable. Zayne’s hands grip the wheel, his hazel green eyes fixed on the road ahead, occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Sylus sits with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You sit beside him, looking out the window, twisting the damp hem of your shirt as you can feel Sylus’ glare on you.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Zayne’s calm voice breaks the silence.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It wasn’t planned,” you mumble. “My friend called last minute... I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

Sylus shifts beside you, leaning closer. “You didn’t think lying about being at a coffee shop might be a big deal? Or leaving your location on so I’d find out anyway?”

You stiffen, guilt tightening your throat. “I thought both of you were busy and it was just easier that way.”

Sylus scoffs. “Easier? For who? You, sneaking out? Or us, finding out you’re not in your apartment like we thought?”

“Sylus,” Zayne interjects, his eyes flick to the mirror, catching yours. “This isn’t about the coffee shop, or even going out. It’s about trust. We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know where you are.”

The word trust stings more than Sylus’ sharper tone. Your fingers clench tighter around your sleeve, twisting the fabric until it wrinkles under your grip. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” you say with a lump in your throat. “My friend needed me tonight. She just got out of a bad relationship, and wanted to go out.”

Sylus presses further. “And when it got dangerous? What then? You knew enough to text me—why not just tell me the truth from the start?”

Zayne’s grip on the wheel tightens. “Do you know what went through my head when Sylus told me you weren’t home?” he asks, his voice quieter now. “When I saw where you were? You’re lucky we got there in time.”

Your throat tightens, and you glance out the window as you mumble, “I didn’t think it’d turn into such a mess.”

Zayne exhales slowly, and you can see Sylus in the corner of your eye shaking his head. You know you’re in the wrong and that you made a few stupid decisions tonight, but your pride is not letting you admit it.

The car slows to a stop at a drive-thru, and you hear Sylus grumbling under his breath.

“This place again?”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips when you catch Zayne roll his eyes before answering. “Yes, it’s the only nearby place that works at this hour.”

Sylus sighs dramatically but complies, rattling off an order as though it’s beneath him.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The apartment greets you with its familiar scent and warmth. What also greets you is pieces of clothing and makeup scattered around the living room. You’re sure your boyfriends noticed the mess, but you’re surprised no one made a single comment as they made their way to the kitchen. You take off your shoes and join them. 

Sylus places the bag of food onto the table, his gaze flicking toward you. “Are those the new jeans?” he asks. 

Caught off guard, you glance down at yourself, smoothing your hands over the denim. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Told you they’d look good,” he says, leaning back against the table, his arms crossing over his chest. The way he says it makes your cheeks warm. 

Before you can respond, Zayne’s voice cuts in, giving you the same compliment. He steps closer, his eyes softening as they glance over you. Tonight, their attention makes you more flustered than usual, so you thank them, your cheeks burning, and you busy yourself with helping Zayne unpack the food.

The three of you engage in small talk as you eat the late-night meal, the earlier tension from the car ride dissipating with each bite. Despite his complaints, Sylus cleans his plate with the efficiency of someone who secretly enjoyed it.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Remnants of the day washed away after the shower, the three of you settle on the sofa to watch a movie. Zayne and you slipped into pajamas while Sylus put on a shirt and sweatpants he kept in your apartment. As you sink into the sofa, the warmth of their presence surrounds you. You cover yourself with a blanket, nestling into the space between them. Sylus leans in to press a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to send a small shiver through you. “Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

You nod, your cheeks warming as Zayne reaches for your hand. His touch is light as he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “It’s been a long night,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “You should try to relax.”

The tenderness of each gesture dissolves a little more of the tension lingering from the car ride. For a moment, it feels like the night’s events have been smoothed over.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The blanket draped across your legs is warm, wrapping you in comfort as the faint scent of soap and shampoo lingers from the showers. You stretch out slowly, eyes still on the tv as you move to rest your head on Sylus’ lap. His hand rests on your head, the light touch of his fingers soothing. Your legs find their place on Zayne’s lap, his strong hands moving to cradle your feet. When his fingers press gently into your arches, eliciting a soft sigh from your lips. The way his thumbs knead into your soles sends tiny ripples of relief through your body. Sylus’ fingers gently massage your temple, while Zayne’s hands work slowly over your calves. For a moment, you’re content to lie there, letting their attention wash over you.

But your hand starts to wander.

It traces along the fabric of his sweatpants as you brush over the firm muscle of his thigh before your palm settles over his crotch. Sylus chuckles, and you feel his body tense slightly under your touch. His hand stills as he glances down at you. “You sure you’re not tired?”

You nuzzle against his thigh, “I’m sure,” you say softly.

Sylus’ gaze flicks past you, meeting Zayne’s over your head, the exchange passing in an instant.

You shift onto your back, blissfully clueless, the warmth of the blanket replaced by the cool air of the room as Zayne slides it away, folding it neatly onto the backrest. His hands move to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin, sending faint shivers along your body as he pulls off the piece of clothing. You draw a sharp breath as Zayne’s long fingers trace the sensitive spot between your legs, the barrier of your underwear doing little to dull the sensation. His thumb presses gently, testing your reaction.

Above you, Sylus watches your face as you’re still resting your head on his lap. His hand threads through yours, his grip steady as he lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

Zayne’s eyes flicker down, his full attention locked on the slow movements of his fingers. The pads of his ring and middle finger press firmly against the soaked fabric of your panties, sliding back and forth at a slow pace. The pressure builds as he alternates his rhythm—pushing his fingers harder against you, dragging them in slow strokes, then pulling back just enough to make you whimper. The dampness of your arousal soaks through the thin barrier, your panties clinging to your folds.

“Fuck,” Zayne murmurs. “You’re so wet, my sweet girl. You like this that much? Being teased like the needy little brat you are?”

Heat floods your cheeks at his words, but before you can respond—his thumb circles your clit, pressing firmly enough to draw a gasp from your pretty lips. Your hips shift against his touch instinctively, desperate for more, but his movements remain infuriatingly measured.

Zayne shifts, his hands pressing against your thighs, keeping you open as his head hovers just between your legs. Your legs tremble in his hold when you feel it - the slow swipe of his tongue over the fabric. A quiet moan escapes your lips as he does it again, his tongue dragging across the sensitive spot, his saliva mixed with your slick making the fabric cling to you. Your free hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding into Zayne’s dark hair, urging him closer, urging him to give you more. His eyes flick up briefly, and then you hear Sylus’ sharp tut from above.

“Tsk, tsk. You’re not in charge here, sweetie.” Sylus’ voice is rich with mock disapproval. He reaches down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pulls your hand away from Zayne’s head with. He presses your hand above your head, holding both of your wrists in place with one hand, while Zayne’s grip on your hips tightens, making it impossible to move. His fingers press into your skin, holding you down as his tongue flicks out again, swirling slow, maddening circles over your clit. Your head tilts back against Sylus’ thigh, a frustrated sound escaping your lips as you try to shift against Zayne’s hold.

“Look at her,” Sylus muses as he watches you squirm. “So fucking needy. Isn’t that cute?”

Zayne chuckles against you, the vibrations making your toes curl. But, after a few more frustratingly dragged out swipes, he finally relents. His hold on your hips loosening just enough to slide your soaked panties to the side, the cool air kissing your exposed skin, spreading goosebumps all over your skin. His thumb brushes lightly along your folds, spreading the slickness, before his tongue is finally on you, dragging slow swipes from your entrance to your clit. Relief courses through you, your thighs trembling as the ache that’s been building finally begins to ease. His tongue moves with precision, parting your folds and swirling around your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

Above you, Sylus’ ruby gaze flickers down, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt. The fabric bunches in his hand as he lifts it higher, revealing the soft curves of your breasts, the cool air making your nipples pebble instantly. His free hand traces slow circles around one hardened peak, his thumb brushing lightly over it, teasing, before he pinches just enough to make your back arch off the sofa. Then, slowly, his hand trails up, over the side of your neck, before settling on your bottom lip. The gentle pressure makes your lips part instinctively, your tongue swirling around his finger. Sylus adds another finger, the digits sliding deeper as your lips tighten around them, coating them in saliva. Then he pulls them free and drags them down, swirling over the hardened peaks, the added slickness making you moan.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Sylus asks, his smirk widening as his fingers press harder, rolling your nipples between them.

Zayne’s lips seal around your clit with just enough suction to make you cry out. Each stroke and suck builds the pressure inside you to a breaking point, your toes curling as the pleasure coils tight in your core, threatening to snap. You’re so close—so close you can feel yourself teetering on the edge—

And then Zayne pulls back.

The loss of contact draws a frustrated, broken whimper from your lips, your hips jerking against nothing.

Zayne looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t look so surprised,” his voice calm and infuriatingly composed. “Brats don’t get to finish so easily.” His hands stay firm on your hips, keeping you still as you try to move.

Your lips part in protest, but Sylus cuts you off with a smug tut. “Ah, ah,” he smirks. “You’ll have to earn it first.” His fingers slide down, gliding over your soaked folds before delivering a sharp tap to your swollen pussy, the sudden jolt making you flinch with a yelp.

“Look at this mess,” he mutters, his voice dripping with mockery as he taps again, watching you flinch. “Needy little thing.”

His fingers glide through, your body arching into his touch in desperate need of more. But then he pulls away, leaving you trembling in frustration. His glistening fingers rise to his lips, his eyes locking onto yours as his tongue flicks out, savoring the blend of your juices and Zayne’s lingering taste. He chuckles, “You know we don’t let bad behavior slide.”

Before you can protest, Zayne’s hand slides along your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His hazel eyes meet yours, “You know we’re not angry,” Zayne says softly, as his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. “But we will take our time making sure you understand.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body trembling under the weight of their attention. Frustration wells up, but so does the thrill of knowing exactly what they’re doing. Of course, they wouldn’t let you off so easily—it’s Sylus and Zayne.

Sylus releases your wrists, and before you can process the absence of his touch, Zayne reaches for your hands, pulling you upward with ease until you’re sitting on the sofa. Sylus stands up, stepping beside you as his hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants. He tugs them down just enough to free his cock - thick, flushed with a bead of precum at the tip. Your breath catches as he strokes himself lazily, his eyes glinting when he notices your gaze drop to his length.

“Come here,” Sylus commands as he plants one foot on the floor, the other on the sofa, your mouth watering at the sight. He strokes one last time before dragging the head of his cock toward your parted lips. The salty bead of precum hits your tongue, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes as you take him in. Sylus growls, his hand resting on the back of your head, holding you steady.

Beside you, Zayne stands up, mirroring Sylus’ stance, as he slides his pajama pants down and frees himself. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your hand to him, curling it around his cock. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, twitching as his hand envelopes yours, his grip firm as he helps you stroke him. “Slow,” he murmurs softly. “Feel how hard you’ve made me.”

Sylus’ hips begin to move, his thrusts shallow at first, as the thick head of his cock pushes deeper past your parted lips. You hollow your cheeks, your tongue flattening beneath him, and the sharp hiss that escapes his lips goes straight to your core.

“Deeper,” Sylus growls, “I know you can take it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust—his grip keeps you firmly in place as his hips roll forward, forcing his cock further down your throat. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you struggle to keep up, swallowing around the thick length stretching your throat. Spit drips from the corners of your mouth as he moves, hitting the back of your throat, making you choke with each thrust. Sylus’ movements falter for a moment, his thrusts growing erratic and then, abruptly, he pulls back. The sudden loss leaves you breathless and you look up to see his jaw clenched, his hand squeezing the flushed tip.

“Fuck,” he mutters in a shaky voice. “Almost made me finish down your throat.”

Before you can catch your breath, Zayne’s hand tilts your chin, guiding your mouth toward him, your lips parting instinctively as the head of his cock brushes against them. He presses forward, filling your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours as your tongue swirls around the tip, savoring the salty taste. A low groan escapes him, his hand resting on the back of your head as he sets a languid pace. Your jaw aches from the stretch, but the weight of him—hot and heavy against your tongue—makes you moan softly, the sound vibrating against him. Your hand finds Sylus, wrapping around his slick length as you stroke him in rhythm with Zayne’s thrusts. Sylus hisses through his teeth, his cock twitching in your grasp as he watches.

The ache between your legs becomes unbearable, your thighs pressing together in the desperate need for release. Unfortunately for you, Zayne’s sharp eyes catch the motion. Abruptly, he pulls back, his cock slipping free with a wet pop.

“No,” he says firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His grip on your chin forces your gaze upward. “Spread your legs.”

You almost whimper at the tone. “But—”

“Spread them,” Zayne repeats. The authority in his voice makes your thighs part, the frustration growing as Sylus chuckles above you.

Zayne’s hand shifts, guiding your mouth back to him. His cock slides past your lips again, and this time his thrusts are faster, each movement pushing deeper until the tip hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes again, the sound of your gagging pulling a guttural growl from him.

“Just like that,” Zayne murmurs, his voice rough. “Take all of it.”

Beside him, Sylus’ breaths become rough and uneven as his hand tightens over yours, his hips snapping forward, drawing Zayne’s attention.

Zayne’s hand slides to the back of Sylus’ neck, pulling him forward until their faces are almost touching. His voice drops low, quiet enough that you can’t make out the words. Their whispers drip with intent, and the thought of them planning your undoing makes your pussy clench desperately, slick spilling over as your body begs to be used exactly the way they want.

Sylus’ eyes flick to Zayne’s, hazy with arousal, with a faint smirk on his lips. Zayne’s lips press to the sharp line of Sylus’ jaw, followed by teeth dragging over his skin before he bites down, rough enough to leave a mark. The sharp sting rips a guttural, feral sound from Sylus’ throat, his cock twitching in your hand, precum spilling along your fingers.

“Good,” Zayne mutters against Sylus’ jaw before he pulls back, releasing Sylus’ neck. Their eyes meet for a moment, before their full attention is back on you.

Zayne’s thrusts grow erratic, his cock hitting the back of your throat one last time before he pulls out, leaving you gasping. You barely have time to recover before Sylus’ hand grips your jaw, tilting your face toward him, but his other hand grabs at the hem of your pajama top, tugging it upward in one swift motion, leaving you bare before him.

“Open,” Sylus commands, and your mouth falls open instantly, tongue slipping out. The flushed tip of his cock presses against it, dragging across it as he smears the salty slick, before his release spills suddenly, the first hot spurt hitting your tongue. The rest paints your cheeks, dripping down your chest, and clings to your skin in messy streaks. Zayne watches, his hand gripping your wrist as you stroke him. His cock twitches violently in your grasp, and when your fingers tighten, slick with his precum, it pushes him over the edge. A sharp, choked groan escapes his lips as his hips snap forward, his release spilling over your face and breasts, mingling with Sylus’ mess.

You’re trembling, every inch of your body aching with unfulfilled need. Sylus tilts your face up with two fingers under your jaw, making you to meet his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Fucking perfect.”

Zayne’s fingers brush the corners of your tear-streaked eyes. “She is,” he agrees with a smirk.

You bite your lip as your gaze flicks between them - they’re both still hard, their cocks twitching and glistening.

Zayne moves first – he sits back on the sofa and grabs a large pillow and positions it behind him. Reclining slightly, he leans back against the cushion, his legs spreading as his cock juts upward. His hands reach for you, pulling you toward him, guiding you onto his lap and helping you recline against him. Your back presses against his chest, his warmth melting some of the tension from your muscles. His arms wrap around your waist, anchoring you to him.

“Just relax,” His voice is calm and soothing as his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

Sylus steps closer, his sharp gaze raking over your trembling form, smirk widening as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. He drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air.

“Fuck,” Sylus mutters, his eyes burning as he spreads your legs, his grip firm.

Zayne’s hands glide upward, smearing the mess of their release over your chest before his fingers close around your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp. Then, his fingers trail downward, leaving a sticky path until they stop just above your needy core. You grab onto his veiny forearms at the first stroke of his fingers over your clit, before his fingers dip lower, gathering your slick before gripping his cock. He presses the tip to your entrance, dragging the length of his shaft through your folds, catching your clit in the motion, making your pussy flutter.

Zayne shifts beneath you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before nudging inside. The stretch is immediate, the delicious ache making your breath hitch as he pushes deeper, steadying your hips with firm hands. A raw, breathless moan escapes as he fills you, your head tilting back against his shoulder.

“That’s it.” Zayne whispers in your ear, his grip tightening as he holds you in place.

Every slow thrust presses against your most sensitive spots, each movement tightening the coil in your belly. Sylus watches as his hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly to match the roll of Zayne’s hips.

“Fuck,” Sylus mutters. “Look at her—dripping down to the base, and you’ve barely started.”

Zayne chuckles softly, his lips brushing your ear as his thrusts grow deeper, each one sinking to the hilt. The intensity builds with each roll of his hips, his cock filling you completely. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, the sound making Sylus’ hand quicken as he strokes himself.

“Are you ready to take me too?” Sylus asks, his voice low and teasing.

Your body freezes momentarily at the question, your pussy clenching around Zayne’s length.

“You… both?” your voice trembles. The idea intrigues you, but you’re hesitant. “I don’t know if I can - I mean – I’m not sure it’ll fit -”

Sylus’ smirk widens. “Oh, it’ll fit,” his voice is almost mocking, “You’ve been so needy tonight. This is what you’ve been begging for, isn’t it?”

Zayne nuzzles against your ear, his lips brushing your skin. “But only if you want it.”

You fall silent, your breath shallow as you process their words.  Sylus’ expression softens, his hand smoothing over your thigh as his gaze meets yours. “You can say no, darling.” he says softly.

Zayne presses a kiss just below your ear. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. You don’t have to take this any further.”

The sudden shift in their demeanor makes your chest tighten and their patience reassures you. You take a second to think. They’d never tried this before—never pushed to see if you could take them both at once. With how thick and long they both are, the idea had always seemed impossible. But tonight, the need is unbearable. You need to feel them—both of them—stretching you, breaking you, until there’s nothing left but the overwhelming sensation of them taking you completely.

You take in a shaky breath, “I want to. I’m ready.”

Zayne’s hands tighten gently around your waist, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ll take care of you.”

Sylus’ teasing smirk returns. His hand grips his cock, the flushed head pressing against your stuffed entrance. Sylus’ cock nudges forward, catching your clit one, two times as he struggles to push inside. “Relax, sweetheart.” he whispers. Your legs tremble as Sylus presses forward again, the thick head of his cock pushing at your entrance again. A high-pitched whimper escapes you, as Sylus’ cock slips over your clit once more before the head finally begins to ease inside. Sylus moves slowly each inch forcing your body to adjust to the impossible fullness. The tip finally slips fully inside, your walls clamping down tightly around both of them. The sensation is almost too much, your gasps and desperate moans filling the air as your body struggles to adjust to the impossible fullness.

“Shh,” Zayne soothes, as he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re doing perfectly. Just breathe, my darling.”

Sylus growls, his hand gripping your thighs as he stills. “So tight. Goddamn, Zayne, you’re not leaving much room.”

Zayne chuckles softly, his voice calm but you can feel his muscles tensing. Sylus shifts his hips, his tip stretching you impossibly as he inches deeper. The new fullness is overwhelming, every nerve inside you screaming for more.

“So fucking sensitive,” Zayne teases. “I bet she’ll cum before you’re even halfway there.”

The words make you whimper, your cheeks burning as Sylus pushes further. His hands tighten on your thighs as he finally bottoms out, holding still to let you feel every throbbing inch buried inside you. The maddening stretch of having both of them makes your pussy fluttering around them, pain and pleasure blurring together. Your breath comes in ragged, broken gasps as the tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter, impossibly close to snapping. You try to roll your hips, desperate to chase the climax that is right there, but their strong hands hold you still, denying you the friction you need

“I’m so close - !” you whimper, the desperation spilling from your lips as your head tilts back against Zayne’s shoulder. “I’m gonna—please, I need to—”

Sylus smirks down at you, “Close already?” he taunts. “I haven’t even fucking started yet.”

His hips shift slightly and that is all you need to fall apart, your orgasm crashing over you with devastating force. The tightness of your walls pulls guttural groans from both men, Zayne’s breath hitching against your neck as Sylus growls above you. They hold you steady while your body trembles in the aftermath, shallow gasps leaving your lips.

Sylus’ hand digs into your thigh, the grip bruising as his other hand braces on the backrest. His cock moves with shallow thrusts, the friction making your eyes roll back.

“You’re so sensitive,” Zayne murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “I can feel you clenching every time he moves.” Sylus’ pace quickens slightly, your moans growing louder as the coil in your belly tightens impossibly fast.

“Already?” Sylus teases, as he watches you writhe.

You don’t even register the question as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench tightly around them both, the overwhelming tightness pulling a groan from Sylus, his hips stuttering briefly, while Zayne sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on your waist.

But Sylus doesn’t stop. His thrusts deepen, slamming into you, the drag along your oversensitive walls pulling pathetic whimpers as your pussy tightens around him. The slick, maddening friction of their cocks sliding together, every thrust dragging a raw moan from your lips as the stretch pushes you closer to the edge. Your breath catches, your back arching as the coil snaps. Pleasure rips through you, blinding and raw, tears streaking your face. You clench around them tighter, milking them both as the aftershocks crash through you.

Zayne’s breath is hot against your ear, his chest heaving against your back as his cock throbs inside you. The tight clamp of your walls around him has him on the brink, but he holds on as his hand moves downwards from your waist.

“You’ve got one more in you, I can feel it.” he rasps.

His fingers find your swollen clit, the first touch sending a shock through your body, making your hips jerk involuntarily. “Easy,” Zayne soothes, as he presses his fingers firmly against the sensitive spot.

Sylus’ grip on your thigh is bruising as he rams deeper, his eyes locked on yours – watery and heavy-lidded. “You’re milking me—gonna pull me apart.”

Zayne’s breath is hot against your ear, his fingers merciless on your clit, rubbing slick circles that make your hips jerk wildly. “Cum,” he rasps. “Now. Let us feel you, my love.”

Your body obeys - your walls clamp down hard, as you completely lose your voice from the overstimulation. Sylus curses, as your fluttering walls drag him deeper. His cock throbs hard before he cums, his release, hot and thick, floods you as his hips stammer. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his voice breaking. In your fucked out daze you hear Zayne moan in the crook of your neck, as his hips still, burying himself to the hilt, his release hitting in heavy hot waves, mixing with Sylus’, leaving you completely full, dripping, and ruined.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your head lolling back against Zayne’s shoulder. His lips press softly against your temple, his hands stroking your waist gently as Sylus leans over, his breaths heavy and uneven. Every inch of you feels hypersensitive, your skin slick with sweat and cum. You’re pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat, the fullness lingering even as the men stay still, both of them still buried deep inside you.

Sylus’ hand moves from your thigh, his gaze scanning your face. “Breathe for me.” he says, still breathless. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that streaked down your face. You nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak, and you focus on steadying your breath. Sylus smiles softly. “You did so good.”

Zayne’s lips press against your temple again, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “She handled it perfectly. Didn’t you, darling?”

The praise makes your cheeks flush, though you’re still too dazed to say anything. Sylus shifts first, pulling out slowly, the movement making you wince. His hand stays steady on your thigh, stroking softly for a moment before he walks away. Zayne follows a moment later, his withdrawal careful and deliberate. The sudden emptiness pulls a small whimper from your lips before Zayne’s arms tighten around you, holding you firmly against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. His hands rub soothing circles over your sides, grounding you as he shifts to sit upright, cradling you in his lap.

Sylus returns quickly with two warm damp cloths. Zayne takes one to clean your face, while Sylus kneels in front of you as he gently wipes away the mess from your thighs and belly.

Zayne murmurs against your temple. “Do you need water? Anything else?”

Your voice is faint, barely above a whisper, as you manage to say, “Just stay… both of you.”

Sylus chuckles softly. “Like we’d go anywhere,” He tosses the cloth aside and sits down on the sofa beside you, while Zayne adjusts his hold, setting you gently to sit in between them and covers your lap with the blanket. The warmth of their bodies, every soothing stroke of their hands, their quiet breaths, soothe you. Though, you can’t relax.

Their care, their unwavering attention, makes the guilt bubble up. Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. You swallow hard, your fingers clutching the blanket as you glance between them.

You take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For lying to you. For sneaking out.”

Zayne presses a kiss to your shoulder, his voice calm as he replies. “I’m glad you admit your mistake. We need to know where you are to keep you safe.”

Sylus’ nods as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. “Exactly. We weren’t mad because you went out. We were upset because you didn’t tell us.”

Tears prick your eyes again, but this time they’re from relief. “I won’t do it again… I promise.”

Zayne smiles softly. “We’ll hold you to that promise.”

You nod, the exhaustion catching up to you as your body sinks further into the sofa, your eyelids heavy. But Sylus doesn’t let you rest – he stands up and takes you hand in his. “We need to wash up.”

You whine. “I don’t want too - I’m too tired.”

Sylus grumbles something before he leans down, grips your waist, and hoists you up over his shoulder. You yelp as you’re suddenly upside down, your protests turning into a mix of laughter and annoyance as you squirm in his hold.

“Sylus!” you laugh, your fists half-heartedly thudding against his back. “Put me down!”

“Not happening,” he replies smugly, his palm landing a playful smack against your bare ass.

Behind you, Zayne shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he stands up, going around you two and towards the bathroom. “Take it easy, Sylus. She’s had enough for tonight.”

By the time you’re back in bed, wrapped snugly in fresh blankets, sleep takes you almost instantly, nestled between Sylus and Zayne, with your heart light.

[temporarytemporal]

cling to me

I know I said I was going to distance myself from this piece of media because of all of its terrible connections, but these two characters seem to have taken root in a permanent place in my heart, and I can't let them go.

Anyway, here's some character design notes below the cut for the one person out there who's obsessed with these characters as much as me.

Early DSMP: the era of childhood innocence

Bandanas: They sport each other’s bandana’s (they’re hidden in the design for every era). I love character designs with complementary colors (and I love how red and green are also cranboo’s colors)

Disks: Early on, cat and mellohi represent the peaceful moments ctommy shared with his favorite people, but they went on to be a symbol of victory and independence from the people who have hurt him.

Flowers: Ctubbo collects flowers and tries to memorize the meanings and symbolism tied to each type of flower. He also collects them for his bees.

L’manberg: the era where children became soldiers

Horns: Ctubbo’s horns start to grow in here.

Pogtopia: the era of an exile and a secretary of state / spy

You can tell I joined the fandom at the end of this era because I don’t have many notes here or for the l’manberg era.

Exile: the era of an exile once again and and a president too young

Hair: Ctommy’s hair starts to grow longer as he neglects taking care of himself.

Clothes: Ctommy’s clothes are tattered; one shoe is destroyed and he took to wearing cw-lbur’s (f-ck ccw-lbur btw!!) trench coat.

Bandages: Ctubbo’s wrapped in bandages from his recently earned firework burns. He’s gone blind in his right eye, and he’s missing the ring and pinkie finger on his right hand.

Compasses: They share their matching ‘your tommy’ and ‘your tubbo’ compasses

Hog Hunt: the era where one sought to kill the blood god while the other sought refuge there

Stolen goods: Ctommy’s has his antarctic empire outfit plus all the goods he stole from ctechno like the turtle helmet, golden apples, and the axe of peace.

Bedrock: Ctommy wears his counterpart piece matching techno’s from his ear.

Prosthetic: Ctommy’s right foot had to be amputated after he loses it to frostbite in the trek to cemeraldduo’s cabin. Ctechno gives him a simple prosthetic.

Disc Finale: the era of mended relationships and a final stand

Headband: Ctommy begins to wear a devil headband to fit in more, as he’s one of the few humans on the server. The devil horns were chosen to resemble ceryn’s real ones.

Patchwork: Ctommy learns to sew, and he fixes his tattered clothes from exile.

Post Revival:

Devil horns: Ctommy’s devil horns (plus a tail) become real after revival, and he gets a white streak in his hair.

Prime cross: The bad things that have happened to them both that they survived strengthen ctommy’s faith in prime, whereas they weaken ctubbo’s faith.

Sweater: Ctommy makes himself a sweater from friend’s wool.

Mechanical inventions: Ctubbo pursues his passion for engineering more as he makes mechanical bee drones and studies nuclear physics. He also makes himself prosthetic fingers, and he upgrades ctommy’s prosthetic foot.

Marriage ring: Ctubbo marries cranboo platonically and wears the ring on his horn. He also founds snowchester so he can have a place to protect his loved ones and raise his son. He grows out his hair to avoid eye contact for cranboo and to cover his scars.

Body type: Ctubbo gets chubbier and gains some muscle as he gets a bit happier in life.

Post DSMP:

The prison break and everything after it never happened. These are my OCs, and I make the rules because every actor/writer who played a part in their creation either abandoned them or turned out to be a terrible person. Cbenchtrio live happily ever after and begin their journey of healing while cdream rots in prison forever.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Hello love!! How are you doing? 💕

I LOVE your works so much!! You are so amazing and talented!! I wanted to thank you for writing the 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 cursed technique Nanami fic, and especially not judging me for it 🫶🏽. I don’t know you but you seem like such a nice and cool person, with that being said… I was thinking about a fic I saw where Saturo Gojo got his wisdom teeth removed and he falls in love with you over again and I thought that would ADORABLE but with Kento 😭 (also I can’t remember who wrote the fic to give credit sorry) So like yeah Nanami would get his wisdom teeth removed and you’d take care of him and he would be such a charming man (he already is) but like just the most fluff thing he’d be like “you’re a very beautiful nurse” “I’m not a nurse but thank you” you feel me? Anyways that was it lol

Much love and take care!! 💗💗

(I don’t know what anon is 😅 is it like your followers cause I see request and people ask if they can be added as anon and I’m like so confused)

You’re my…. my wife?

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, established relationship, crack, fluff, suggestive at the end.

An: Hey Anon! Tysm for requesting again. I’m glad you liked the freaky energy fic!! Also, ofc I’ll never judge you for any fic idea (as long as it’s not like straight up deplorable with nasty kinks).

I hope it’s okay, but I changed this fic idea a little because I fear it was a bit too close to the original creator’s idea, and I don’t want to encroach on their idea. However, I hope the vibes are still there that you wanted!!

Your normally strong, doting, intelligent husband has been reduced to a confused mess. Lying in the bed in the sterile infirmary, Shoko carefully monitors his vitals while Satoru recites exactly how it all happened for the nth time.

Your loving, sweet, charming husband was hit with a very specific cursed technique while he was out on a mission with Gojo. Luckily, he was physically unharmed and mostly mentally unharmed as well… except the cursed technique is one that messes with the memory.

The curse didn’t just want to kill Nanami; it wanted to break him. The curse robbed Nanami of his memory of his most precious moments: the one’s that included you.

His hazel eyes scanned the room, wondering why everyone was making such a big fuss over him. He was fine - really.

You sat beside his hospital bed, wanting to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him. Shoko said that his mind may be a bit fragile after having such a crucial part of his memory tampered with.

When his hazel eyes met yours, Nanami stared at you for a moment before shifting in his bed slightly. He looked to be uncomfortable with your sheer presence, which only broke your heart more.

“Were you hit with the cursed technique too?” He finally speaks, looking over at you with a bit of a confused look. He was really trying to piece together why you were here with him.

“Oh, um… no..” You quietly respond with a forced smile. Your heart longed for your husband, and he was right here but he wasn’t your husband.

“Forgive me… Are you Shoko’s apprentice..?” He tries once again to remember. He’s seen your face before. Maybe in a different lifetime.

Satoru and Shoko are silent as they both witness what’s going on between you and Nanami. Holding their breaths, they’re hopeful that he’ll regain his memory at some point. The curse couldn’t just extract memories. As Shoko explained it, the curse probably just kept the memories hidden from Nanami. Your husband will probably slowly start to remember you over time.

“No… I’m not Shoko’s apprentice.” You politely answer again. As bittersweet as this is, it’s certainly a cute scene to see Kento trying to make conversation with you.

“Hm.” He hums to himself quietly before he gazes at you again. His hand combs through his hair, trying to fix it up from lying in the hospital bed, and Satoru quietly snickers.

“Trying to look good for her, Nanamin?” He teases lightheartedly, earning a death glare from your husband. You softly giggle too, realizing what’s going on. Your poor husband isn’t uncomfortable with your presence. He’s nervous.

“Don’t be crude, Satoru. There’s a lady in the room.” He huffs, shaking his head at Satoru’s audacity.

“Aww, thank you, Nanami.” Shoko grins, subtly playing along with Satoru’s tactic.

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Nanami responds flatly before his eyes shift to you in another “secretive” glance, except everyone notices how he keeps looking at you. Your husband can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“I.. apologize for being a bit forward, but do you think we could…” His eyes flicker down to the wedding band that’s proudly sat upon your finger. His face subtly drops to a disappointed look. “Ah, I see. forget what I was saying.”

Shoko and Satoru are nearly losing it. The irony that Nanami is disappointed that he can’t ask you out because you’re married to him is hilarious. You give them a look, and they both quickly excuse themselves from the room, so they can go laugh together.

Once the two are finally out of the room, you smile softly before placing your hand over your husband’s, using your thumb to gently stroke the back of his hand. He looks at you with an unsure look, but he doesn’t remove his hand. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly.

“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t like you touching another man like that…” He mutters quietly, causing you to softly giggle.

“Well, it’s a good thing I am your wife.” You finally reveal to him, unable to keep the secret any longer.

Nanami’s eyes widen, and he looks at you with sparkling eyes but also utter confusion written all over his face. His heart is racing in his chest. The heart monitor starts to beep at a more pressured pace. The pretty woman that has been sitting next to him is his wife…?

“You’re my… my wife?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm.” You hum in agreement before lacing your fingers with his. Your wedding band rubs against his. Both of the gems were cut from the same diamond. His eyes then focus on the joining of your hands, and he notices it too. “We’ve been married for a few years now.” You explain in a calm tone, trying to ease him into the idea of it all.

“I… I’m sorry… I don’t-“ Nanami is rarely off kilter like this, but he’s just trying to wrap his head around it all. You’re his wife… You’re his wife. “I’m sorry- I just can’t seem to remember…”

“It’s okay, Ken. Take your time.” You encourage as you rub on his hand gently.

His eyes fall to his lap, and a small smile curls on his lips. He may not completely comprehend what’s going on, but he knows in his very soul that he’s the luckiest man alive because you’re his wife.

Watching Ken fall in love with you all over again and rediscover all his daily pleasures was a treat. He slowly regained his memory over time: prompted by his senses randomly picking up on familiar sighs, smells, or even tastes.

Ken didn’t only fall in love with you all over again. He fell in love with the life he cultivated with you again. He found himself laughing a bit harder. He squeezed you a bit tighter. He lounged in bed for an extra ten minutes in the morning time to bask in your presence.

Oh, and that’s not to mention the literal tears he cried the first time he felt your cherished cunt after the incident. The way you squeezed around him so intensely… the way it’s so fucking wet — greedily sucking him in… Goddamn, he’s so lucky to have you.

[erwinsvow]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary: jack abbot thinks he's too broken to fix. you just want to take care of him the way he takes care of you.

author's note: here it is! the first longer night shift reader and jack fic ♡ i hope everyone enjoys!

word count: 3.7k

tags: night shift reader x attending jack, comfort and angst, people are making bets (guess who wins!), patient death/loss, age gap relationship (implied but no ages specified!), idk i went a little crazy for two hours

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. 

he knows that. there haven’t been that many people in his life who have been able to manage it. his wife was one, robby’s sort of another. jack has this thing—he has to at least try to take care of those around him before he can accept any of their help for himself. it’s almost a test of worth, to determine that it’s not a burden he’s placing unduly on anyone. it’s an exchange, he decides, a fair exchange. that way he’s not forcing anyone, because he knows how hard it is, how hard it can be. robby sees a side of it. his wife saw another.

and out of the black, heading into the blue, you are beginning to see it. he doesn’t know how it happened this way, just knows that the sweet resident who had come onto his night-shift because the day shift was beginning to be too much, was now the very reason he doesn’t head straight up to the roof after a very, very long night. 

he knows it’s not easy, that every time he loses a patient, he glances at the clock. the moment someone’s life was over, and the very moment that is going to ruin the lives of all the people who loved them. before he’d start the countdown—how many hours left on this shift? how many until he can go to the roof and breathe, scream and yell and sit in silence and watch the city wake up beneath him. 

it’s selfish. he momentarily checks out after time of death is called. robby does moments of reflections. maybe that’s how he’s able to manage it sometimes, break up the grief into little pieces throughout the day. 

jack isn’t like that. he’s always been the kind to bury, nestle it somewhere deep inside and keep adding, adding, adding. add until it’s about to burst, and then go to the roof and let some of it out. maybe if he tried robby’s way, he wouldn’t have felt like this for so long.

where can so much grief go? there’s no outlet for it, not the way jack does it. some of the things he buries are lost inside him forever, no escape, no exit.

and then you come along. 

jack’s prided himself in the fact that he’s good to the residents. they get more confident under his tutelage, make decisions more firmly, make them quickly and execute them correctly. that’s why robby had sent you over to him, hadn’t it? because you doubted yourself too much. because you felt like you weren’t making the right call.

from seven in the morning to seven at night, the place is crowded. it’s all hands on deck but there’s just a smidge too many hands, especially when there’s students. you were able to blend into the background for a couple months, but it’s just plainly wrong to let it hinder your education.

that’s why robby had sent you to him, right? for your education. to make you a better doctor, better than you already were, which was saying something. 

because jack abbot thinks that you’re incredibly gifted. gifted in the things that he can’t teach someone, in ways that he can’t explain. you have a special touch. patient-care is your forte. if he had to pick the nicest resident, it would be you. but you don’t believe in yourself. 

and he had sent himself to the task of fixing that. it’s what jack does, what he’s always done. patch it up and send it out.

(you’re a little different—he wants to make you believe in yourself more. he wants you to prove it to yourself. make yourself say it and mean it, not just because he’s telling you. that you are capable, that you were meant for this. that this is where you belong. that you have a safety net in the form of your attending—that he’ll be there with an outstretched arm, waiting incase you need him. you won’t, he knows. but you still need to feel him there. it’s working, he knows it is.)

it had been working perfectly fine so far. you build your routine, get yourself settled, start answering trauma calls with a run. 

one time he has you and ellis start the incoming together. tells parker to ask you questions, justify all of your decisions to her, but let you call the shots. when the charge nurse tells you the details, you head straight outside. you pull a yellow gown for yourself and the gloves in your size—those ones are baby blue. and then you pull another gown and the black gloves—the ones in his size. he watches from the nurse’s station, watches ellis take them and watches you look around, like you’re waiting for him to show up. he doesn’t, not this time.

you handle the case perfectly. oddly enough, he can’t seem to remember any of the specifics about it, even though he’s the one who signed off on your detailed note. 

jack watches from the door. you’ve got your back to him, and ellis looks up and sees him, but he shakes his head. he wants to see how you do without him, after so many with him. and you’re perfect—just like he knew you would be. the nurses move in tandem around you, listening closely to your orders. ellis asks questions and you answer, and you don’t sound like your answers are questions themselves—though you had at one point, not too long ago. 

that’s something he’d worked you out of, he thinks, a certain smugness seeping into his veins, satisfaction rolling through every muscle. 

you look out the other door, the opposite of where he’s standing. you stretch your neck like you’re trying to see what’s out there, and then you turn your attention back to your patient right away.

and once the patient is stable, that’s when he comes in. you’re doing it again, looking out the wrong door and as much as he wants to deny it, as wrong as it is, he knows you’re looking for him.

“good work, doctor,” he says, and you jump a little. you turn to look at him, but he’s looking at your senior resident for the assessment.

“dr. abbot, i-” 

“she did great,” parker comments, and you stop to beam at her.

“thank you.” ellis peels off her gloves and gown, black gloves that had been meant for him going into the bin. she gives you further instructions and you nod, and when it’s just the two of you, he finally turns to meet your eyes.

and the way you smile at him blows him away. it’s all over your face—from your gleaming eyes to the cheeks that must hurt, the lips that he can’t stop thinking about. there’s something else there too. neither of you want to say it, though you try.

“thank you, dr. abbot. i-” the words falter and die on your tongue. but in your joy, how pleased you are with yourself for once, you find the confidence he’s been wanting you to have all along. “i was looking for you.”

and jack swallows hard. it’s one thing to have a flirtation, to teach you, to mentor you. to make you cups of coffee and tea and buy a box of those protein bars that you like the best, because the other ones taste weird. to defend your yellow cup with his best glare, to stop in the aisle at costco and buy a duplicate pair just incase he ever needs to replace it. you love that yellow mug, and well, he loves—

“dr. abbot? you okay?” 

and it’s normally him asking you that.

“i’m fine, kid. you did great.” 

“so did you.” 

-

when jack walks by dana at around seven-ten, her and the other nurses go remarkably silent. 

“yes?” he asks, grabbing the black thermos from the counter where he’d been finishing his notes. it’s also from costco—chipped and bent all over the place, little flecks of silver making an appearance around the bottom. you’d made a joke about it once—even your cup is salt and pepper. and now he thinks about it every time he picks it up.

“what? i didn’t say anything,” dana replies, settling an ipad back in the charging port, moving around papers at the station. “but just so you know, the pool’s up to three hundred.”

jack sets his cup down a little harder than he means to, forearms resting on the sterile counter.

“what pool?” he demands, and dana shrugs. if he didn’t love her so much he would kill her.

“i’m just saying. if you’d like to help your favorite nurse contribute to her retirement fund, then you can—”

“oh? i can what?” 

it’s just not this easy for him anymore. you are full of all the good things that he so clearly lacks, made of so much sunshine it’s pouring out of you. you have love in stores, ready to be doled out at any time, to anyone. patients, coworkers, even the medical students you just met a couple minutes ago. he hears you—offering the flashcards you made for boards and the interview tips that got you to match at your top choice. 

he is entirely unworthy of your love. he knows it, deep down. loving him would break you. trying to piece him back together would drain you dry. and he doesn’t want to do that to you, you deserve better. maybe he can take care of you at work, but outside of these four walls, if you saw what he was like with idle hands and an empty apartment, or if you saw him up on that roof-

“dr. abbot?” 

your voice seems to always be enough to snap him out of it. 

“goodbye, dana,” he says, walking up next to you, thermos in hand. your eyes briefly glance down at it, smiling. “what’s going on, kid?” 

“remember what you had said? about breakfast?” and you smile at him like getting breakfast with jack abbot sounds like the great thing in the world right now. it’s almost seven-thirty and you probably haven’t slept in fifteen hours, and yet you keep smiling, big eyes blinking at him while you wait patiently for an answer.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, looking back at dana momentarily. she’s smiling at him, and then she turns to smack the side of robby’s arm, pointing him the direction of you two. “that sounds great. after you.” 

he shouldn’t have said yes. he knows what’ll happen if you start thinking that you can fix whatever is wrong with jack abbot, and he would like to avoid that entirely. but you beam at him again like you had earlier with ellis, and jack is a lot of things, but one thing is he is not, is a jerk. he won’t disappoint you about this, not when he’s secretly relieved you’re eating after shift. he’s seen you with sugary granola bars and pastries when you should be filling up on protein after a shift like this.

so he follows you out, ignoring the exchange of money behind him. 

breakfast is nice. you get chocolate-chip pancakes and he makes you get eggs too, and then hands you strips of bacon from his plate too. he hasn’t seen you like this before, and he tries to soak it into his memory. 

(something deep inside says that he should cut the tether before you get too attached. it’ll only hurt more to prolong it, to let it linger. the possibility of something between the two of you. and then you offer him a bite of a pancake drenched in syrup and everything in his head goes silent.)

breakfast becomes a weekly recurrence. there’s a twenty-four seven diner he loves just up the road from the hospital, and he’s been before with shen once, robby a couple times if their schedules lined up. it’s not particularly unusual to see him there with you, though he feels like he’s committing some sort of a crime.

you wear pullovers from your alma mater. the backpack you bring to work is the same one you used all four years of college and medical school, a fact you are very proud of. when he looks at it—his chest hurts. it’s hardly worn, looks like it’s in great condition—a couple of pins tacked on the side where your water bottle sits and a pocket for your badge and wallet in the front. he has to force himself to remember that you’re younger than any woman he’s seriously talked to before. his wife had been two months older than him, something he used to tease her about all the time. 

would you do that? would you tease him about the age difference? or would you prefer to ignore it, set it aside and try to forget about it? it’s a heavy question for breakfast after twelve hours on. 

you take him to another place that you like, too, closer to your apartment. you both eat bagels and sip on juice—orange for him, apple for you—and that’s where you learn more about his time as a medic. the breakfast burrito place near the park is where you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were twelve, that you thought you’d had a calling for pediatrics and you’d even been the president of the peds club in medical school. and then you’d rotated through the emergency department third year and completely changed your plan.

you share a stack of waffles—chocolate chip with strawberries and whipped cream, at your insistence. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say no to you, not when you ask him so sweetly. he learns about your kitten and how you’ve always been scared that you’re going to do the wrong thing and until very recently, that you’ve just been playing pretend and you’ll get caught one day. 

and back at the diner is where he tells you about his wife. and you listen intently and nod and hold his hands when his voice breaks and run your fingers over his knuckles. you don’t let go of his hand the entire walk back to your apartment, and outside the door, you give him a hug. and the two of you stay like that for a while. that’s when you and jack kiss for the first time. slow, steady, a kiss that you’ve been dreaming of for months. it takes all the air out of your lungs and when you finally go inside, you realize your shoulder is a little wet and your lips are swollen. 

even hours later, jack can still taste apple juice on his tongue.

another week after that, you both answer the incoming trauma together. it’s six-thirty, so someone might come and take over, but it doesn’t work out that way. it’s a man who got t-boned at an intersection on the way to school drop-off. his wife and daughter are getting their cuts stitched, you think, and the patient had been slurring at you when he came in. thank god i put her behind her mom today. thank god, thank god- and jack does something he doesn’t always do. 

“get the mom, get the kid. let-let them talk.” 

and while you do the ultrasound and the e-fast and order for type and cross-match, you hear his daughter crying and a wife telling her husband how much she loves him. 

and you and jack try everything, everything you can think of, but sometimes, there’s just no coming back. he doesn’t even make it to surgery. jack walks out first, and then you, and you see his daughter turn away from the medical student that’s tending to her wound, standing up with hopeful eyes like you and jack have good news for her.

and you feel incredibly broken. your day hasn’t even started yet. and you lock eyes with jack for a second—just a second, and he stares back at you, hardened, in a way you haven’t seen before. you’ve both lost patients, lost patients together. sometimes it’s just different, in a way that you can’t explain. 

it must have been an hour, an hour and a half you spent in the trauma room. the entire day shift is there now. 

“head home, kid,” jack says. “i’ll talk to the family.” 

you bring your hand to his shoulder, pulling back until he turns to face you. 

“i’ll talk to the family.” 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of. he tries to tell you something but you shake your head at him, the hand on his shoulder lingering. people are looking, he thinks. but then again, he’s never cared that much. and in this moment, neither do you. 

you head over to the family, excuse the nurses and the student doing the stitches. you pull the curtains, and all he hears is sobbing. 

and when you come back out, he know you held it together in front of them, but your shoulders are shaking, your chin is wobbling. and in front of all those people, he brings you in for a hug. 

a real hug—like the one you had in front of your apartment. jack’s grip is tight on you, his arms caging you in, covering everything so you can’t see anything, can’t think about anything else but him. he rests his chin on your head, and closes his eyes, and then the two of you walk back to the lockers together. 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. and somehow, without ever telling you, you know all about how to do it. you know a lot of things about him. you know what this job does to him and that if he had gone to tell that family they lost their father and husband, that he would’ve ended up on the roof this morning. you know that jack abbot doesn’t halve any of his burdens, that he’s been afraid to rely on you like how you rely on him. to need you in the way that you need him. and you know that he won’t tell you what he needs, but you’ve gotten somewhat adept at figuring him out, just like how he has with you.

that day you leave holding hands. neither of you are in the right mood to go out for breakfast, so he elects to take you back to his apartment, an arm swung around your shoulder the entire walk there. you’re still a little teary-eyed, wiping them away at his front door while you head inside with him. 

you’ve never seen the inside of jack’s apartment, but he’s mentioned it in one of your many conversations. the record collection, his wife’s plants that he takes care of, the kitchen that’s too big for one person. 

the morning light hits the place beautifully. you stare out of his window while he heads to the kitchen, and you look around. first the records, then the plants, just like he’d described. there’s pothos and peace lily and little succulents along the windowsill. you look at the rest of it—incredibly fitting. a brown leather couch and a bookshelf with medical textbooks and a couple of mystery thrillers. you laugh to yourself, imagining jack curling up with one of those books at night.

when you turn back, he’s cracking eggs and laying out strips of bacon on the pan. you head over to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

“no pancakes?”

“you’re gonna get cavities, y’know,” jack says, and you smile at him. 

“it’s worth it.”

“i love your smile the way it is right now. don’t go changing it on me.” and that does make you smile, staring at jack making breakfast for the two of you. it all feels so domestic. like you’re just walking into the life that was meant for you all along.

you’ve only been on the night shift for a couple of months. 

how could he have been so stupid? trying to fight what you did to him when it was like gravity, like the tide, like every other force in this world that he knows about and cannot control. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and so is he.

“mel texted me. she won the bet,” you say, setting your phone down. you lean against your hand, inhaling the smell of the first of many home-cooked meals you’ll eat, made by jack abbot.

“that so? i thought dana was a shoo-in.” 

“dana got the timing wrong. thought it’d happen during the night shift. but technically, you hugged me at eight-thirty, so..” 

“and what was the winning combo?” he stares at you, probably for the millionth time since you met him. and still, somehow, it’s enough that you feel it in your bones. you want to look away but you don’t. “you want toast, kid?” 

“yes please. she didn’t say, but i’ll ask. later.” 

you and jack settle at his wooden dining table ten minutes later, a plate full of protein and a promise that he’ll get you something sweet when you wake up later. jack lifts up his pant leg and takes off his prosthetic, setting it against the chair and relaxing a little bit more. you can see his shoulders loosen up. when he catches you staring, he smiles back.

“what?”

“nothing. do you have juice?”

“i think there’s some apple in there. i can-”

“no, i got it.” you get up, walking towards to the fridge. “i thought you didn’t like apple.” you know he doesn’t—he prefers orange. 

“i changed my mind.” you smile back at him, finding the apple juice and setting it on the counter. 

“cups?” 

“the cabinet on your right. no, your other right.”

you laugh and open it up, your laugh dying in your throat as you stare at two yellow mugs sitting front and center in the cupboard. you pick them up, bringing them over to the table with jack, and stare at him.

“oh,” he says. “i can explain. it’s incase-” but you don’t want to listen for another second, so you sit on his lap, pressing your lips together and forgetting all about breakfast and apple juice.

♡ thanks for reading!

[thirteenheavens]

Seungcheol when read gives him silent treatment after a heated argument?

Broken Kisses|| Choi Seungcheol ♢

Notes: started to use my symbols now might be the last fic tonight :)

Seungcheol sighs as he enters the living room, finding you sitting on the couch with your arms crossed and a stubborn expression on your face. He knows this isn't going to be easy - you've been giving him the silent treatment since yesterday.

"Babe, can we talk?" he asks, sitting down next to you at a respectful distance. "I know you're upset, but we need to sort this out." You remain silent, your eyes fixed straight ahead. Seungcheol tries again, his voice gentle but firm. "Look, I know I messed up. I shouldn't have said those things during our argument. But you can't just ignore me forever."

The tension in the room is palpable as Seungcheol waits for any sign of acknowledgment from you. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, unsure of how to break through your wall of silence. Seungcheol's patience starts to wear thin, but he knows he can't give up just yet. He scoots a little closer to you on the couch, careful not to invade your personal space too much.

"Y-N, please," he pleads, his voice softer now. "I hate seeing you like this. I miss talking to you, I miss hearing your voice." He tries to catch your gaze, but you remain stubbornly looking away. The silence stretches on, and Seungcheol can feel his heart aching with each passing moment.

"I'll do anything," he says finally, desperation creeping into his tone. "Just say something. Yell at me, scream at me, I don't care. Just don't shut me out like this."

"Why should I say anything?" you snap, finally turning to face Seungcheol with tears in your eyes. "You've made it clear that my feelings don't matter to you." Seungcheol's expression falls at your words, guilt and regret washing over his features. He reaches out to touch your arm but stops himself mid-way, remembering your anger.

"That's not true," he says firmly, his voice cracking slightly. "I care about your feelings more than anything. I was just... stupid. I didn't think before I spoke." He scoots closer again, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, Y-N. I should have listened to you instead of being so stubborn. Please, let me make it up to you." Seungcheol gently takes your hand in his, holding it tightly as if afraid you'll pull away. He intertwines your fingers together, his thumb stroking your skin softly.

"I know I messed up big time," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I promise I'll do better. I'll be more considerate of your feelings, I'll listen to you more, I'll...". He trails off as he realizes you're still not looking at him. The pain in his chest grows stronger, but he doesn't let go of your hand.

"Please," he whispers again, desperation evident in his tone. "I can't stand being apart like this. Just give me a chance to prove myself." Your tear-filled eyes meet Seungcheol's, and his heart shatters at the sight of your hurt expression. He cups your face in his hands, his own eyes welling up with emotion.

"I hate seeing you cry," he chokes out, his thumbs wiping away your tears gently. "Especially when I'm the one who caused it." He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as he fights back his own tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll do whatever it takes to make this right." He holds you for what feels like an eternity, silently promising himself that he'll never let anything come between you again. The weight of your silence and hurt hangs heavy in the air, but he's determined to mend the broken pieces of your relationship.

As you sit in Seungcheol's embrace, his arms a comforting presence around you, the silence between you becomes less suffocating. The tension in your body gradually eases, and you lean into his warmth. Seungcheol's heart races as he feels you relax against him, taking it as a sign that you might be willing to forgive him. He holds you even tighter, burying his face in your hair.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "I love you so much, Y-N. I was an idiot for saying those things and hurting you like this." He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity and regret. "Please tell me what I can do to fix this," he begs softly. "Anything. I'll do anything to make you happy again." You finally speak, your voice still shaky but softer than before. "I just need you to listen to me more," you say, looking into Seungcheol's eyes. "And trust me. I know we have different opinions sometimes, but that doesn't mean we have to fight."

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him gently on the lips. It's a simple kiss, but it carries all the emotions you've been holding back. Seungcheol melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you're his lifeline. When you pull away, he touches his forehead to yours, his eyes closed in relief.

"I promise," he whispers, his breath mingling with yours. "No more fighting. I'll always listen to you, and I'll never let my stubbornness come between us again." Seungcheol's lips meet yours again, this time with more passion and urgency. He kisses you deeply, pouring all his love and regret into the connection. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gently exploring your mouth. The tension from earlier has transformed into a different kind of tension - one that's filled with desire and longing.

"I missed you," he breathes against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. "Missed being this close to you." His hands roam over your body, rediscovering every curve and contour as if he's relearning you all over again. The kiss grows more heated, both of you desperate to reconnect on every level.

"I love you so much," Seungcheol pants, his chest heaving against yours. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He rests his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "I was such an idiot," he admits, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise to cherish you every day from now on."

He peppers your face with soft kisses - your forehead, your nose, your cheeks - as if trying to memorize every detail. Even though you may argue time to time, you still want to marry this man.Even if it’s the last thing you do.

[0and0its0doctor0]

A thousand band-aids

but you only need one.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Fluff, alludes to previous abuse but it is not mentioned. No use of Y/N.

Summary: When you break a cup your brain instantly shifts to panic mode as the memories of a previous relationship threaten to take hold. But don't worry. Aaron eases you out of it.

Word count: 1217. (whoops)

You were exhausted to the point where you weren’t even sure how you were keeping your eyes open at the minute. The last case was a mess, you and Aaron had just got back to your apartment to try to relax and spend a little time together.  You made a small huff of disappointment as you looked at the few dishes that were sitting in the sink as you walked into the kitchen to get both of you something to drink. “Aaron, we are using paper plates and plastic cups from now on.” You called out and heard a soft chuckle from the living room where Aaron was sprawled out on the couch. Reaching up into the cabinet above the sink you pulled out one cup and set it down, while pulling out the second cup it slipped right through your fingers and shattered on the counter and floor.

Everything around you came to a halt. Sound was fuzzy, vision blurry, heart thudding in your chest. This wasn’t good. “Fuck.” The word rolled off your tongue as you bent down to quickly pick up the pieces. Aaron was calling your name from the entryway. You couldn’t hear him. Old echoes of a past relationship were taking over. Yelling and eventually hitting. When you felt someone gently grab your wrist you panicked at first, trying to yank it out of their grasp. A gentle hand rubbed circles around a pressure point on your arm. You blinked back tears as your vision cleared and it was like someone turned the sound back on.

Aaron was repeating your name calmly looking down at you. He had gently taken your wrist again and this time you let him. Looking down you finally realized there was a large gash in your hand, a piece of glass sticking out of it as blood trickled down onto the white tile floor. “Oh shit. Aaron I am so sorry. I didn’t…it just slipped out of my fingers. I’ll clean it up. Please…Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” You went to tug your wrist out of his grasp again not caring about the injury. “Stop.” He said clearly, voice a little commanding but it made you stop. “It’s okay. It can wait. Let me see your hand please.” You relinquished control of that arm and let him pull your hand closer to himself. “First step is to take care of this.” He gave you a calm soft smile. A small yelp slipped out of your mouth as he picked you up and set you on the counter. “Stay here. Do not move please. Okay?” He asked and you nodded.

He stepped away for a few minutes and returned holding a small medical kit you kept in your bathroom. You were clumsy, it was well known. There were small medic kits stashed all over the BAU since you joined. Aaron frowned as he looked at you sitting on the counter, shaking with tears on your cheeks. You weren’t paying attention and when he stepped closer and set the kit down on the counter you flinched and Aaron frowned further, brows furrowed. “Hey. I’m right here.” He said gently reaching out to tip your chin up to look at him, but he paused. “I’m going to touch you, okay?” He asked, waiting for confirmation which came in the form of a small nod. He tilted your chin up to look at him and leaned in to kiss your lips gently. “Please don’t be mad.” You practically begged. “Sweetie, I am not mad. It was an accident. Accidents happen. Just try to breathe and I will get you fixed up. Okay?” Another small nod followed by a sniffle.

You watched carefully trying not to move or flinch or even breathe too hard as he removed the piece of glass from your hand. He looked at it closely and took some antiseptic from the kit. “This is going to sting.” He warned before cleaning the cut. When you flinched at the pain he quickly brought your hand up and blew on it gently to try to ease the sting. He put a large band-aid over the cut and then grabbed some gauze and wrapped it around your hand and wrist to hold the band-aid firmly in place. Once it was done Aaron placed a kiss to the clean and covered area and gave you a soft smile. “See not too bad.” He said and you shrugged your shoulders.

He could feel you shutting down and hated it. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on inside your head. Even someone who wasn’t a profiler could probably piece things together. You went to slide off the counter and keep cleaning when he stopped you. “I want you to go into the living room and find something for us to watch on TV okay? I think your pink blanket is out there…why don’t you crawl under it and I will join you in a minute. Okay?” You knew it wasn’t really a question but more of a soft command. You wanted to argue. You were going to argue. But when you looked at Aarons face you knew there was no good in arguing at the moment. “Okay.” Your voice was quiet, shaky. You looked at the glass on the floor and carefully stepped around it, glad you were wearing your slippers.

When Aaron finished cleaning up he walked back into the living room hoping to find you curled up on the couch under your blanket. Instead you were sitting in the armchair next to the couch, knees pulled to your chest as you picked at the bandage on your hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was calm, calmer than you deserved. “Not really.” Your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s fine. Why don’t you come join me on the couch? We can watch crime scene kitchen.” He suggested and smiled a bit as he watched the corner of your mouth tick up into a smile. “I promise not to point out all the clues that the bakers miss or judge them harshly when they make the wrong thing.” He said with a grin as he sat down. You couldn’t help it. You slid onto the couch, your head going into his lap as you pulled your knees back to your chest. He reached behind the couch and grabbed the pink blanket, slinging it over you. 

His hand rubbed gentle circles on your back. “I’m sorry.” You said softly with a sigh. “You did nothing that you have to apologize for, okay? It was an accident. Your reaction to it was…” He paused and bit his lip. He was slipping into profiler mode. “I will never hurt you. Okay?” His tone was serious, but he was soft. You turned your head to look at him with a small smile and he leaned down to kiss your lips gently. “Now pay attention I think they are going to make lady fingers.” He said smoothing his hand through your hair. You felt your smile grow as you looked at him and you couldn’t help the playful eye roll as you turned to watch the TV. This was as close to perfect as you needed it to be.

[greghousescane]

sticky skin & sarcasm

greg house x controversially young!reader ; fluff

tw ; -

lowercase intended

note ; so sorry that its short this is literally my first piece of writing after YEARS OF WRITERS BLOCK sujhgirh help a girl out and request mwah

“i can’t believe you dragged me out to this hell hole.”

the hell hole being new jersey’s beach—but as always, house never stops grumbling and complaining. the weather was nice, nice enough to convince him, which of course he agreed to, given he can’t physically say no to you. the sun was bright and the air was fresh, even though it was more than scorching right now, which made everything a little stickier and uncomfortable—but the faint smell of the sea made up for it.

sunglasses perched up on your nose, one of those home-made ice creams from a local stand in your hands. a giggle left your lips as you squeaked in surprise after feeling the cold glass house held in his hand.

“if one more kid screeches i’ll destroy its sandcastle.. and dreams,” he grumbled, eyes squinting as he took a sip of scotch, ice sloshing. his other hand didn’t waver from your waist for even a second.

the parasol cast a nice cool shade on you both. your legs were swinging as you hummed about your latest uni course greg obviously pretended not to care about, but any time you stopped to take a break, he’d just hum in protest.

“the sand is itchy,” he huffed under his nose, calloused thumb gently rubbing against your skin as you laughed. there was quite an age gap between you—he was practically old enough to be your father, not that you minded. to this day, he wondered how he got into a relationship with you—or anyone, even. he was a grumpy, cynical old man. he complained and hated everything except vicodin and making fun of people. but here he was, actually feeling… happy, with someone half his age. someone that didn’t treat him like some broken vinyl. that’s what greg loved the most—you didn’t try and fix him. and by not trying, you well.. were indeed ‘fixing’ him. you loved him as he was, making him naturally want to be better. for you.

he liked how pretty you were, your hair, your eyes, how soft your skin was. he loved your laugh, how you always stuck by his side no matter how much of a menace he was.

“hey—what’s got you all scrunched up?” you hummed with a smile, interrupting his thoughts as you bit at what was left of the ice cream—or more just the cone. your manicured nail tapped his forehead gently.

he didn’t really reply, which was just a sign that he was actually thinking of something serious.

“your leg?” your voice was much quieter now, hand sliding to the deep scar where his thigh muscle was. he, of course, tensed—still not used to people touching it. he hated people seeing it. well, not until you showed him it was okay. he took a sip of the bitter drink, letting out a sigh as he relaxed. he honestly didn’t even think much about it. usually, he’d never go to the beach, but having you sitting all cute on his lap made it… bearable.

“thinking about how many legal ways i can shut those kids up,” he finally replied, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. “i can’t believe you dragged me out here.”

“oh, you love it,” you grinned, pressing a sweet kiss to his stubbled cheek.

and yeah, he did love it.

[farfromstrange]

One Soul | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: Matt gets hurt, badly, so you have to do the one thing you promised him you wouldn't: take him to a hospital.

Warnings: Angst, life-threatening injury, blood, temporary Major Character Death (he comes back, don't worry), mentions of CPR, religious imagery, conflicted relationship with religion, Reader is described as an atheist but Mad At God, prayer, hurt/comfort

A/n: This is a little angst piece I came up with yesterday. For me, personally, my atheism isn't always black and white. I know I don't believe in God, but I have found myself cursing him in the past because it was easier than cursing something I did not understand (like the death of a loved one). And I just know that being with Matt, chances are he will get himself hurt badly enough one day to the point he has to be brought to the hospital.

Read Me On AO3!

The heart monitor beside the bed signals at a steady eighty beats per minute. You follow the many lines of tubing from the machines to his frail body, your eyes lingering on the purple bruises adorning his pale skin—deadly pale, it is. 

His cheeks, once so full of life, are hollow now. His eyes are swollen, his pretty lips cut, and there is blood stuck to his hair, still, soaking through the bandage they applied. You’ve never seen him so broken, so utterly weak and fragile that you wouldn’t dare touch him. The tears refuse to stop falling. 

Years ago, you made a promise. You promised never to take him to a hospital, to protect his identity and him. Hell, he survived the collapse of Midland Circle, albeit with a scattered mind. He had broken bones and a broken spirit, locked away at Clinton Church for weeks, and still, he survived.

Tonight though, for the first time, you felt his heart stop. It wasn’t one of those ghastly nightmares that have been plaguing you ever since you locked Fisk away and he finally came back to you. It wasn’t a product of your imagination; you felt his heart stop. Hands covered in blood, you watched as the life drained from his eyes and he breathed out without breathing in again. 

You swear you can still feel his ribs breaking underneath your fingertips. “Don’t do this to me,” you cried. “Don’t you dare do this to me, Matthew! I can’t lose you. Please, come back. Come back!”

And you prayed to a God you don’t believe in not to take him from you. You begged for a chance to hear his heartbeat again, just one last time even if it kills you. 

You looked to the sky and swore you’d make a deal with the devil if you had to. You’d do anything for this man; this reckless, stupid force of a man you are so in love with that it hurts sometimes. You would’ve let God crucify you for the whole world to see just to get a chance to look at your beloved Matthew one last time, to know he’s alive. And perhaps God did answer your prayers, or maybe the CPR you’d never done before did its trick for he suddenly took a breath, and his heart started beating again.

You cried over his body like Mary over Jesus. You shielded him as if that would heal him, and he clung to you when he realized what had happened. He coughed, and he was bleeding, and you were paralyzed with the fear of losing him again.

What else were you to do but take him to a place where he could be fixed? If you hadn’t brought him here, he would have died. You shouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn't selfish. Yet, the fire within you keeps burning, and your soul keeps hurting as you watch him like a hawk, wondering what he’ll think of you once he wakes up—if he wakes up. 

“I know I’m not… religious,” you murmur, eyes directed at the ceiling now. “I’m not a good Catholic, far from it. I’ve done things… well, you know. And I don’t pray. Matt prays. I don’t,” you say. “I just wanna understand why.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek. The coil in your throat is tight enough to strangle the air from your lungs. One of the shards of your broken heart is stuck, and now you’re bleeding. Your soul is laid bare for everyone to see. 

It’s pathetic, you think, for an atheist to pray. Because you don’t believe, you never have. Matt believes. He has faith. You’re just… angry? Yes, you are furious, and even more now than ever you feel like it’s all a lie. Where’s the hope? Where’s the faith now?

“Why do you keep letting bad things happen to him?” you ask, your voice breaking. “All he’s ever done is try to please you because he thinks you gave him some kind of purpose. That accident… he thinks it happened for a reason. Going blind, losing every one. After all the hardships and the trouble he got himself into, he thinks he’s some kind of soldier. Even when he was at his lowest and stopped believing, he eventually came back to you. Like a dog on a leash.” 

If Matt heard you, he’d be deeply offended. Religion is so important to him, but tonight, he almost died. He almost died before, but it never felt as real as it did tonight, and the thought haunts you like a restless ghost. 

“I want to be supportive, I do. I mean, everyone’s beliefs are valid, in a way, but it almost killed him tonight. If you’re up there—if you’re truly listening—how can you just let that happen to someone you claim to love, God? I don’t–” You shake your head. “I just don’t understand.”

The heart monitor keeps beeping. The lights keep flickering. His chest keeps rising. No answer. The disappointment cuts you deep. Is there perhaps a part of you that does want to believe? Or are you just looking for someone, something, to blame? Instead of the men who did this to him, instead of the men who quite literally took him apart, you’re turning to the one thing you can’t touch. But you know it’s not what Matt would want. He’d want you to have hope.

How does one go about that when everything seems to be going wrong? When your very heart is lying in a hospital bed? How does even an atheist not curse God out of pure and utter desperation? 

Matt lets out a soft groan, and your eyes flick to him. Your heartbeat accelerates at the same time as his. 

“Matt?” you ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed.

He stirs. Every muscle and bone in his body is filled with a dull ache. First dull, then sharp. The stitches in his abdomen pull at the tender flesh with every breath that fills his lungs, the oxygen so rich and concentrated it almost sets him alight. The plastic tubes weigh heavy on his nostrils. 

His eyes pulsate, and there is this obnoxiously loud beeping in his ear. It’s screaming, almost. Beep, beep, beep. Faster and faster, and faster. But his eyelids are so heavy he can’t open them. There’s nothing but fire, and for a moment he forgets that he hasn’t been able to see for decades. 

In his head, he’s eight years old again, his head wrapped with a bandage that itches his skin so terribly, and the world around him screaming. It’s the same room, it seems, cold and dark and terrifying. 

Matt reaches for his eyes, fingers brushing against the bruises that resemble the shape of a fist—no light. He can taste copper on his tongue. The beeping gets louder and his ears are ringing, and why is the blanket made of sandpaper? He wants to tear the skin off his weary bones.

“I can’t–” he breaks off at the foreign sound of his voice. Another trace of his fingertips against the bruised skin. “I can’t see,” he chokes out.

“Matt!” you say a little louder, your hand finally touching his, and it’s as if the bubble he’s in bursts. 

He recognizes your voice. He remembers he’s blind. He remembers going out last night and kissing you goodbye. He was in good spirits then. But something went wrong. Somehow, his opponent had weaponry that could easily break through the protective material of his suit. He stood no chance against the number of men coming at him. They sliced and they hit, and he thought he saw God, but it was just the swinging ceiling light inside the abandoned factory building. It smelled of mold and water. 

He fought until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Until the opportunity to flee presented itself, and so Matt crawled home to you. With every last ounce of strength, he honored his promise to always come back home to you. 

He doesn’t remember much more, only falling down the stairs to the rooftop access to the living room. The crash. Your gasp. Your heartbeat. And then, nothing. Nothing but the comfort of darkness. 

“Hey,” you smile through your tears, “It’s me. You’re okay.”

He whispers your name, and you squeeze his hand.

“I’m here. Try not to move,” you tell him. “You’re at Metro General.”

The word makes his breath stutter. “The hospital?” he inquires.

“Yes. You were hurt… badly. They had to take out your spleen. Fifty-something stitches. Some brain swelling. I don’t know, it’s a lot.” 

“I told you,” he grunts, “no hospitals.”

Matt Murdock is not an ungrateful man. However, his words cut deep. You can’t take much more.

“You promised, no–”

“You died!” you cry out. The echo bounces off the walls and resonates in his ears like the sound of a bomb going off. 

“You died in my arms and I had to–” You look at your hands, stained with blood, “I had to break your ribs to bring you back. Your bones… breaking,” you cry. “You died and I thought I was gonna lose you, for good. You can blame me for breaking a stupid promise, but if I hadn’t, I’d be preparing a funeral now!” 

His head tilts in his direction—you’re serious—and his defenses fall like an iron curtain, shattering like glass. The sound of your voice in such a state of disarray, death by a thousand cuts. 

He almost died. Or, he did die, and you brought him back, but the things you had to do for that… you brought him back, but it hurt you. He hurt you. He swore he would never do so again, only over his dead body, yet it was his dead body that almost broke you. 

Matt never wanted any of this to happen. The love of his life, traumatized. What kind of man does that? Surely the kind of man that no one but the one person he never deserved mourns when he’s gone. 

The silence drags on, suffocating you. “Do you get that?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Do you get that I’d die without you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispers. “I don’t remember…”

“Of course, you don’t. You’ve never been this hurt.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I would’ve traded your life for mine if I could’ve. I tried, Matt, I did. I prayed to God and told him to take me instead while I was trying to get your heart beating again. And I blamed Him for doing this to you ‘cause I didn’t know who else to blame.” 

His fingers brush against the back of your hand. A nurse kindly lent you clothes from the lost-and-found, but you can still feel the sticky substance on your skin, crawling like a parasite.

You shudder. “If you hadn’t woken up, I–“ 

“C’mere,” he says. 

Beep, beep, beep, goes the heart monitor, and sirens wail outside his window. 

“I can’t,” you whisper back.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sweetheart, you could cut out my heart and I’d still want you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach. You feel so sick, so detached from everything and everyone, but the piece of you that you almost lost is right there, and he’s alive.

He’s alive. 

You have to keep reminding yourself of the fact. His heart is beating. His lungs are filled with air. Those last few hours might have felt like a proper nightmare, but you made it through. He made it through. 

“Please,” he pleads. “I… I need you.”

It’s different now. He’s not asking to hold you for your comfort but his own, and without another second thought, you climb into the tiny hospital bed with him. 

Matt seeks out the comfort of your chest, but he’s aimless in his agony. You gently guide his head to your heart. Touching him, feeling him so close to you, melts away the last of your fears.

“You scared me,” you confess.

He exhales. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… promise you’ll live for me.”

The silence wraps a noose around your neck. But then, “You own my heart,” he says. 

“So?”

“Yeah, I’ll live for you.”

Those four words mean more to you than a promise to die for you if push comes to shove. Because what are you supposed to do without him? You’d rather he try everything in his power to live for you than leave you. 

“If you live for me, too,” he whispers then, and a tear runs from his cheek down your chest. You can’t survive without him, that much is certain. That may sound like a state of unhealthy codependency, but when two people share the same soul, every breath one breathes sustains the other. There’s nothing you can do about that, nor would you ever want to.

“Without you, I’d–” he cuts himself off. 

Without you, he’d be lost. Without you, even in death, he would not be able to find peace. 

“I promise,” you manage to say, although the words come with a fresh flood of salty tears that mix with the ocean of his. 

He relaxes into you. “Thank you.”

As he falls asleep in your arms that night, you find yourself staring up at the ceiling again.

“Don’t fail him,” you whisper. To God, to the universe, to the moon and Saturn, and to yourself. 

matt murdock angst tag list: @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @mochie-is-a-librarian @buckyssugarchick

[sully-s]

Open in a different window to zoom in. So this is just a deep dive behind all the stuff I put in my last post I rolled back my picture before I did all the lighting and color changes to make certain details more visible. Fun fact I almost scrapped this whole picture at this stage because A. I was just burned out; this piece took me forever. B. As I kept getting more and more "neat" ideas to stuff in, I lost any real focal point, especially with the color scheme. After hours of trying to fix it in PS and failing, I was about to give up. I was like fuck it make it a night scene. Let me tell you all a world of lighting makes lol.

Anyways, enough about my struggles, let me give you the tour.

I love the idea that this corkboard was originally Phoenix's mood board in the beginning it just had his childhood pics from like the yearbook and that one time Larry got a polaroid camera. Then, a new year clipping about Edgeworth being Demon Prosecutor which led Phoenix to make his thesis about court drawings just so he could watch and see with his two eyes how much Edgeworth changed. - Then, later, he added Mia because she was his mentor. then Vinny (from the movie "My Cousin on Vinny") because like Vinny, Phoenix never understands court procedure but has very good instincts; and last Elle Woods who also went to law school for a boy basically his spirit lawyer lol. - Later, after Maya joined, she thought it would be funny to replace Phoenix's real reason to Steel Samurai. Also, it was fun because Will Powers was their client, so he should be their reason. Phoenix let them stay because it made Maya happy, and Phoenix knew that with Mia's death, she needed it. - I was going to add a sticky note from Miles that he approved, but I do like that Miles will never admit out loud or in writing that he enjoys the show. - A year later, Pearls tries to replace all the Steel Samurais with her drawings of Maya. Which Phoenix encouraged her to make during Maya's disappearance because facts. - Tid Bit: I was sad to cover up Will Powers' signature I really liked how it came out

Moving away from the mood board idea, I like that the cork board just became Phoenix's catch all. So his Law Degree which isn't the original it's just a sad printed-out version of what should've been his fancy embossed one. I like the idea that Phoenix never went to graduation. (Can't be bothered he's on a mission to save his childhood bff.)

Lastly are postcards from Edgeworth, his way of making up for all the years he couldn't write back to young Phoenix. - Also, this picture takes place some time after the 3rd game but before the disbarment.

Calendar whiteboard that I forgot to add the last row too so I guess in Japaniforina the months are only 25 days long.

I spent a frustrating amount of time trying to figure out the logistics of this paper trail. It really doesn't need to make sense It just has to make the room messier. - You can imagine Phoenix is looking over phone records or court stenographer's record.

So Edgeworth is a nerd; we all know this. But it annoys me just a tad that his nerd-isum is always just Steel Samurai (like I get it, it's canon), but all geeks have many fandom loves, okay. - So I just love the idea that Phoenix and Edgeworth (who are in a relationship at the time of this pic ) watch Better Call Saul, and they both bought each other a little plushie of the character they joke is them. -Edgeworth bought Saul for Phoenix (because of Saul's heart, not because he does shady practices), And Phoenix bought Kim (because she a really good lawyer who seems cold and is a workaholic who would break the rules for their Saul (used phoenix's badge in the third game )) - They keep each other's plushies in their offices, and if one of them stops by when the other isn't in, they put a sticky note on it. - Which we can see that Phoenix did need reminding because, as you can see, the date is 18th, and no mention of a dinner ;)

7. Now the whole reason I drew this picture was too show off my headcanon that Phoenix has a Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law action figure that you know Gumshoe got him after Edgeworth vs. State happen because of Polly. And we all know that man would be a fan of old Hanabara cartoons. - I've loved this stupid tid-bit of a headcanon that it's been haunting me for years. That's it; that's all I really wanted to say with this piece, and look where it got

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you being overwhelmed !

pairings: ot13 x reader

genre: fluff, angst possibly?

word count: 1.5k

cw: bad relationship w/ parents (mingyu)

a/n: a request done for mina ( @lavoilee ) !! I FINALLY GOT IT DONE. also i decided to make this a longer one, enjoy my kings bc idk how i feel abt this. dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

seungcheol - you're so tired. you've been working nonstop, whether it be studying, working, applying for better jobs, completing projects and assignments back to back, and you can't even get a break because you have an exam coming up for your worst subject.

it feels like the world is going too fast and you're the only one who's behind. i mean, people do this all the time. why can't you keep up?you hold your head in your hands, contemplating on where to start when seungcheol walks in.

his hair is damp from showering and damn, he looks hot as hell, but you're not really paying attention to that right now.

"hey baby, did you want me to- hey, what's wrong?" he drops everything when he sees you on the couch, obviously distressed. (like literally, he dropped the towel he was using to dry his hair)

he kneels in front of you, lifting your head up so he can see your face. and ugh you just start crying. he doesn't ask you anymore after that, just joining you on the couch so he can cradle you in his arms. "it's okay baby, you're going to get through this," he whispers into your hair.

jeonghan - you just feel like going to sleep- for a really long time. you can't seem to catch a break. why did you decide to sign up for so many courses? you don't remember now.

it's been 5 hours, you haven't gotten up from your desk since you sat down, it's sunday, it's sunday NIGHT.

you groan, somehow you still have to get up at 6 in the morning tomorrow to catch the bus on time, but you can't even go to bed yet.

you're too busy caught up in your work when you feel jeonghan come up behind you. "y/n, it's late. let's go to bed," he offers gently, kissing you a kiss on the temple.

"han, i really would... i really want to..." you say, almost giving in.

"don't worry baby, just let me take care of this." he offers, and you decide an hour of rest wouldn't hurt. that hour of rest turned into 7, but it's okay! jeonghan somehow sent your professor an email for an extension?? and it worked???

joshua - he can tell just by your face that you're burnt out. he's heard you ranting to your friend about it all week, not wanting to intrude though, he's just been silently helping. but now he can see you starting to crack.

you're on the floor, project laid out, but it's not really a project. it's a large white piece of paper that's completely blank. next to it, however, there's about 7 pieces of balled up paper- your previous attempts at mapping out this floor plan for some stupid architecture thing.

you have about 2 days to plan and present it, and to make matters worse, your partners are no help, leaving you to do it alone. but you just can't.

finally, joshua sits down in front of you, putting his hands on your shoulders. "overwhelmed?" you nod and he pulls you into a hug, "it's okay, let me help you. you don't have to do this alone, love." his reassurance makes you sigh in relief, feeling some weight being lifted off your shoulders.

jun - you slam your phone on the counter, making jun and you flinch at the sudden noise. he looks at you with wide eyes, coffee cup threatening to be dropped from his hand. muttering an apology, you retire to your room.

your friend was driving you nuts about planning her wedding. at first, you accepted the challenge with open arms, but she was just so picky about everything and you didn't have a high budget. you'd just had an argument on the phone about literal napkins.

absolutely done, you flop onto your bed, trying to figure out how you're going to fix this . it's been about 10 minutes or so when you hear your door creak open. you pop your head up to see jun, poking his head through the door before his hand pops out as well with a cup of tea.

honestly it's so cute that you let him in with no question.

"minghao said this might help," he explains, putting the cup on your nightstand. he's about to walk away, but you grab his wrist, "stay for a little, please?" he seems genuinely shocked, frozen in place, so you have to drag him onto the bed. "sorry, you just looked really mad," he apologizes sheepishly.

hoshi - you're so lost. you're at practice with your dance team and you can't keep up with any of the choreography since you were sick the day before.

you can tell the other members are getting frustrated, but they can't really get mad, so they just sigh and give you some pointers.

by the time practice ends, everyone is tired, but it's mainly because of how many times you had to redo the parts you missed. you feel terrible about it, so you decide to make it up by staying to practice.

but lord, you just don't get it and the impending doom of the upcoming performance starts to dawn on you. sweaty and tired, you sink down against the mirror until you're sitting down. you don't know how you're going to catch up at this rate, but then the door opens.

hoshi strides in, "y/nnnn i'm here to pick you up, let's go home," but when he sees you in your position he kneels down in front of you.

"it's your choreo, isn't it?" he asks, as if he's read your mind. you nod sadly, and he hums like he's trying to figure out what to do. all of the sudden, he gets up, pulling you with him. "well you don't have an idol as your boyfriend for no reason, right? don't worry, i'll help you,"

wonwoo - wonwoo's full of worry when he comes near your door to hear your quiet sobs. he knocks on the door, "y/n? are you okay?" and doesn't really give you time to respond before entering.

you're on the ground, knees held up to your chest, head down with a laptop opened in front of you.

"babe? what's going on?" he asks, giving you a hug before turning your computer towards him so he can try to detective his way into finding out the answer, frowning when he reads the screen.

oh- you'd just lost your job. he doesn't ask any further questions, shutting the laptop and giving you a hug. you'd already gone through enough in the past month, it wasn't fair.

"you can break up with me, you know," you whisper, having the sudden feeling that he deserves better.

"y/n, what are you saying? i'm not going to leave you, not like this."

and he doesn't, holding you in his arms like you're the most valuable thing in the world.

woozi - when your teacher emails you about how you're missing another assignment, you just lose it.

yes, of course you're missing another assignment when your teacher has spent the entire week just absolutely spamming you with assignments and projects like they don't take at least an hour to complete.

you slam your head on your desk, a little too hard for your liking, making you wince. jihoon hears the noise, walking over to your room to find your head still planted on the table.

sighing, he walks over and grabs a pillow off your bed. "up." he says, making you raise your head from the desk in confusion. he puts the pillow under you.

"you're going to hurt yourself by doing that," he explains, making you roll your eyes, but you place your head on the pillow anyway. suddenly, he gives you a peck on the cheek before walking away without saying anything. you forget about your assignment, confused and cheeks flushing.

dk - babysitting is not for the weak. your friend asked you to watch her kids while she attends a wedding, it seemed easy enough at the time, but now you're stuck in the living room with 3 demons running around.

to be honest, you've never been good around kids, and today was no exception. all your patience has ran out the window by now and you're just praying for your friend to go home.

you don't even know what to do with them- they're loud and active, practically jumping all over the place. your head is starting to hurt when seokmin enters the house.

at first, he laughs at your condition, but then gives you an empathetic look.

"don't worry baby, i got this," he tells you reassuringly before giving you a kiss on the forehead and taking over as the kids' favorite uncle.

mingyu - after you and your parents argue back and forth on the phone for an hour, they finally hang up, calling you a disappointment right before, of course. you're so tired, it's like you can't please them with anything at this point.

you walk out of your room to get some water, trying to calm down. mingyu's in the kitchen, looking up at you when you walk in.

he stops chopping vegetables to give you a hug.

"doing okay? i heard you in the room, babe," he asks into your shoulder.

"yeah, just my parents," you sigh, letting him sway you two back and forth. the more you think about it, the more you feel like crying, lifting your head and blinking aggressively to stop the tears.

"no, don't do that," he says, holding your face, "it's okay, don't hold it, y/n." he urges, touching your forehead with his.

the8 - minghao frowns when he sees you looking blankly at your laptop and on the verge of tears. he comes up behind you to see that you have like 100 tabs open, all on various assignments.

simply closing your laptop, he gives you a back hug, "we're going,"

you turn to him, looking miserable but he doesn't budge.

"it'll make you feel better, trust me," he pushes. reluctantly, you let him drag you off the couch.

he takes you to a gazebo, it's a short walk from your apartment, but you never noticed it till now. you admire the scenery, there's lights strung around it and there's virtually no one there, giving you and him some privacy.

taking your hand in his, he looks at you, "it's pretty, right?" you nod in response, giving him a small smile. it's really just what you needed, being just with him surrounded by warm lights.

seungkwan - he’s just like “nope, we’re not doing that” when he sees you on the ground next to some papers and a giant binder, but more importantly, with blood shot eyes.

but what else are you supposed to do? you have 3 days to finish 2 different projects and you’re close to spiraling at this point.

“hey, babe, look at me,” he kneels in front of you.

“it’s going to be okay,” he reassures you, despite having no idea why you’re on the ground in the first place. hugging you tightly, he vows to destroy your professors, because who else would be causing you this much trouble?

vernon - you should be asleep by now, but you’ve spent the last 2 hours in bed, wide awake. staring at the ceiling, you contemplate your life. you’ve got family matters, stupid friend drama, and work issues to deal with.

vernon’s asleep beside you, breathing softly. man, he’s so perfect, and honestly your relationship is the only thing keeping you afloat right now.

you shuffle around a bit more, fighting invisible demons when you feel vernon pulling you close to him.

“what’re you doing awake?” he mumbles, yawning.

“just the usual, regretting my life decisions,”

“it’s too late for that, babe. you should sleep on it and we can talk about it tomorrow,” he mutters sleepily. he probably didn’t even process anything you were saying, but his calm demeanor is reassuring, luring you to sleep.

dino - “y/n~ it’s okay~ don’t be sad~” chan sings while back hugging you, obviously panicked when he walks in to find you crashing out at the counter.

your manager has just yelled at you for the dumbest thing ever right after your mom lectured you for something that wasn’t your fault, and you hate when people yell at you. so naturally, you start crying.

honestly, he’s got no idea what’s going on, and his only goal is to make you feel better. he keeps singing comically, but when he realizes it isn’t doing anything, he guides you toward the couch.

spooning you, he apologizes for no reason out of sheer panic, “okay, babe i’m really sorry, i know i’m not the best singer, just tell me what’s wrong?”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Not an Option

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Breaking up with Bruce was never an option.

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

“What the hell do you mean?” Bruce raises his voice, eyes squinted at you. 

You open your mouth, closing it less than a second later. You shift the weight from one leg to the other, nervously glancing at Bruce. 

He takes a dangerous step towards you and you fight the urge to step back, forcing your body to stay in the same place. You can’t back down now, you must stay strong. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard you right, babe. Care to repeat that again?” 

Your heart thumps in your chest, your eyes starting to burn. You’re not good with confrontation, especially not with Bruce. He’s got an imposing way of making you feel small, almost insignificant. 

“I-I only meant that-”

“Don’t even try.” he warns, cutting you off quickly, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t mean it. Do you really think you could make it without me? Without my support, my protection, my money?” 

Bruce grits his teeth, bringing his hands to his hips as he glares at you. 

Your pride crumbles to pieces, all of your extensive planning and hours of self-motivation gone into waste. 

Why are you so weak when it comes to Bruce?

Bruce loudly exhales, a hand palming his face for a few moments as he calms down. Your eyes dart towards the door and then back to Bruce, maybe you should take the chance and leave.

Before you can actually take a step, Bruce’s hand grips your arm and you squeal in fear. He presses his lips together, looking about to lose his cool. 

“You’re not going anywhere. Not until you get that you’re not leaving me, not now and not ever.” he snarls and you immediately bow your head, feeling the tears soaking your cheeks. 

That doesn’t move Bruce for any compassion as he groans, his hands forcefully grabbing your face, pulling it upwards to face him. 

“Listen to me. You. Are. Not. Leaving. Me.” he repeats, frustration all over his voice. His eyes are fixed on your face, pure anger on his handsome features. 

“Cause the only way you’re leaving me is in a bodybag.”