#off tv for fucking months because he worked through an injury that are so painful he said he couldnt fucking sleep

[selamat-linting]

everytime i watch clips of cm punk's time in aew its always fun, the first few minutes i'd be like "this is good. too bad punk couldn't be here to give a proper sendoff. he should have been more chill i guess. hm wonder what all the other guys are doing" and then The Death Spiral of Remembrance Begins.

[lvrhughes]

You're Hurt, Let Me Help | T. Zegras

pairing: Trevor Zegras x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: After being hired by the ducks at the teams medic, everyone but Trevor loves you. No way knowing why Trevor had never liked you, until Jamie figured it out and Trevor gets hurt in a game.

warnings: small injuries?

requested: no

not my gif!

Ever since you’d been hired to work as a medic on the ducks, Trevor hated you. He would actively avoid you, if he got hurt? He’d find the other medic, if they weren’t working? He’d lie through his teeth, say he was fine even if anyone could see he was in pain.

There was never a clear reason why he hated you, you’d always try to be nice to him, just like with everyone else. Yet he still didn’t like you. It confused the entire team, you were so nice to all of them and you were gorgeous to all of them too, so why did Trevor hate you? No one knew, not even Jamie. 

You were in your office, filing some leftover paperwork you’d found, practice happening in the rest of the arena. Soft music was playing in the room while you tidied around, just killing time, until your peaceful cleaning was broken by a knock on your office door.

“Come in.” you yelled to whoever was on the other side, that person being Jamie Drysdale.

You looked up to see him enter, greeting him with a “Hi Jamie” and a smile.

“I need to talk to you.” 

“Okay, what’s up Jaim?” using the nickname you’d always used for him, since meeting him. 

“Trevor, he’s ugh I don’t know,” he ran a hand through his hair while you stared back at him “I don’t want you to take this wrong at all because we all love you and never want you to leave, but Trevor since you’ve gotten here, I don’t even know how to say it. It’s like he’s completely different. He stopped telling me everything when you showed up and know he’s fighting more in practice. And I don’t know-”

Jamie was cut off by the loud slamming of a door and the storming towards your office. Jamie looked almost terrified, you probably looked the same. 

The door opened quickly, pent up aggression being released on the door. It hit the wall, making a loud sound causing you and Jamie to flinch. Trevor’s eyes were dark, not looking at anyone. 

“Jamie, let’s go.” There was no asking tone in his voice and a few seconds later, when he finally saw the fear in his best friend's eyes, did he add a “please?” at the end.

 Jamie just nodded, waving Trevor to go ahead while he bid goodbye to you. 

“What happened?” the first words out of Jamie’s mouth when he walked into the locker rooms to see Trevor packing all his gear away. 

“They kicked me from practice.” Trevor was very dry with his words, not going into detail about why. 

Jamie knew he’d need to know at some point, they don’t just kick you for nothing, but he’d find out when Trevor had cooled down a bit more. So he just nodded at Trevor, leading them out to the car to drive them home. 

An hour had passed since arriving home, Trevor seemingly more calm now, just watching tv now. 

“So care to tell me what got you kicked?” 

Trevor whipped his head to glare at Jamie. Trevor opened his mouth but was cut off by Jamie. 

“Don’t speak if you're going to get mad.” Trevor knew Jamie didn’t like him getting mad especially with nowhere to take out his anger right now if he did.

So he took a breath, tried to stay as calm as possible, and tried to explain everything to Jamie. Everything he’d been keeping a secret, bottled up inside for months.

“Some of the guys, they were talking about intentionally getting hurt and shit to go see Y/n, but they were saying disgusting shit about her! Like how good she looked in the little black dress she wore to dux in tux and worse and I couldn’t take it so I snapped. They shouldn’t talk about her like that, she’s so nice, it’s fucked up.” his rant continued on, majorly talking about you. 

When he did stop to breathe a bit Jamie was quick to put his two cents in, with the new conclusion he’d drawn.

“You’re in love with her.”

That shocked Trevor, knocked the air out of him, shocked. Trevor choked on air when Jamie said that, coughing after.

“No I am not.”

“Ohh dude you so are!”

Trevor didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. He wouldn’t admit it to himself that he fell for the team’s medic, but clearly Jamie would tell it to him. He didn’t say anything else that night, just walked to his room and laid there for hours. He slept, maybe, 4 hours, and that was a struggle. His mind was racing, filled with thoughts of you, if he was in love with you, how could Jamie tell? fuck, what did Jamie know, he’s not in love with you. That’s what he told himself all night, yet when he fell asleep you haunted his dream, kissing him in his dreams, teasing him. Those were the dreams Trevor woke up in a panic from, freaking out about how he was dreaming about you, how he hates you. freaking out because if he hates you, why is he dreaming about kissing you?

He’d made it through the rest of practices before the game without being kicked out, a little thing but he was happy. 

“Yeah i had to go see Y/n after Trevor’s little tantrum, she asked what happened i just told her he went psycho. She didn’t laugh or anything, she seemed tense.”

Trevor was eavesdropping he’d admit but hearing that you were tense talking about him, it sparked a little something in him that thought maybe you cared about him. Despite him being such a dick. Oh God he’s fucked up, he was an absolute asshole to the sweetest girl he’d ever met, he had no chance with her, so fuck it why be nice now. He still hated her. 

Your office was peaceful today, no storming, no one knocking, no random paperwork left on your desk. You had your music on quietly, humming along, waiting for someone to come in like you inevitably knew they would. 

And they did, they being Jamie. 

“Hey Jam.”

“Hi Y/n/n.” he greeted back with a smile. “So I've got some updates on Trevor.” 

“Jamie, why are you giving me updates on trevor?” The confusion and slight annoyance in your voice evident. 

“Because he’s in love with you.” He said it so casually you almost choked on the water you had been taking a sip of.

“What the fuck Jamie, no he is not.”

Jamie laughed a little.

“That’s what he said too, but I can read him like an open book by now, he’s so in love with you. You know he got in that scrap at the other practice because some guys weren’t talking so lovely about you?” 

You took a minute, absorbing the information. No fucking way did he love you, Jamie had to be wrong. 

“No. Thanks Jamie for this information. I’ll message you if I ever need drama again.” and with that you shooed him out of your office. 

The next game was an aggressive one, you couldn’t count how many people were slammed into the boards that night. But one particularly aggressive hit caught your attention right before it happened, you knew it’d be bad. Yet it was worse than you imagined, the opposing team's player slammed Trevor into the boards, having him at a horrible angle, Trevor went down fast, grabbing his arm. The whistles were blown and Trevor was helped off the ice, being practically dragged to your office. 

When he did show up in your office he tried to leave, as soon as the others who brought him here left he was up and saying he was fine, he needed to go back and play more.

“Trevor, you're hurt, let me help you.”

The gentle tone of your voice made him want to melt right there, your voice was so calming it made sense why everyone trusted you. So before he’d collapse of pain or the mix of pain and you voice, he sat back down. 

You walked up to him, he stayed still for once.

“Are you okay if I touch your arm?” he nodded, letting you reach out to find what happened.

When Trevor winces you immediately pull your hands away, making sure he was okay before continuing. 

“So it seems like you might’ve fractured a bone, dislocated your shoulder, and your elbow.”

“Fuck” he just mumbled quietly under his breath. 

“Trev, I think you should go to the hospital. I know I can make you and I know you hate me but please, I can fix the dislocated shoulder and elbow but the fracture. I don’t have the right things to fix that and I don't even know if you fractured anything, it’s hard to tell without an x-ray.” 

Your voice was like music to his ears, and the way his nickname rolled off your tongue had him weak. 

“Can you fix the dislocated parts then I'll go?” 

You nodded warning him it’d probably hurt. He knew it would and he knew that if they did this at the hospital they might’ve given him something for the pain but he wanted more time. So he dealt with the pain the best he could, his hands gripping the first thing he could reach, it wasn’t long but damn did it hurt. 

“You're all done, now please Trev, go to the hospital.” It sounded like a slight beg. 

“I’m sorry.” was all he said, leaving you confused.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a dick to you and you’ve done anything but be nice to me.”

“Trev, it’s okay-” he was not okay with you just pushing it off.

“No it’s not, I should've just manned up and admitted it to myself.” that left you almost more confused than when he started. 

“What’re you talking about?” 

He didn’t answer, staying looking at the ground before rising from where he was sitting, he walked over to you, his hand rising to cup your cheek.

He knew he didn’t absolutely fuck up when you leaned into his touch, but that didn’t help his nerves.

“I think i love you.” he was barely above a whisper, had you not been right in front of him you would’ve never heard him. You felt a smile grow on your face, letting your eyes meet trevors. He looked terrified, he looked like he was prepared for you to punch him or yell at him. 

Yet you did neither, somehow shocking him by leaning up to kiss him. 

He wrapped his free arm around your face, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

“I think i love you too” you said when you pulled away for air, making a smile grow on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah” you pecked his lips once more before placing your hand against his chest when tried to lean in for more. “No no, you’ve got to go to a hospital, you said you would.”

“I’ll go, if you come with me?” those damn puppy eyes made you want to say yes immediately but you were at work, until the game ends you can’t leave. 

“Trev, I can't right now. I'm still working.”

“No you're not.” He was so proud of that statement, he noticed a couple minutes ago the game ended. Sure enough turning around the final score flashed on the screen and just the reporters were left talking. Looking back at him he had the biggest smile on his face.

“My car or yours?” you asked, giggling slightly.

“Yours, I’ll message Jamie to drive mine home.”

You nodded, moving away from him while he messaged his roommate to gather your things. 

So that night was spent driving Trevor to the hospital, waiting with him in the hospital, learning he did fracture something but it wasn’t major and would heal on its own, and him begging for you to stay the night with him. He even offered to kick Jamie out for the night. You did not approve of that offer. 

Trevor ended up going home with you, stopping by his place to check Jamie had made it home safely and to grab his clothes. He told Jamie what happened before running out the door with his things into your vehicle, and finally you two passed out with each other. Trevor’s hands never left you the entire night, and he’d never say it yet but the sight of you wearing his t-shirt made him want to do anything you’d ever ask of him.

He’d later take you out on two dates before asking you to be his official girlfriend, with you saying yes in a heartbeat. Jamie did still love to gloat about being right from time to time but he was happy his best friend was happy.

[pommpuriinn]

Joohyung’s eventful time in Japan

ᤣ९ synopsis- txt was going to spend a month in Japan to continue their Japan leg of the tour including being on some Japanese tv programs for some performances. Unfortunately Beomgyu did get his ankle due to an accident, so all the performances will be only 5 members dancing while he sits on a chair on stage. Then an accident happens during rehearsals for the actual concert that leads to only 4 members dancing, and Beomgyu sitting on the stage.

ᤣ९ a/n- I’m finally working on Joohyung and I’m BEHIND LOTS of content for Joohyung 🙃. I also want to say that I don’t really see aespa’s Karina as the face for Joohyung no more, Joohyung is more alternative now then how much she gave a clean girl aesthetic during debut. Idk if that makes sense 😅 I will probably sometimes use Karina’s photo just out of habit

hair| nails

𝜗℘ Joohyung once again shock everyone with her short wavy haircut along with have it bleach blonde matching with Yeonjun and Beomgyu. Seeing the reactions was making Joohyung want to laugh, but she smack her lips trying to conceal

𝜗℘ Joohyung really protective of Beomgyu right now because he hurt his ankle and now has to use crutches to get by, so when they were walking through the airport she stay close by him and held his bag along with making sure fans didn’t get too close to them

𝜗℘ tragedy struck during concert rehearsals that scared everyone because during a quick run down of the concert Joohyung was chilling near the edge of the stage, when unexpectedly the little fireworks that come out set off without warning and some sparks went until Joohyung’s eye causing her to panic and feel a burning sensation in her right eye

𝜗℘ “fuck!” Joohyung covered her eyes and started to feel the pain in it. Everyone raced to her side, as not long she started dropping a few tears. “Let me see?” The on site medic asked, but Joohyung couldn’t open her eye due to the instant pain she felt whenever she tried to open. “We have to get her to a hospital.” The members were already feeling stressed with having only 5 perform now they’re dropping it down to 4 made it worse. They even wanted to go with Joohyung to the hospital, but their team wanted them to focus on reblocking the choreo once again

𝜗℘ the good news is Joohyung’s vision was ok and all she had to do was wear an eyepatch and put on the medicine on and around her eye everyday. The bad news is that the concert was already half way done when she got out of the hospital, but she was still determined to go and perform

𝜗℘ Joohyung ended up surprising everyone as she changed into her stage outfit and walked in during the group’s ment. “Noona!” Taehyun ran to her immediately. The other boys follow, sadly Beomgyu couldn’t run knowing he’ll get scolded by the staff and members. So he opted to admired from afar. After the members had their moment with Joohyung she then ran towards Beomgyu giving him his hug

𝜗℘ the concert ending in tears Beomgyu just feels regretful for injury himself and seeing his Jooie injured. Once the members realized his tears they all immediately ran towards him. Joohyung squatted down and hugged his waist while also letting out tears because she’s frustrated with everything happening

𝜗℘ throughout all the different performances they had she would decorate her eyepatch by adding cute stickers that she has collected thru all her shopping trips that she been going on

𝜗℘ Japanese hosts and artists have been constantly complimenting Joohyung’s short hair causing her to get flustered and thanking them. She’s been going viral for her curly hair along with clips of the boys playing, running their fingers through her hair, and even making cats ears with strands of hair that are already up

𝜗℘ as the concerts continued Joohyung tried not to get her nerves the best of her since the incident, but when the little fireworks came out Joohyung yelped and covered her ears. She was experiencing a panic attack in front of everyone, Joohyung kept on performing despite the panicked look on her face and slight tightness in her chest. Finally the song ended and Joohyung faced her back to the crowd turning to control her breathing, Kai grabbed a water bottle and came to Joohyung’s side helped by holding the bottle since her hands were shaking and while rubbing her back trying to comfort her

𝜗℘ with promoting their new Japanese album of course they had to go to Japanese shows that have other artists, and with that they meet different groups or soloists. While the Japanese girl groups would originally always gush about Joohyung’s boys, this time all the girls were gushing at Joohyung! Openly admitting how cute, pretty, and handsome Joohyung is. The camera caught Soobin and Beomgyu in 4K side eyeing the singers. Protective mode activated. It didn’t help that Joohyung has a natural charm in the way she speaks and acts, best believe Beomgyu was a bit sulky at the girls flirting with his Jooie

𝜗℘ even though Joohyung has an injured eye she had a pretty eventful time in Japan some goods things and bad things happened, but it wasn’t the worst pretty decent time

[keigoslovebird]

Next Chapter

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball. 

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins. 

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end. 

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you. 

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.”

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.” 

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

“W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms. 

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball. 

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi. 

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject. 

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed. 

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two  completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose. 

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for. 

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy. 

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay. 

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is. 

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp. 

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?” 

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him. 

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly. 

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit. 

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place. 

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is.  Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else. 

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body. 

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.” 

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.” 

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue. 

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight. 

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts. 

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom. 

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him. 

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?” 

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames. 

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home. 

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime. 

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband. 

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug. 

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.” 

 Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

 The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep. 

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in. 

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.” 

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep. 

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.”

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist. 

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together. 

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Still The One - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 1)

*Kinda a companion to my series Outside the Rain... basically I didn’t like where I took that series, so I’m “starting over” with this one. It’s a bit of a flash forward about a year or so after where that series left off. You don’t necessarily have to read that series first, but you certainly can. 

I chose the title Still the One based on both song by the band Orleans and Shania Twain because I love both of these songs and I think both fit with where I’m going with this... hopefully. And... One Direction had a song by the same name too... so why not. 

**

“Like a cigarette without a light...like a whippoorwill without the night… a broken buzz that’s lost it’s high, oh baby that’s what I feel like,” you sang softly as you strummed the strings of your guitar.

You wrote down the lyrics into your journal. You had been itching to put this song… your feelings down on paper and you finally got around to doing it. Even though it was something you wanted, needed to do, it was also something that made everything you were feeling real.

It had been well over six months since you and Harry had ended your relationship. Technically, it was worded as a break, but it ended up being an actual breakup. Things had been going fine for the most part, but then 2020 happened and it all became too much. So, naturally, you pushed him away to the point neither of you were happy anymore. You even pushed your friends, the girls in the band you just reunited with, away.

Pushing people away, especially those you are closest with has always been your downfall. Whenever you’re feeling down or sometime of way, you rather deal with it alone because you don’t want to risk bringing down someone else. So, you just… push them away until they don’t want to bother with you anymore. Or they give you an ultimatum and you don’t choose them.

Which is exactly what happened with both relationships. Everything had been going great for you at the time. Your band was back together after you all took some time for solo projects and the fans were looking forward to you going on tour. But then, you injured your knee, putting the upcoming tour in jeopardy, which caused a rift between you and the girls. And it only got bigger and worse from there.

When it came to your love life, you were the happiest you’ve been in a long time. You met your ex, Harry Styles, at the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame, when you both performed and introduced Stevie Nicks that night. You and Harry had quickly hit it off and with the help of some nudging from your good old Aunt Stevie, you two got together. And you fell fast and hard.

And that’s exactly when things took a turn. With your knee injury, Harry had agreed to stay with you to help you out, but it was also around the same time that he had his own things he needed to do. You felt as if you were holding him back. Then there was a little mishap over an old photo, which eventually got resolved, but it also brought up some feelings that scared you.

So, with the mix of those two that then carried over into the hot mess of 2020, your abort mission instincts kicked it and well… now you’re in the exact place you had wanted all those months ago.

Suffering alone with a broken heart. Just when one injury fully healed, you brought another one upon yourself and honestly you didn’t know which one was worse.

You wrote half of the song when you finally couldn’t take it anymore. You had to stop and walk away. You put down your guitar, closed your journal, and went out to your balcony. You took deep breaths as you soaked up the remainder of the sunlight as the sun started to set and let the wind caress you.

All it would take is for you to pick up the phone and call him… call the girls… reach out and talk to them. But you couldn’t. Too much has been said and there’s been too much time that has gone by for a simple phone to make it all better. Besides, you don’t even know what you would say to any of them at the moment.

Especially to Harry. The second you hear his voice, you know you’d break down and wouldn’t be able to speak. And plus, did you even have the right to call him and expect him to even give you the time of day? You hurt him. You broke his heart just as much if not more than you broke your own. There’s a big possibility that he was over you, that he moved on, or that he was so pissed off at you, he didn’t want to hear anything you had to say.

And if you were being honest with yourself, the latter might actually hurt worse. The past few months, once the overwhelming feeling started to dissolve, you knew you had fucked up and of course, now you knew you royally fucked up.

Which meant Harry deserved to move on. He deserves someone who would choose him and wouldn’t push him away like you did, so with that being said, maybe…maybe it was time for you to let him go.

**

Punch after punch after punch, Harry strikes the punching bag in front of him. Sweat dripped down his face and chest as his arms burned with each hit. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm before going back to his punching fest. No matter how long he did this, no matter how long he went for a run, there was still this pressure built up inside his chest.

An ache that has been there for a while and no matter what he did, it wouldn’t go away. He even tried writing out his pain, but it only made it worse.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Jeff said from the doorway.

“Doing what?” Harry asked, chugging down some water.

“Sulking, feeling sorry for yourself, trying to beat the shit out of that bag to make yourself feel better,” Jeff mumbled.

“I’m working out,” Harry defends.

“That’s what you’re telling yourself, but it’s obvious,” Jeff said.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said, throwing off his boxing gloves.

“I get it, you’re still in love with Y/N and dealing with all of that shit on top of everything else, but avoiding what’s going on is going to work. You need to either try and reach out to her and get closure to whatever the fuck, or you need to move on, because this- this isn’t it,” he told him.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry snapped. “Do you think I enjoy feeling like this? I’m fucking tired of it! I thought… I fucking thought she was it for me, but once again I was too fucking blinded about falling in love, about wanting someone to come home to and look where it fucking got me.”

“You’re angry,” Jeff stated. “Let it out.”

“I can’t!” Harry snapped.

“Why not?” Jeff asked.

“Because I can’t be angry with her,” Harry sighed. “That’s the fucking problem. This… all of this shit would be so much easier if her breaking up with me was because she didn’t love or hell even if she cheated on me, but knowing she broke it off because she’s dealing with shit...I wasn’t enough for her. I wasn’t enough to help her. That’s my job… I’m supposed to be there for her… to help her… to protect her, and I fucking failed.”

“Hey,” Jeff rushed over, taking his best friend into his arms. “You didn’t fail. Y/N had her own issues, and she… I don’t know why she pushed you away, but that isn’t your fault.

Harry put his head into his hands, wiping away the sweat and the tears falling down his cheeks.

“I think...I think enough time has passed that you should reach out to her. It might be the best for the both of you,” Jeff suggested.

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

“The Grammy’s are in a few weeks, both of you are going to be there,” Jeff said. “Don’t you think it would be better for the two of you to hash this out before seeing each other for the first time on national TV?”

Harry sighed, knowing he was right, but he still didn’t know if he could bring himself to reach out to you just yet. He didn’t know if he could hear your voice and not break down. However, he knew he would have to face this eventually, but now wasn’t the time.

**

You were currently in your home studio laying down the track of the song you had recently written. You weren’t the best at mixing or producing, but you knew and were comfortable enough to make it sound half decent. At least until you could get some others to come in and work on it.

It took a few goes until you found one you were satisfied with. You downloaded and sent the demo to your crew.

“Okay, that’s enough for the day,” you mumbled.

You turned everything off before heading into your kitchen where you made yourself some food. Just as you were sitting down to binge watch another show, your phone rang. Your heart instantly sank at the sound of the ringtone, still after all this time, you got a bit anxious wondering who was on the other line.

Seeing Stevie’s name across the top brought both a little ease, but also a bit of disappointment.

“Hey, Stevie,” you answered.

“How’s my favorite goddaughter?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” you sighed.

“You don’t sound okay,” she noted.

“I’m just… going through it,” you mumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

“Aren’t we all,” she said. “But I also know that just because you keep saying you’re fine doesn’t mean you are.”

You sighed.

“Look, I’m back in town, why don’t you come over, spend a few days if you’d like, and we can talk through this because if I know you, you’ve been alone this entire time and that’s not good for anyone,” she said.

“How do you always know everything?” You mumbled.

“I’ve been around a long time and lived an interesting life, I know things,” she smirked.

“Apparently,” you sighed. “Fine, I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” she smiled.

You sighed, ending the call, and wondered what Stevie had up her sleeve.

**

Harry finished up rehearsals before stopping by to get food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he sat in the car driving to home, well the place he stayed at while he was in LA. Even though he lived there, he couldn’t bring himself to call it home. It felt too empty, too cold for it to ever be a home.

Just as he pulled into his driveway, got out of his car, and carried his bag of food inside, his phone started to ring. Everytime his phone rang, he silently hoped it was you calling on the other line, but if it was, he didn’t know if he could bring himself to answer.

But it wasn’t you, but it was someone close to you… and to him. Stevie. He thought about not answering it, letting it go to voicemail then maybe following up with a text that he’ll call her soon, but he knew it wasn’t fair to let his relationship with her be affected by what happened with you.

“Hey,” Harry answered.

“Hello there, how’s everything going?” She asked.

“It’s going,” Harry laughed. “I just finished up rehearsals.”

“For the Grammys right?” She asked.

“Yep that would be it,” he said.

“How are you feeling about that?” She asked.

“Nervous… and excited, ready to get back on stage,” he answered.

“It’ll be a great night, I’m sure,” she said. “But I know you’re probably busy, but I wanted to let you know I’m back in town and I would love for you to come over for dinner tomorrow night, as long as you’re not busy.”

“Um… I’ve got another rehearsal earlier in the day, but I could stop around for a quick dinner,” he nodded.

“Great, it’s settled, then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

Harry hung up and sat down with his food. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for Stevie to call him up and invite him over for dinner. They’ve both done that plenty of times, but there was something going on with this particular invite Harry just couldn’t put his finger on.

But whatever it was, he would find out tomorrow.

**

And there’s the first part... not sure how often I’ll update since I am still writing the Sunflower AU series, but I’m going to try and post every other week at first. 

Let me know your thoughts! 

[willowbird]

Second ask, can I also ask for andriel proposing (not sure who proposes but plsss)

You bet you can lovie 🔪🧡🦊

-----

The woman on the other side of the counter wouldn't stop smiling at him. Usually, when Andrew glared back at unwelcome overtures of friendliness, all smiles dropped and people did better about leaving him the fuck alone. This particular saleswoman was eerily unaffected.

"We just got a new collection in that we haven't had a chance to set up in display case if nothing here has caught your eye," she suggested now, gesturing toward what Andrew assumed was the back room with an even bigger smile on her face. "You seem like a discerning man. Nothing but the best for your special someone, am I right?"

She wasn't wrong, but Andrew was not about to tell her that. The last thing he needed was for her to start cooing or something. This was why he shouldn't have waited for the last minute to do this and should have just ordered the damn thing online.

A part of him was tempted to wait on it just so that he wouldn't have to go through the pain of ring shopping in person, but the only reason he'd waited so damn long was because he kept second-guessing himself when he knew better. He'd first thought of it almost a year ago now when Neil had first signed on with the San Diego Wolverines, putting him on the opposite end of the country. It had been a gut impulse. He'd wanted Neil to have something not just of his but of them. He'd instantly shut down the embarrassingly romantic thought and hadn't allowed himself to think of it again until a few months later when he finally got to see Neil in person for the first time since the week before summer training.

Well, until Neil had to leave after a too-short visit just before summer training. Then it had been all he could think about for weeks. Every Skype call, every text, every glimpse of Neil playing on the tv.

It had even gotten to the point where he had even fucking brought the idea up to Aaron. Yes, Aaron. He'd called him while watching the playback of one of Neil's games just after the little idiot had antagonized both on-court backliners of the opposite team into going after him. He'd ended slammed against the wall then the floor multiple times, but his partner striker had also managed to get three goals while the backliners were distracted. Neil had limped off the court but not before flipping off the other team and the cameras. Once he was led back to the benches, Andrew got to watch as Neil pulled out his phone - likely to type out the text that had been waiting for Andrew when he'd finished up his own game.

It isn't bad. I'll ice it tonight. Promise.

Because Neil knew that Andrew watched at least the highlights of all his games. He knew that Andrew would see the brutal takedown. Would see him hobble off the court. Exy was a violent sport and mild injuries were common enough - but he knew that him goading and then being taken down by two backliners each double his size would worry Andrew. So the first thing he'd done, before even attempting to insist he wasn't too hurt to finish the game, was text him.

Watching Neil get fussed over by the team's medic, Andrew had dialed his brother.

'I think I want to marry him,' he'd said without a greeting.

'No shit, sherlock. About fucking time,' had been his brother's response.

That had been a couple months ago. And he'd put it off. He'd tried not to think about it. Tried to talk himself out of it.

And in the end, here he was, standing in front of a display case of wedding bands and engagement rings at an airport jewelry store while the saleslady smiled at him like he'd just told her he was going to name his firstborn after her.

Andrew checked his watch and sighed, then nodded at her, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture with one hand. He didn’t have long before his flight would be boarding and nothing in front of him was jumping out as being particularly exceptional. He knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers, him having left this to the last minute as he had, but he may as well see all the available options. 

The woman beamed at him in a way that was quickly getting on his nerves, then quickly scurried off. She returned after only a minute or so, carrying a moderately sized black case. “I’ve got to say, this is probably the most stunning collection we’ve had in. I saw it in the catalog and hoped it would be sent to our store, too.” There were maybe twenty rings in total, and he had to admit -- they were more elegant than most of the others on display. Simple with just small details in etching, stone lay, or shaping to set them apart from each other. There was also a variety of metal colors, from yellow gold to rose to platinum and a darker metal Andrew didn’t know enough about jewelry to name. 

Andrew considered all of them carefully, dismissing the flashier styles and the cumbersome solitaires. He had done a little bit of browsing online in between those flashes of panic uncertainty, and he knew Neil. His partner’s taste wasn’t really a factor, as he didn’t exactly have any (his interest in Andrew being the general exception), but his lifestyle was. With that in mind, Andrew said without looking up, “I will also need a matching chain.”

“A chain?”

Andrew ignored her for the time being as he ran his thumb over a dark-metaled band with a single thread of rose gold running through the center. He plucked it out and took a closer look, imagining it on Neil’s hand and diligently blocking out the rush in his chest at the visualization. Right now was the time for a practical mind. He did not have the time to wallow in any emotional repercussions to making this purchase. 

“This one,” he finally said to the saleswoman, showing her the ring and quoting Neil’s size. “And the chain as well.”

“Oh, of course! Excellent choice. I’m sure your sweetheart will love it.”

Andrew grimaced. “Trust me, he is anything but a sweetheart.” If it surprised the woman at all that he was shopping engagement rings for another man she didn’t show it. She only continued to beam at him, chuckling like he’d made some joke instead of a blatant truth. 

Ten minutes later he had a little black velvet box tucked into his pocket as he made his way back to where most of his team was milling about. Static whirred in the overhead and then a smooth female voice announced it was time to board.

"Flight 87 to San Diego is now boarding in Gate G9." 

For once Andrew wasn’t sure if the swooping in his stomach had to do with the upcoming flight or the weight of a future sitting in his pocket.

-----

Andrew had begrudgingly accepted that he enjoyed playing exy now that he was on a professional level and things were more interesting. He liked working together with his defensive line and the other goalie to form themselves into an impenetrable unit, and he even got along with most of his team. Or, at least, he and most of his team had an understanding.

It was an understanding that allowed them to be at the top of the league and give Andrew the space he needed to not feel smothered. They worked together as a team, and Andrew was always invited to their bonding nights. No one pressured him to actually show and when he did decide to participate no one made a big deal of it. He was permitted to interact on his own terms.

It was a good setup, and so he'd already told his team that he wouldn't be there tonight for whatever after-game dinner they had planned. They also knew that he would be returning to Pennsylvania separately, and only two people were stupid enough to ask about why more than once.

The game went about as expected -- in that Neil’s team lost spectacularly but not without putting up a fight. Even though they lost, Andrew could see Neil brimming with bright, furious energy in the last quarter of the game. He was having the fucking time of his life, and every single time he attacked the goal Andrew caught glimpses of his savage grin.

In the end, it wasn't enough, but Neil was still wearing that smile when they all lined up at center court for handshakes. If Andrew held a bit longer and tighter to Neil's hand when it was their turn, no one seemed to notice.

"You were incredible tonight," Neil said to him once all was said and done - the press handled and both teams showered and dismissed. They were walking across the stadium parking lot to where Andrew's rental was parked. Neil exclusively relied on his bike or public transport and Andrew had not been willing to put up with that bullshit while he was in town.

Andrew snorted. "If you ask me to wear my goalie mask during sex I am going to call it quits, junkie. Contain yourself."

"Wait, is that an option?" Neil stopped walking completely and turned sharply toward him, eyes wide.

Unamused, Andrew shot him a look and kept walking without bothering to dignify that bit of stupidity with a comment.

Neil didn't lag behind for long, laughing brightly as he jogged to catch up. "Joking!" he assured as they reached the car. "Of course I'm joking. The mask would get in the way and, if I'm being completely honest - which I try to do these days - I like being able to see your face."

There was once a time when Andrew would have pointedly kept his gaze turned away so he couldn't see the look he knew was on Neil's face at that moment. Or he would have shoved Neil away, nailed him with a scathing remark, distracted him somehow. It hadn't even been all that long ago, not really. He'd been afraid of what that look meant, cautious of the sentiment it implied, panicked at the threat of what might happen if he let Neil in.

Tonight Andrew did not look away. Instead, he turned his head and basked in the light of Neil's eyes like a cat in the sunlight. He met his gaze and soaked him up, let himself settle into that warmth. If Neil was surprised by Andrew's tolerance it didn't show. He just tilted his head and smiled until Andrew finally lifted a hand and shoved his arm just enough to get him moving.

"Get in the car, you maniac. Let's get back to your place."

Neil chuckled but relented without comment and got into the passenger seat. Andrew hadn't even gotten the car started when he felt Neil's gaze on him again, warm and enveloping like hot chocolate in the bitter winter. Again, Andrew turned to look at him. Again, he basked - just a little.

This time, Neil's expression shifted just slightly, the edges of pain tightening around his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Neil's hands curl into fists on his lap.

"I missed you," Neil said quietly, and his voice was tighter than it has been a minute ago. There was a hoarseness of emotion to it that rang in tune with the hollow place in Andrew's own chest.

A hard swallow, then Andrew lifted a hand and cupped Neil's cheek. He brushed his thumb over the scars there, tracing them. He didn't say that he'd missed Neil, too. He didn't say that each day waking up without him near was like waking up without a leg, leaving him aching and frustrated as he had to relearn how to move and function when a vital part of him was too far away to touch. He didn't say... Well, he didn't say anything at all.

Instead, he leaned his forehead against Neil's and took a slow breath in. He waited until he felt Neil do the same, and then they exhaled together, mingling their breaths as proof of their proximity. He felt the warmth of it on his cheeks and another loose and rattling piece inside his chest settled into place. He kissed Neil once, just briefly, on the lips, and then dropped his hand and pulled away to start the car.

-----

Neil's apartment was only a short drive away from the stadium, but traffic dragged it out unnecessarily. They had ordered food ahead of time and swung by the restaurant on the way to pick it up, which added another ten minutes to the drive but it was better than waiting on a delivery. 

Even with the detour for food and the press of traffic slowing them down, the drive itself didn’t actually feel long. Neil carried the conversation, picking up from their last phone call as he talked about his teammates and the strange little hole-in-the-wall diner he’d been frequenting lately or the stupid pictures an overly enthusiastic Matt Boyd had sent him from the pro backliner’s recent trip to the zoo. (“Twelve, Andrew. He sent me twelve pictures of what I’m pretty sure were all of the same ostrich. Ostriches aren’t even that interesting.”)

They split up briefly as they got to Neil’s apartment, Andrew to drop his things off in the bedroom and Neil to unpack the food onto actual plates. Andrew hesitated for only a moment as he parked his suitcase, then crouched before it and unzipped the pocket where he’d stowed the ring. He had no big plan for this. There were no flash mobs waiting around the corner, no puppies with cute ribbon collars, no scheduled flyovers that would drag a banner or write a message in the sky. Andrew didn’t do grand gestures. He did not buy into commercialized love. He also was very aware of who his partner was and knew very well that Neil was the same in that regards. 

Neither of them needed that, wanted it, or - frankly - even understood it.

But Andrew knew that he did want Neil in his life. He knew that he wanted him as his partner. He knew that he wanted him as his husband. It wasn’t something that he and Neil had every really talked about and there was a very real chance that Neil would say no - not because he didn’t want to be with Andrew, because Andrew knew that he did, but because Neil already had an impression of what marriage looked like and it was not a good one. Perhaps if they were different people, with a different sort of relationship, that would have made Andrew table the idea altogether.

But they weren’t other people, and their relationship was theirs and theirs alone. They were Andrew and Neil, not anyone else, and even if he knew nothing else, Andrew knew that even if Neil did not want to marry him, his asking wasn’t going to hurt them.

So he didn’t have any big plans. He hadn’t hired singers or put together a collage of their relationship. He didn’t invite their friends and family or light candles or spread out flower petals. He didn’t even get down on one knee.

Instead, Andrew took that little box in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and directly to the living room where Neil had set their dinner on two tv trays in front of the couch as he fiddled with remote to put on one of their favorite seasons of Hell’s Kitchen. Neil smiled over at him when he heard him coming. 

“Hey, perfect timing. Did you want to start right at the beginning or skip to episode two since we watched the first episode last week? I kinda want to start right at the beginning.”

Andrew shrugged, which Neil took as agreement and turned back to the tv to select the first episode. 

“Pause it for a moment,” Andrew said as he sank onto the couch beside Neil, though he kept his gaze on the frozen flames on the screen even as Neil turned to fully face him. He always did that - always gave Andrew his full and undivided attention even when he had no idea what Andrew wanted to say. For Neil, it was always just enough that Andrew wanted to say anything at all. 

A hiccup of nerves spasmed suddenly and uncomfortably in his chest, but Andrew batted it away. All he was doing was asking a question. Just one more to the hundreds of thousands that he had already asked over the last several years. This question was no different. It meant nothing more and nothing less than any of those other questions. 

So Andrew asked it the same way. 

He turned and met Neil’s eyes, then revealed the box without any particular flourish or grandeur. He watched as confusion smoothed to surprise then understanding as Andrew opened the box to show the ring inside. 

Then he said, “Yes, or no?”

He had meant for the words to be casual and even, but they came out softer than he intended. The hand that held the box was shaking, too - which Andrew only noticed when both of Neil’s hands cupped under it. 

Neil looked from the ring up to Andrew’s face and, like he always seemed to be able to, read more there than anyone ever could. Those blue eyes warmed to summer, his smile turning soft and filled with a sentiment that did not, could not, have a description in any of the languages that Andrew knew. Andrew didn’t know what Neil saw when he looked at him like that. He had never asked and probably never would. He wasn’t sure he was ready to know, wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. 

“Andrew,” Neil said, his voice just as quiet, and Andrew realized he was holding his breath. “You know it’s always yes with you.”

Something terrifyingly wonderful seized Andrew’s chest and squeezed. It dried out his throat and beat heavy drums in the center of his chest. It took too much effort for Andrew to nod his acknowledgement, and his hand was still shaking as he plucked the ring from the box and revealed that it was on a chain. “So you can keep it with you,” he said in explanation, his voice coming out a bit too hoarse. 

“I want to wear it now.” Neil’s voice wobbled. He laughed as they both tried and failed to unlatch the clasp several times before getting it - both of them with hands too shaky to get it on the first try. 

Then Neil was wearing it, and he was smiling, and there was this glow in Andrew’s chest that he didn’t think would ever really fade. 

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 12

thank you all so much for your patience! and for all the lovely birthday wishes <3 i hope this was worth the wait! also I know fuck all about medical stuff, please forgive me lol

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lave-e @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it 

CW: dehumanisation, pet whumpee, self-harm mentions, very negative thoughts towards not being able to walk (please note: Rowe’s negativity towards not being able to walk comes entirely from the fact he was trained to kneel & doesn’t feel that he’s ‘earned’ the right to rest, and nothing else)

-

“The hospital says your leg should be fine to walk on in like a week,” Master said, holding the letter out for Rowe to see. Rowe breathed a sigh of relief. “But that’s obviously complete bullshit. They’re only saying that because you’re a Pet. You’ll need to rest for at least a month.”

“A month, Master?”

“Oh good, your ears work,” he replied, ruffling Rowe’s hair. “Now, I’d better make you something to eat.”

And before Rowe could protest (he shouldn’t protest, Pets don’t argue back), Master had gone, leaving Rowe with the ever-deepening knot in his stomach.

This was bad.

He couldn’t even walk. How on earth was he going to be useful now? He had tried to get up today, wanting to show Master Tomas that he was good, he knew a splint was no excuse, he could still get up and serve. But all that had happened was he put an ounce of weight on the stupid thing and immediately cried out in pain, bringing Master to force him back to bed.

So he couldn’t walk. He certainly couldn’t kneel. How would he beg properly? The knot twisted so horrifically at that thought that he felt nauseous. What would he do if he couldn’t beg? How would he get food, or sleep? How would he show Master that he was sorry after he broke a rule? How would he even be properly submissive if he was just fucking sitting there with his stupid, stupid, stupid broken leg?

His fist flew down towards it, but he stopped himself just in time. It’d only make him scream again, and Master had already given him a warning about that. Instead he stared at the letter from the hospital. Tomas G…Grz…. something… 12 h-a-r-t… Hartland Road… your Pet… s-p-l-i-n-t…. bed rest for up to one week…

He turned his head away. It just said what Master had told him. Master doesn’t lie, Rowe thought absently.

When Master returned some time later with a gently steaming mug and a plate of food, Rowe decided to beg in the only other way he knew how.

“M-Master,” he began, bowing his head and holding his curled up hands together, “Please, I can walk, I’ll be fine. Please let me try.”

“No, Rowe,” Master replied immediately, making Rowe’s heart sink.

“Please- I have to kneel-”

“You don’t. You need to rest. Walking will only make your leg worse. You’re delicate.”

“Th-then, please, Master, how will I- how will I beg for food, an-and sleep, and be good…”

Master set the tray down on Rowe’s -no, Master’s, nothing here was his possession, you know that Rowe- bedside table, and perched on the end of the bed. He was wearing a thin knitted cardigan that had slid down his shoulders to gather in the crook of his elbows. His rings, three of them today, clinked together as he took Rowe’s hand. Rowe had learnt that this meant a stern order was coming.

“You don’t need to kneel, pal. You don’t need to earn food or sleep, okay? You can take them freely.”

“N-no, I have to earn it, it’s a privilege, Master.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “If I give you permission to eat and sleep every day, will you do it?”

“Of course, Master.” An order was an order.

“Then that’s what I’ll do. You can eat this lunch. It’s just some spag bol.”

“Thank you, thank you, I’m very grateful, Master.” Rowe said, bowing his head submissively. Master rubbed his thumb along Rowe’s knuckles.

“But before you eat, I do have something else I need to say to you.”

Rowe tensed, nodding. Master stood, leaving Rowe’s hand feeling cold.

“I know what’s going on, okay? With all your mystery injuries. I know you didn’t trip when you broke your nose, I know you have new cuts along your shoulders, and I don’t even know how you were planning on hiding your legs from me. Jesus Christ, Rowe,” his voice faltered, trembling ever so slightly, with something that didn’t seem like anger, “it was fucking scary. I know you’re- look, I know you’ve been hurting yourself. Okay? That’s what this is about. I know you’ve done these things to yourself and it has to stop now.”

He sank to his haunches, bringing himself down to eye level, and took Rowe’s hands- both of them. Maybe he thought Rowe might lash out and hurt him too. Rowe wanted to protest, but Master hadn’t finished speaking.

“It has to stop, love. I care about you so, so much, and I know that you have had a scary fucking life. I- well, I don’t know, I couldn’t know what it’s been like for you, and what you’ve gone through. But I know you’re often very scared, and living with me has been very new and weird, yeah? And I know that when I got you, you were expecting something very different. I’m not…trying to put words in your mouth. B-but if you’re trying to, uh, make up for a lack of punishments, this isn’t how to do that, okay. We can work something out. Right now, I have to be firm with you. If you hurt yourself again, you will be in trouble. I don’t want to frighten you, and I will do everything I can to help you with this, but what matters most is you stopping. You’ve been escalating too, starting off with your nose, then knives, and now a hammer? It isn’t safe, Rowe. Do you understand? Oh, honey-”

Master wiped away the tears that had started to run down Rowe’s cheeks. He sniffed and meekly told Master that yes, he did understand.

“Alright. Is there anything you want to say? Do you want to talk about it? Anything you want me to do differently?”

Rowe wished he wasn’t crying. Crying made him look guilty. What could he say? He wanted to kneel so much.

“…I’m sorry, Master.”

“Don’t be sorry, Rowe. Everything is going to be fine. Things will be a bit different while your leg heals…but you will get used to it. We will get used to it.”

Master’s thumb, wet with Rowe’s tears, moved to cup his face as he planted a small kiss on Rowe’s forehead. A kiss- that was new. He quite liked it.

-

thirty days until I’m useful again

The clock showed quarter past two in the morning. Master thought Rowe was hurting himself. Which did make sense -why would Master doubt his friend?- but it was wrong, and Rowe had always been taught that his owner was never wrong. Your owner doesn’t make mistakes, what they say goes, and their Pet shuts up and accepts it. But- but-

His head felt close to bursting with the conflicting information. And even worse, when Kasia next came and used him as a punching bag, Master was going to get angry. He would think Rowe had deliberately disobeyed him, and he would be so furious that after everything he had done for him, Rowe had had the nerve to ignore an order like that? After all his consideration, and patience, and, and, kindness.

He sank back against the bedframe and stared at his leg, propped up by a tower of cushions. He tried to wiggle his toes. It hurt. Was this Kasia’s plan all along? Make Rowe so pitiful that Master finally threw him out, for Kasia to snap up? The walls were caving in and here he was, helpless, watching it happen.

-

twenty-eight days until I’m useful again

“It’s getting cold,” Master said. Rowe mumbled an agreement, although he couldn’t say he felt cold, wrapped up as he was in a blanket on the sofa, his splinted leg poking out delicately. Master seemed to realise this and smiled softly. “I suppose you’re quite snug right now, aren’t you?”

“Th-thank you, Master.”

“No, no, I didn’t say it just to get a thank you. Being cold is the worst. Which reminds me, I have to take my pill. I’m a fiend for forgetting.”

“What’s your pill for, Master?”

There was a time Rowe would never have dared ask such a silly, invasive question, but Master had made it clear that he didn’t mind. He seemed to like it when Rowe talked and, as Master put it, ‘made conversation’. Besides, Rowe had never seen him take any sort of medication.

“Folic acid. For my sins. Or, well, mainly for my anemia.”

“What’s… what’s that?”

Although, maybe he was still pushing it. Old master would have laughed at Rowe’s ignorance, before punishing him for asking.

“It’s a deficiency,” Master replied casually. “Makes me cold, and grumpy, and if I stand up too fast I go blind for a few seconds. Sometimes I faint! But this little top-up keeps me in order.”

Rowe watched Master chase the pill down with some water. Something about this felt… odd. Rowe had always been taught that a Pet’s owner was perfect. But now that he thought about it, Master did always seem to be wrapped up warm, or clutching a mug of tea.

“Do- do you- do you want this blanket?” Rowe ventured nervously. Master smiled and his eyes twinkled softly.

“Aw, Rowe, that is so kind. But I’m fine, honestly. You’re the one with the splint! You need to be wrapped up. I will come and sit with you, if that’s alright. Want to put the telly on?”

-

twenty-five days until I’m useful again

TV was a new and strange phenomenon for Rowe. Master rarely put it on before, but with Rowe spending most of his days confined to the sofa, wanting for nothing, being treated far better than he deserved, he had started watching some with his Pet- a routine that didn’t last long.

“I’m remembering why I don’t watch TV much,” remarked Master, filling up the kettle and eyeing the millionth episode of some dreadful home makeover show. “Bloody daytime shite.”

Rowe agreed, but he wouldn’t dare sound ungrateful. Until-

“What do you think, pal?”

That question again. “It’s- uh- n-not that great.”

“Thank fuck. Well done on telling the truth, love. I’ll try and find something a bit more exciting.”

Telling the truth. Rowe stared at his leg, and the cuts under his shirt ached.

-

twenty-two days until I’m useful again

Rowe could hardly focus on the book he was reading. It was called James and the Giant Peach, and it was charming (and he was reading!), but he couldn’t stop his skin from crawling.

Master was sat beside him, typing away on the laptop balanced on his knees, (complaining because ever since Adam had come over everyone at work had started being weirdly polite in their emails) but for some reason his closeness wasn’t the issue. It should be, Rowe knew. He should be far more scared of his Master than he was.

“You alright, pal? Haven’t turned a page in a while. Is there a word you’re struggling with?”

Rowe flinched as Master leant in. “I really- really want to be useful, Master, please,” he admitted.

“Ahh, you’re feeling a bit restless? That’s totally normal. Happens to all people.”

But I’m not a person, Rowe thought. Maybe Master was just trying to relate.

“I know what you can do. You want a chore, right?”

Rowe nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please, Master.”

“Righty. Two secs.”

The basket of freshly dried laundry dropped onto the sofa with a thunk, and a few seconds later Master sat next to it with a ‘’here you go, pal, fancy doing some folding?’’

The itchiness went away in a heartbeat. He had barely stammered out a thank you before he had seized the first item and got to work.

When his hands brushed against Master Tomas’s he looked up in confusion. Master simply smiled at him while neatly folding a pair of trousers.

What? Was Rowe not being fast enough? Was he being clumsy? Was Master showing him how, because Rowe was doing such a terrible job? Was he- was he in trouble?

“Hey, don’t worry,” said Master, seeing the look on Rowe’s face. “Just thought I’d do my share. We both live here after all, don’t we?”

“But- but- this is what I’m for, Master?”

“You’re doing this because you wanted to. I haven’t asked. These last few days you’ve just been resting and I’ve been perfectly happy with you.”

Rowe never understood when Master spoke in riddles like that. Why couldn’t he just be direct in what he wanted from Rowe?

“O-okay, Master.”

-

nineteen days until I can kneel

“This is for you,” Master said, opening up the parcel that had clattered through the letterbox earlier and made Rowe jump. He watched as Master Tomas ran a pair of scissors through the tape, and his chest felt… fine? Like even though Master could hurt him, and he probably should, it wasn’t a scary thought. Before Rowe had a chance to think about that further, Master brought out a pair of very fluffy socks.

“For me?” he asked, even though that was exactly what he’d just been told. He just couldn’t quite believe it, even after everything Master had given him.

“Yeah! Got to keep your feet warm, pal. Want to try them on?”

Rowe nodded and slipped them on. They were patterned with red and white stripes, and they came up almost to his knee on his free leg. Master Tomas helped him fold the other down to sit underneath the splint.

“Thank you so much, they’re lovely,” Rowe said earnestly, and- even better- actually smiled. Master Tomas smiled straight back at him.

-

seventeen days left until I can use my leg

“Have you always been a Pet?” Master asked suddenly. Rowe looked up from his book, his fingers curling in at the memory of his training.

“Yes, Master.”

“You didn’t have a life before it?”

“No. I was trained to be a Pet… that’s all I know.”

This seemed to be the wrong answer. Master frowned deeply.

“Don’t you have anyone missing you? Is there someone you care about, somewhere out there?”

“Only you, Master.”

And it was the utmost truth, and Rowe hoped Master believed him, because Rowe didn’t want him to worry.

 fourteen days until I’m healed

eleven days left of resting

nine days left- because it’s good for me

five days left and I feel so much better already

three days left-

“Hey, Kas,” Master said, his voice floating down the stairs. Rowe went stiff. He had almost forgotten- Master had been so kind that he, he, he had got complacent. How did he let himself forget? “The hospital told me I didn’t ever properly sign the forms for Rowe. Call me back when you get this, and we can sort it out? Cheers, mate. See you.”

A beep. Rowe could barely breathe. He pressed a hand to his face to calm himself. It was a voicemail, Kasia didn’t pick up, there was still time-

Master’s soft footsteps padded towards him-

Rowe tried in vain not to cry. He was so weak, crying at the mere mention of his tormentor. Master was seconds from rounding the corner into the living room. Kasia would come soon. And then what? What would he do to Rowe this time? And what would Master say?

Rowe’s chest heaved with his panicked breaths.

What could he do?

[euphoriyoongi]

☂︎ Doom at Your Service || p.j.m smau

☂︎ Summary:

you lost your parents at an early age, and now you’re diagnosed with a brain tumor, forcing you to have less than 100 days to live. As you pray for the destruction of the world, the destruction himself—Jimin—comes to live with you in your last days.

☂︎ Pairings: Doom!jimin x sick!reader

☂︎ Word count: 2.4k

☂︎ Warnings: language

prev. // next.

m.list

☂︎일 one— peace out

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

“It’s glioblastoma.” The doctor said, looking down at the paperwork in front of him. “It seems like a few tumors. It’s terminal.”

Terminal? Where did you go wrong in your life for this to happen? Was it because you never did anything else but work?

“It’s why you’ve been dizzy and why you’ve been throwing up.”

All you could do right now was just stare at him, wide eyed.

“We could take more tests—a biopsy—but, the location doesn’t look good.” He let out a sigh, looking behind him to see the Head CT scan.

“I see.” You said, confused, but still understanding his words.

“There’s a surgical option, however,” he stopped speaking and looked up to your eyes, nearly pleading you to take this seriously. “It won’t give you much more time.”

Keeping calm, You asked the question you were dying to hear. “Am I going to die?”

It seemed a bit morbid, but the doctor didn’t seem fazed. “Yes.”

The doctor was silent. He didn’t want to tell you and it was obvious. It might be because you knew him personally outside of the hospital, but right now, he just looked at you with eyes of worry. “If you get the surgery, you’ll have about one good year. At most.” He murmured, bringing his gaze back down to the papers. “But still, it won’t be an enjoyable year.”

“And if I don’t get the surgery?” You questioned, playing with your hands in your lap nervously. You had a feeling he was going to tell you to get the surgery and not worry about time, but what he said sent chills down your spine.

“Three months. Maybe four.” He sighed, flipping through the papers. “Please think about this, you’re going to suffer great pain if you don’t decide on surgery.”

“I couldn’t get off enough days for surgery” You said, calmly.

The doctor looked dumbfounded. “But I—I think this is much more serious than missing a bit of work.”

You couldn’t think. Maybe it was the tumor making you think that You couldn’t, but you were overwhelmed. You tried to keep your calm, and stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back behind you. “You seem like a real doctor.” You said to him with a smile.

He was a real one, but he was also a writer, and you were his editor. You couldn’t help but feel like this was all some sort of joke. It wasn’t, though, and he didn’t laugh. “Just make sure you get your writing in on time.” You said, forcing a smile. “Then,”

You started to walk away and out of the room when he called out to you again. “I trust you to make the right decision, whatever way it is for you. But please, if you decide surgery, come here or call as soon as possible.”

Now out of the room, you walked down the corridor and towards the atrium. The words the doctor said hit you straight through the heart. You didn’t want the surgery. You had too much work to do. You wouldn’t be able to. You might as well enjoy whatever time you have in life.

“Glioblastoma..” You muttered under your breath. “Glioblastoma..”

As you kept saying that treacherous word over and over again, You must’ve not of been paying attention to where you were walking. You bumped into someone in a white doctors coat, and as he caught you in his arms, your heart beat a bit faster as you looked up to his face.

What kind of..face?

Sure, he was beautiful. His eyes were sharp, and his lips looked soft you nearly reached out to touch them. His hair was some sort of dark blue..maybe green? Possibly even black. It was the kind of color the human eye would have difficulty deciphering. He was stunning. But as stunning as he was, when he opened his mouth, he knew it too. “I know I’m handsome. But I’m busy.” He smirked, and lifted you back up to your feet and walked away.

You watched him walk, his footsteps making little pit-pats on the tile floor. He was even attractive from the back as his white coat flowed behind him.

Breaking out of your funk, you continued to walk towards the reception desk to check out. “Hi, I’m Y/L/N, Y/N checking out.”

Just as you finished your sentence, sirens started blaring right outside the entrance door, and paramedics rushed in with multiple stretchers, sending the people around staring to worry about what happened. On the tv next to the desk, it showed on the news that there was a large-scale stabbing. He stabbed seven people, and all of them were rushed to this hospital. And well, you guess this included the perpetrator as well.

You gritted your teeth. “That crazy—“

“Mam? Are you going to pay?” The receptionist called out to you, and you brought your attention back to her.

“Ah, yes..”

Looking at the bill, it was nearly seven-hundred dollars. Your eyes widened and you nearly said some things You shouldn’t say. “Crazy—“

“What?” The lady tilted her head at you, her eyes squinting.

“Ah, never mind.” You looked around the room. “Can I pay this in monthly installments?”

The lady started to type on her computer. “For how many months?”

The doctor’s words flooded back into your mind when she said the word “month”. It reminded you that you would only have a few of those to live…and it was strange to think you don’t have longer. Just an hour ago you were living your life like normal, thinking you’d have forever to go. Truth is, life isn’t permanent. And it’s only a matter of time when you get a death sentence.

Smiling, you just said the only amount of time you have. “For three months, please.”

Back in the emergency room, Jimin stood in the midst of all the injuries, watching the stretchers roll in one by one.

Not yet. He thought to himself, watching a stretcher with a man bleeding heavily. He couldn’t help them. It was their fate.

Just then, another stretcher rolled in. This time, it was followed by multiple paramedics and he was put onto an ER bed.

There he is.

Since Jimin was dressed up in a hospital coat, the paramedic started to explain the situation. “He’s the perpetrator. He tried to kill himself on the scene. The police are on their way.”

He nodded, and turned to his right, where a nurse was coming to tend to the patient. She noticed that he didn’t have a badge with his name on it, and blinked at him. “Excuse me, which department are you—“

He interrupted her by fixing the sleeve of her top, and she stared at him right into his eyes. Big mistake. He stared back, gazing deeply into her as if compelling her. He was.

Her eyes widened as he didn’t even need to say any words for her to listen to him.

Smirking at her, Jimin leaned in closer. “Pull the curtain around the perpetrator. I need you to make sure no one but the police can enter.” He demanded, staring intently at her until she answered.

“Yes doctor.”

He smirked again as she walked away, and made his way back to the man who didn’t deserve to die after hurting all of those people. It wasn’t fair.

The man was heavily bleeding from the stab wound he made himself of his neck, and laid lifelessly as Jimin neared. “Open your eyes, prick.”

As if on command, the man’s eyes pierced awake, getting a blurry image of Jimin standing over him with a frown.

He laid there without speaking as he nervously looked at Jimin, who wasn’t helping him at all. “Ah, I see. You think you are something, eh?” He sneered, a smile resting on his face. “We’ll I’m the one who’s something. You’re nothing.”

He leaned closer to the man. “It feels as if you parked in my goddamn parking spot. A horrible park job, by the way. Totally ruined my mood.”

He let out a few groans and he tried to look away, but couldn’t seem to.

Annoyed, Jimin had enough. He reached out his hand and choked the man, gritting his teeth. “Move your fucking car.”

The man was confused, he hasn’t parked anywhere. He realized that it wasn’t a car he was talking about. It was the action he did. Doom. He brought doom on peoples lives and well, that was jimin’s job.

He choked him still, the man’s hands coming to grasp onto Jimin’s pleading to let go.

“See, doom isn’t your job. It’s mine. You were completely careless.” He hissed, wiping his eyebrow with his free hand.

A smile dawned on his face. “So I’m gonna be just as careless.”

The man grabbed onto Jimin’s white coat, blood smearing onto it. “I’m going to make you pay for taking my parking place.” He nearly growled, and focused his attention to the man’s neck wound, healing it as he groaned in pain. He didn’t deserve to die. To get away with what he did.

The man let go of his grip on Jimin when he realized he had been healed, and stared up at him in shock, holding onto his neck and panicking.

Jimin smirked, and turned around as if to walk away, but had a sudden thought.

“Ah, one more thing.” Jimin said, turning around to face the man, who was clutching his neck. “There’s something that’s much more dreadful than doom.”

Silence took over the space they were in, the man still gasping for air and Jimin having his arms crossed over his chest with a smile.

“Life.”

At that, he abruptly turned and was about to leave, when the police moved the curtain. “We’re the police.”

Smirking, Jimin looked over at the criminal.

The criminal groans and cried, watching Jimin fade from his view, his smirk never ceasing.

He walked away, proudly, leaving the police behind to do the justice.

No one gets away with taking his job.

No one.

On a balcony of the hospital, a tall man stood, overlooking the view of the city. He wore hospital clothes, and slippers that seemed to be too small for him. As he heard footsteps nearing him, he knew who it was. “You’re here?”

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked him, walking up next to him to overlook as well.

He looked over at him, noticing the large blood stain obviously visible on the white coat. “You could’ve at least changed.”

Jimin huffed. “I didn’t so I could show you it.”

He then hit himself in the spot where the blood was, and it began to disappear as if it was never there. “Some kind of god you are.” He muttered, leaning up against the balcony’s railing. “Are to tired of this hospital life, too? You have the whole world in your hands.”

The man scoffed, running his hand through his shortly cropped brown hair. “You try being sick.”

“There you go again, acting all pitiful.” Jimin smiled, looking towards him.

They both looked out to the skyline, where the sun was nearly setting. The sky had a bit of and orange hue to it, reflecting against the buildings.

“I feel like a gardener.” Namjoon smirked, still looking away from Jimin. “I’m always planting and watering. Wishing it will all grow.”

He then turned to Jimin. “But not all of them sprout. And some that do, can be poisonous plants. Some medicinal herbs. Who knows.”

He was talking about the earth. Joon was a god. He was the reason Jimin existed. It felt strange that his fate was all because of him.

“But..” Joon carried off, turning away. “The garden doesn’t belong to the gardener.”

Catching him off guard, Jimin furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what am I? In this garden of yours.” He asked him seriously, hoping to get some kind of assurance that he wasn’t only living to bring doom to the world.

“You’re a butterfly.” Namjoon said, smiling.

Jimin scoffed. “Until when? How long will I be a butterfly?”

He was inderectly asking how long will he have to live as a death-bringer. A walking ticking time bomb that was never able to live amongst human kind, only to watch destruction that was brought upon by him. He didn’t even mean to do the things he did most of the time, and unhappiness just occurred around him. It was like the would would drain if color just by the sight of him.

Namjoon stared at Jimin, tilting his head. “Forever.” He sinfully smiled, noticing Jimin’s frown as he said it.

Jimin scoffed again. “Damn man, you’re so cruel. Even on someone’s birthday.”

Joon’s happy demeanor shifted. “Birthday? Someone?” He shook his head. “Since when were you born? You were never born. And you were never a human, so how could you be someone?”

Jimin felt his heart crack a bit. He shouldn’t be upset about that statement, but he was. He silently looked at Joon, waiting for him to keep going.

Joon just sighed, and rested his elbows on the railing. “Go, be someone’s wish today. It’s the only day you could do it.”

“Even my birthday isn’t for me.” He said, bitterly, and feeling bitter as well. He just wanted to have a purpose in life, and not it being doom. Destruction. Pain. Irritation.

“It’s for the humans.” Joon smiled.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Those damn flowers.”

Humans were the only reason of his existence. And he wanted it to be over. He didn’t want to live anymore, especially with the way he was living. The only way he could cease to exist was if the humans did, too.

They both stood there quietly, looking over the world as if it’s in the palm of their hands.

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 4 (Nessian AU)

A/N: I know I haven't been able to update as fast as you'd want me to but I'll try to fix that. Your comments and feedbacks are very much appreciated. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: None really

1652words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to do something they liked. That was the only way Cassian kept from spiraling. Since sending the woman to her own house, Cassian had more than a few moments when he wanted to repeatedly slam his head against a wall. That’s why he spent most of his time sparring with Azriel. He won’t admit he was simping for that woman in his free time too. Or maybe that was always.

Now, sprawled on a couch in front of the TV, with nothing to do but stare at a blank screen, Cassian led his thoughts to the box he kept all unwanted thoughts locked in. He thought about Tomas, her ex-boyfriend. Funny, he thought. I know her ex's name but not hers.

It took him a little too long the other day to realise they didn't exchange names. Again. He once thought that maybe she was purposely not giving him her name. That maybe, for her, he was just a random stranger who happened to save her life. He snorted. Surely anyone would know the name of the person they saved or was saved by— stranger or not. He supposed he'll have to make do with pronouns for now.

After she left his home, it took every scrap of self-restraint not to beat this Tomas dude to pulp and let him rot in the same alley he had the misfortune of meeting him in. He may or may not have been the cause for some extra injuries. Cassian appreciated the woman’s attempt at mercy. He, however, didn’t trust Tomas at all. He was dubious about just handing him over to the police. Who’s to know he won’t frame him and the woman for absurd things? Anyway, he left a note in Tomas’s house saying something like “Step out of line, lose your favourite part of anatomy. Name it and have it for your meal.” He made sure he printed so that no one would recognise his writing. Yet, all this didn’t calm his nerves one bit. He presumed he’ll have to stay on guard for some time now.

Now, back to the girl. He sighed. He didn’t dare change the sheets in his guest bedroom. He didn’t even let Mor use the room when she came over last weekend— which he could bet created suspicion. No, that room was only open when he craved her scent. He even realised one of his shirts was missing. He shrugged it off thinking he would've left it somewhere and just couldn't find it. Once she came to his house, he was constantly thinking about her. So much that now he started pinching himself often. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her— by creating physical pain.

Cassian glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.30 in the afternoon. He walked to the refrigerator and checked his freezer compartment. Huh. No ice-cream. He sighed, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed to the mall to get an ice-cream with a pout. He’ll have to leave for Rhys and Feyre’s first anniversary only around 5.30 to prepare everything. He has enough time to get an ice-cream and probably hang out for some time. Good enough to stop thinking about her. Or so he thought.

***

Nesta wasn’t sore anymore. Her headache was gone almost a week after the incident. Her nose didn’t hurt anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. It didn’t hurt unless she bumped her nose against something. Today, her nose was dully throbbing because she hit her nose against a pillow yesterday. A very, very soft pillow and yet it hurt this much.

The man’s first-aid and medicines were really helpful.

It really wasn’t fair that he excelled at basic first aid too. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. With black tattoos swirling over generously muscled arms and shoulder-length dark hair curling at the edges and gloriously tanned skin and hazel eyes with minute flecks of green and brown when taken a closer look at and dimples and—

A quiet “Who is it?” snapped Nesta out of her moping. She looked up to see Gwyn walking to her.

“Who is what?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Gwyn's pursed lips and glare conveyed that her act wasn't enough.

“Who are you thinking about?” Gwyn clarified.

“What makes you think I'm thinking about someone?” Nesta retorted.

Gwyn sat on the chair next to her and started assisting with classifying the unceremonious heap of books on the table to be kept back in its correct positions on its own rack.

“Nesta,” Gwyn sighed, “Clotho assigned you this stack almost an hour ago. And you've barely finished a third of the stack. Normally, you'd finish stacks bigger than this in an hour. So there's clearly something.”

“It wasn't anyone,” Nesta mumbled.

As usual, Gwyn saw through her lie. “You were twirling your hair,” she said flatly.

Heat inched up her neck. “I was not!”

Gwyn murmured a “uh-huh” and they lapsed into an easy silence till they were almost over.

Gwyn's eyes lit up as it normally did whenever she got an idea. “Is it him? The guy you came with that day?”

Nesta scowled, “How do you know…” she broke off when she realised which 'that day' Gwyn was talking about. Nesta fought back a blush. “No, no, this isn't about him. We don't know each other. Much. Like, we've seen each other a number of times? That's it. Nothing else.” Cauldron, the first part was a complete lie. But at least the rest are true. Will Gwyn happen to know his name? Maybe I ought to ask her. Or maybe I shouldn't.

She should, she decided. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Gwyn? Do you happen to know his name?”

Gwyn frowned and asked, “He hasn't told you yet?”

Nesta shook her head and answered, “No, we, uh, forgot. I guess. We haven't really exchanged names.”

Gwyn nodded and smiled. “Well, he is—”

“Gwyn!” a voice called. “You can't expect me to come over to you and beg for you to help me. Help me only if you want to or don't work under me.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. She abruptly stood up and mouthed, “Merrill. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.” She all but ran to Merrill, the very strict librarian Gwyn was working under.

Nesta sighed and continued her work. There wasn’t much left so she was able to finish fast. She picked her things and left the library with a word to Clotho, heading to the mall.

***

The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to also eat something they liked. So, ice-cream it was. After having his ice-cream, Cassian was aimlessly walking around the mall. Here, not more than a month ago, he met her for the first time. Almost a month ago. He huffed out a breath. The fact that he was pining for her this long blew his mind off. He—

“This is your fault— not mine. I’m not taking the blame for this,” he told her. They bumped into each other. Again.

Her lips quirked up. “It is kind of my fault. But blame this—,” she poked his chest, “— for making my nose hurt again.”

Just like that, his mood sobered. “How are you?” he asked.

She pointed at the cafe to her left. “Coffee?”

He nodded. Who was he to say no to her?

So they ordered coffee and talked about everything and nothing. He grinned and she laughed. He laughed and she smirked. He wouldn’t say he knew her well but he’d never seen her so carefree. Her laugh was like nectar for a starving man. Her eyes bright and welling up with tears from laughing.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much,” she said.

Cassian put a hand on his heart dramatically and said, “I know, I know. I’m very funny.”

Her lips kicked up a notch. She straightened as if she just realised something. He was about to ask when she drawled, “So I just realised that we still haven’t exchanged names.”

Oh. Right. Of course. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Usually, when people meet, they start with introductions but in our case we’ve literally bumped into each other three times and still we don’t know each other.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Well, hello there. I’m—”

His phone rang in his pocket. Fuck. He was going to kill whoever was calling him now. He was so close to knowing her name. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from Azriel. He apologetically looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could choose not to take this call and instead kill this idiot but I can’t. Just give me a moment, okay?”

She nodded and he picked up his call.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“It’s 5.30 already, you idiot. We’ve got to get the things ready for the party. Mor already went to get the cake and you’re not even at home. Where on all earth and hell are you?” came Az’s faint voice.

“15 minutes only? Mother above, I’m coming.” he said.

Az’s “make it fast” was the last thing he heard before hanging up. “I wish we could stay here and talk forever,” he said to her, “but I have something up in a short while and I totally didn’t realise time was passing this fast. I’m so sorry. It was nice talking to you. Really. And I wish we could meet again. Though without the bumping part.”

He grinned when she smiled and said, “Bye. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he called back. He didn’t want to think he imagined the subtle look of disappointment on her face because hell, he was a walking epitome of disappointment right now.

taglist:

@shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

[oldguardhc]

Old Guard hc #135

Warnings: Temporary Major Character Death, Alcoholism, Depression

AN: @sunshineandchemistry wanted hurt inspired by Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home Then) by The Decemberists. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. 

They have a plan. 

They’re supposed to stop healing together. They’re supposed to retire from the action and live out the rest of their days in Malta. They’re supposed to have decades to prepare for the inevitable day. They’re supposed to go together. 

Not-not like this. 

Joe stares down at his own body. A puddle of blood has formed around it, bright red and barely deep enough to splash if someone were to step in it. His light blue shirt, now a deep maroon, is sticking to his chest and his fingers itch to pull the fabric away before it can dry. His eyes, open and glazed, he wanted to see the stars before this death, pierce through him in a way his reflection never has.  

This feels like a joke. 

He’s bled ten times more than this and was back in the fight a minute later. When his leg got blown off, he was walking not an hour later. So why the hell is the hole in his chest, barely an inch wide and four inches deep, not closing? This is nothing but a scratch in the long list of injuries his body has sustained. 

When he first woke up, he had laughed. He just got killed by a purse-snatcher. A purse-snatcher. They weren’t even smart enough to burglar a house; how the guy got the jump on him was a goddamn mystery, not to mention insulting and mortifying. Booker was never going to let him live this down. 

It was only after he sat up and patted his chest, still chuckling to himself at the sheer absurdity of the situation, that he realized something was wrong. That he was wrong. 

His hands, normally a warm brown, like wheat just before the summer harvest, were gray and pale, every inch of life snuffed out of them. Joe had stared at them, flipping them over and over, flexing and shaking his fingers to stimulate fresh blood flow, but no matter how much he moved them, how many times he blinked, they remained the same. Cool brown and utterly wrong. 

That wasn’t even the worst part. 

No, the worst part, the worst fucking part, was when he stood up, ready to shake off this awful day in the comfort of Nicky’s arms, dinner be damned, they’ll just eat another sandwich, and his body remained on the floor, still and bleeding and-and separate. 

He freaked out. 

He immediately laid back in his body, lining his arms and legs with the body on the floor first, before sitting up. When that didn’t work, he tried picking his body up to drag back home, only his hands had passed through his own arms and chest, like he was nothing more than a cheap light show. 

It was then that it sunk in, with his hands buried in his sternum and his own lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He was dead. 

He was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

—

Nicky hasn’t eaten in days, not since he shared the small sandwich with Joe. 

“Just a snack!” Joe pleaded, batting his eyelashes with a wide grin. He looked ridiculous, like one of those Bratz dolls that once lined every shelf in the toy section at the supermarket. Nicky was more annoyed than charmed as Joe continued to beg; he was blocking the TV and his voice was getting progressively pitchier the longer Nicky continued to ignore him in favor of watching National Treasure. 

Nicky gave in, of course he gave in, if only to get Joe to shut up now that he was reaching dog whistle levels. He went to the kitchen, Joe right on his heels and made the fastest sandwich in history, a ham and cheese sandwich on one slice of bread. After folding it in half, he stuffed as much of the sandwich into his mouth and handed over the rest to Joe. It wasn’t much, barely bigger than the bite-sized sandwiches that are usually out on the buffet tables, but it was better than nothing. He almost choked when he saw the wounded expression on his husband’s face. Joe took the half-sandwich with a pout and spent the next fifteen minutes nibbling on it, savoring each bite like it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. It was cute and charming and Nicky kissed him when he finished, swatting his ass as they broke apart because dinner wasn’t going to get itself.

He should have made a regular sandwich. 

He should have just cooked with what they had in the pantry. 

He should have gone with Joe. 

His stomach twists and Nicky cries. 

—

Nicky’s not living. He eats, he sleeps and sometimes he even goes out for a walk, but he’s not living, he’s functioning and that’s enough for Andy and Booker. 

They don’t talk much to him; then again, no one talks much these days. It became glaringly obvious early on who initiated the conversations, who had the loudest voice, who kept the discussion flowing from one point to the next. 

He doesn’t blame them; they were engulfed in their own grief too, both fresh and scarred. 

They’ve become the liquor store’s best customers; between the three of them, they easily put away six bottles of hard liquor every night. It’s the only time they’re together, late at night into the early morning, drinking with a desperate fervency to get lost in their own memories of better times. 

“The widow club,” Booker joked one night, mouth curled into a snarl. 

“I never wanted to be part of this fucking club,” Nicky spat, taking an aggressive sip from his bottle. It was whiskey that night; it tasted like shit, it always tasted like shit, and Nicky didn’t care. It made him warm and muddled his thoughts and while he was drunk, he could forget, could ignore how empty everything was. 

There was a moment of silence and then Andy laughed, sharp and vicious as she raised her bottle to clink with his, “Cheers to fucking that!” 

During the day, Nicky sleeps. A lot. 

Nicky sleeps, because if he sleeps, he can dream. In his dreams, Joe is still with him, leading him through the world with both hands and promising to never leave his side. In his dreams, Joe is bright and warm, kissing him like he never left, loving him like they had all the time in the world. In his dreams, he can savor the weight of Joe’s loving gaze, anchoring him in this sea of madness. 

Most days, he wakes up around three in the afternoon. He stares at the ceiling until his stomach grumbles, and only when the pain becomes unbearable does he get up to get something to eat.

Sometimes, the stupid wind chimes will wake him up before three and those days are always the worst. Joe had loved those wind chimes; he would run his fingers through them every morning just to hear them sing, laughing as the house filled with its tinkling sound. 

Nicky hates those fucking wind chimes. 

He hates how every time he hears them, he thinks that it’s Joe, gently pushing one tube into another, creating a new song only for their ears. He hates how he turns his head with a sleepy smile towards the chimes, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue, only to be splashed with the bitter reality that he’s alone, has been alone for awhile now. 

Nicky hates those wind chimes and he wishes he could melt it down into something useful, something quiet, but it was Joe’s and Nicky can’t. He can’t destroy something that Joe loved so dearly. 

But God does Nicky loathe them. They weren’t even under a vent and they still made noise. 

Other times, the birds will wake him up. They never had this many birds before Joe, but after, Nicky sometimes wakes up to five birds on his windowsill, chirping and chirping and chirping. They’re loud and they arch up into nothing and Nicky hates them almost as much as the wind chimes because Joe would have loved them. Joe would’ve sat in front of the windowsill for hours, sketching and observing the birds, swallows, or were they sparrows, tossing them little seeds to keep them there longer. Hell, Joe would have set up a bird feeder to accommodate their many visitors. To Nicky, those birds are just another reminder that Joe’s gone and he wishes that they would just leave this house of grief alone. 

So Nicky sleeps and he drinks, because if he does, he doesn’t have to live in a world that’s constantly screaming Joe’s name. 

He’s not living. 

It’s not really functioning either. 

—

It works. 

It works. 

Joe gasps back to life and he’s in the quiet comfort of Nicky’s arms, just like he wanted that stupid day and everyday since. The weight of his arms, solid and warm across Joe’s chest, it’s enough to make him burst into tears.  

“I missed you,” Nicky sobs, pulling him into a tight hug and Joe can’t wrap his arms around Nicky fast enough. He clings to his husband, taking in the twin scents of Irish Spring and cheap cologne, a combination he never thought he would miss; it smells like home. 

“I was always there,” Joe whispers, “The birds, the chimes, the damn towel on the floor. I never left.” I never left you. 

They’re both shaking apart in each other’s arms, but for the first time in months, it’s ok. It’s ok. 

Nicky laughs, it’s choked and brittle, but it’s the first time he’s laughed since that day, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world to Joe’s ears right now. “I hated all those things.” 

“I know,” Joe confesses, pulling back just enough to look at Nicky. He wipes away the snot and tears with the back of his hand. Nicky stares at him through red-rimmed eyes, a new kind of desperation shining in them that Joe knows are reflecting from his own. “But it got you out of bed, out of the house, and so I never stopped.” 

They have a plan.

They’re going to stop healing together. They’re going to retire from the action and they’re going to live the rest of their days in Malta.  

They’re not straying away from it this time.   

[starksvixen]

Best Shot - Part 3

Warnings: severe injury to reader, lots of angst, mentions of sexuality (no smut), swearing, violence

Word Count: 2456

Prologue - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 (finale)

2 weeks. It had been 2 weeks since you had left Jay’s apartment and crashed at Connor’s. Things at the station hadn’t been the same with you and Jay at odds. You still kept things civil, but every time you both left from work, Halstead would give you a piece of his mind. Why you shouldn’t be staying with Connor. Why you should just come back home. He would almost have you convinced, but you knew him too well. Jay would always hold something back and you could tell. What you mistook as his arrogance against apologizing was him holding back from saying those three little words. Nevertheless, you still would part ways with him and spend most of your nights with Conner.  

You rummaged through your small duffel bag you had packed from your and Jay’s apartment, trying to find anything that didn’t have bullet holes or were permanently stained. After these past weeks, you were left with only one outfit left.

“(Y/N), I know this is tough, but you gotta make a decision.” you hear Connor say as he leans against the doorway to the living room. 

Looking over to him, you see one of his minimalistic mugs in hand, filled with a steaming liquid. In only sweatpants from your last...session, he looked like a perfectly handsome mess. Connor Rhodes was the perfect guy. Good job, smart, sarcastic, sweet, caring, unbelievably good looking. But deep down you knew he was too perfect. You wanted your fucked up boy from the army who would lay his life on the line for you in a heartbeat. The guy who made mistakes with you but would always return to make things right. You wanted Jay Halstead. 

“Think you can spare some room for me here?” you ask with a half hearted smile.

“I always will. But both you and I know this won’t last because you took the easy way out. You’re always going to want-”

“Him...” you whisper as your hand graces over one of Jay’s shirts that had found its way into your bag. 

Gently, you pick up the worn out garment and run your fingers along the collar. Even without pressing your face to it, you knew it would smell like him. Smell like home. 

“Need a ride?” Connor asks softly. 

Shaking your head, you quickly pack up and grab your keys. Before leaving Connor’s apartment, you turn to him with a sad smile. 

“I’m sorry, I know this probably didn’t turn out like you wanted it too.”

“No hard feelings, this was temporary. And it was lots of fun. But you both deserve to be happy.” he replies with a smile.

You smile too and nod before leaving and going to your car. After throwing your duffel in the back and yourself into the driver’s seat, you were on your way home. 

Parking in the same spot as you always did, you turn and pull the keys from the ignition as your eyes scan over the building. The living room light was still on, a small flickering every now and then telling you that Jay was probably watching the Hawks game. 

You step out with a deep breath, bag in hand, your exhale crystallizing into fog from Chicago’s chilly winter weather. Walking towards the door, you unlock it with the keys you have and walk in, dropping your duffel by the door. 

“Will, I’m not in the mood.” you hear Jay say from your living room. 

Softly walking in, you see the small collection of beers that hadn’t taken Jay’s edge off strewn around him. The dark circles you had seen develop over the past weeks looked so much darker now. Tears filled your eyes at the realization that he was right, you were letting your extra feelings get in the way of what matters. Your friendship.

“It’s not Will, Jay,” you say. 

Jay quickly twists from his lounging position to see you. It’s like he couldn’t stand up fast enough as he rushes towards you, pulling you into a tight hug. Gently, you wrap your arms around him in a friendly way, holding him close to you. 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” you hear him mumble.

“Enough of that, I’m home now.” 

He pulls away just a touch, your faces proximity making your cheeks light up like red bulbs from Christmas lights. For a moment, you wish that he take that one step forwards. That his lips dance with yours when danger isn’t looming. But your wishes are futile as he takes more steps away from you.

“I’ll get you a beer,” he says as he backs away more, clearing up all the empty beer bottles before disappearing into the kitchen. 

You only nod before plopping yourself on the end of the couch you claimed as yours. Soon enough, Jay returned with two beer bottles, sitting on his end of the couch while tossing a blanket over to you. You take both gratefully, sipping your beer while curling up into the soft material.

Two beers turned into twenty, giving both of you a slight buzz. The Hawks game had changed to Brooklyn Nine Nine. The space between you and Jay had shrunk as you cuddled together on the couch peacefully. Your tipsy laughter fills the apartment, contrasting the blue light from the TV with warmth. 

Your soft whine when the show switches from the cop comedy to Seinfeld only makes Jay laugh more. You smack his chest playfully, quickly sitting up to meet his face. 

“How dare you giggle at my misery. Halstead,” 

“Oh whatever, stupid, it was cute and I’m allowed,” he replies with a smirk.

“Oh, so I’m stupid then cute?”

“Will you shut up so we can watch the show?” 

“Make me.”

You will never regret saying those two words.

In a blur, Jay snatches your hips and pulls you onto his lap. The distance between you two closed as he leans up and captures your lips with his. Shocked, you gasp but quickly return the kiss, your hand working their way from his chest to his face. 

His hands somehow find their way under your shirt, on your lower back, pulling you closer into his chest. Working your hands away from his head, you tug at the collar of his shirt from behind his neck. 

Another blur and Jay is standing with you in his arms before disappearing into his room with you.

-~- 

The bright light streaming in from Jay’s windows pierces your brain, making you groan slightly from the mild hangover you had...again.

But my were you glad you were. 

As soon as you tried to slip out of bed to get some aspirin, two strong arms pulled you closer into a chest. Turning around, you see Jay half asleep with a goofy smile on his face. A sense of relief flooded over you, he remembered the night before. And he didn’t seem to regret it either.

“You gotta let me go, lover boy,” you mumble as you run a hand through his messy hair. 

“Nooo,” he whines, puling you even tighter to him causing you to giggle.

“We are gonna be late and Voight will be pissed,” 

“God, fine, but you owe me when we get home,”

He reluctantly releases you into the cold air of the apartment. With ease, you steal his shirt laid on the floor and slip it over your naked self. Looking behind you, you catch a glimpse of him getting out of bed. Memories of the night before flooded your mind, making you bite your lip and a blush to spread across your face. 

“Can I help you?” he asks while slipping on a pair of sweatpants, a tired smirk on on his face.

“Hmm, maybe when we get home.” you say with a wink before walking out of the room.

-~-

A couple of months later and both of you still have a jump in your step walking into work. The squad originally thought it was because you had finally gone home to Jay. But when your giddiness hadn’t died down over the weeks, bets were quickly placed. 

Sitting at your desk, you take a sip of coffee and begin to fill out paperwork on your laptop. From across the room, you could feel Halstead’s eyes on you. Subtly looking over at him, you see his eyes on the hickey forming on your neck just below your jaw. With a smirk, you tuck your hair out of the way, putting the bruise on full display. You watch as Jay’s bottom lip gets tucked beneath his teeth and you send a soft wink his way. 

Just in time, you look away to see Voight rushing downstairs, armed in tactical gear.

“We’ve got a hostage situation at Bleeker Street Bank. All of Intelligence needs to be there, this seems to link back to our case against Diaz,” Voight quickly says to the squad.

Jumping out of your seat, you rush to the locker room and quickly suit up. Walking out with your gun case, you hear Voight assign you and Halstead on the opposing roof as snipers. With a nod, you both rush out to his beast of a truck.

The entire ride there, he kept a gentle hand on your thigh but you could tell he was on edge. You both hated when the other had to go into a highly dangerous situation, but it was part of your job. As he parks, you quickly lay your hand on his cheek and turn his face towards you. Gently, you lay a quick but deep kiss on his lips. Once he pulls away, his eyebrow shoots up and smirk appears on his face. 

“What was that for?”

“To get you to calm down,”

You smirk and get out, grabbing your gun case from the back and making your way up to the roof of the opposing building. Once you’re stationed, you quickly set up the gun and aim the scope at the open window. You have a clear view of the hostages in the room but no sign of the offender.

“You got eyes on the offender?” you ask Jay, not moving from your spot.

No response.

“Jay?” 

Suddenly, you feel a blade against your throat, making you tense up but your hands refuse to move from your gun.

“Come on, pretty girl. You and your friend are gonna pay for what you did to Diaz.” 

Gripping tightly onto your gun, you snap your head back, hitting your captor in the crotch with your head. He stumbles back, but not without his blade cutting your neck a bit. Gritting your teeth through the pain, you use both hands to hit your offender in the face with your heavy rifle. Quickly, he flies to the ground, unconscious from the hit. 

That’s when you hear the click of another gun, most likely aimed at you.

Slowly, you turn your head to see another guy with a gun in hand. This time, it wasn’t aimed at you. It was aimed towards Jay’s head as he held him a death grip.

“Let him go...” you growl.

“Nuh - uh, sweet heart. You and your friend are coming with us. Drop the rifle.”

Quickly, you let go, the clatter of the powerful gun making the man in front of you relax a bit.

“He had nothing to do with this,” you reply, raising one hand and slowly moving your other that was concealed from him towards your back where your pistol lay. 

“He was an accomplice, got Quentin into the spot where you needed to shoot. So nah, he’s coming with us.”

Jay’s eyes widen at the sight of your hand gripping tightly onto your gun before you whip it out, aiming it at the additional captor. At the same time, the gruff looking man moves his aim away from Jay and towards you. Jay desperately tries to break the man’s hold on him before it’s too late.

“I said let him go!” you yell, your anger increasing at the situation.

“Move one more step and I’ll shoot!” he replies.

“Go ahead, because you can bet your ass I won’t miss!” 

The tip of your gun is aimed directly at his head and you take a sharp inhale as your finger moves to the trigger. 

“Drop him!” you yell again.

“Put the gun down!” 

Exhale and shoot. 

But more then one gun goes off at the same time. Adrenaline runs through your veins like a mustang as you watch the guy drop dead beside an unharmed Jay.

“Told you I don’t miss,” you say as you shakily lower your pistol. Wait, why were you shaking?

Looking down, you see blood pooling on the white shirt underneath your bullet proof vest. He’d gotten you right below the ribs, right where your body was exposed from the vest when you had your arms up.

“(Y/N)!” Jay yells as he rushes over to you. 

Blood pours through the shirt as you drop your gun, applying pressure to the wound as the metallic liquid pours through your fingers like water. The amount of blood you were losing and how fast it was pouring out makes your legs weak. Too weak, as they collapse under you, your body hitting the gravel roof as everything blurs. 

“This is Jay Halstead, officer down! We need paramedics on the roof of the north building immediately!” 

“C’mon, baby, you can’t leave me now.” Jay’s voice echoes in your head.

His hands are over yours as he helps keep pressure on the wound. You simply smile through the pain, moving one bloodied hand from underneath his and laying it on top of the pile. 

“I love you,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as your eyelids get too heavy to hold open.

- Jay’s POV - 

“(Y/N)?” I ask shakily, tears flooding my eyes in a faster pace then before. When she doesn’t answer, it’s like a punch to the gut over and over.

“(Y/N), stay with me! Wake up, baby, please!”

I push harder on her wound as her body begins to go limp. Paramedics arrive, bracing her and carrying her into the ambulance as I follow close behind. Both of us ride in the back of the ambo as it races to Med. Paramedics work around me as I hold onto her hand with both of my mine, tears breaking up the blood stained on my face. 

As they race her into the ED, I see Rhodes eyes widen at who his next trauma patient was before quickly getting to work. She disappears into the ED as Will races out and towards me. All I can seem to do is sit against the tail end of the ambo, staring off into space. 

“Jay, man, what happened? Are you hurt?” Will asks.

“I never got to tell her I love her back.” 

Tag List: (leave a comment to be added)

nocturnalherb16  weepingfestivalmentality  ikleesfiction  annaallicce  panaitbeatrice  shipshipshipau

[dreamescapeswriting]

Special Cargo ~ JJK [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 2.1k

↬↬↬Genre: Fluffy, angst, Mafia AU

↬↬↬Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

↬↬↬A/N: This is a continuation of my Mafia pregnancy reaction for Jungkook, I reworked the beginning into this so there’s no need to read the first part @xworldwidecutieguyx Hope this is okay!!

Your hands were shaking as you looked down at the pregnancy test which had the clear word 'Pregnant' written across it. You took it over to the drawer filled with others, all them a mixture of plus signs, positive, pregnant or that stupid condescending smile that was staring back at you. As if you could even be happy that you were with child right now, you'd always dreamt of having kids but not yet. Not when Jungkook had made it abundantly clear that he didn't want kids yet either, your mind went back to the conversation you'd had with him months ago. He was the leader of a mafia gang for christ sake, of course, he didn't want to have kids yet. It was far too dangerous for you to be pregnant or to bring a child into his life and yet here you were pregnant with his first child.

"Oh fuck," You mumbled when you heard the front door open and slam shut. You locked the drawer full of tests and headed down the staircase to go and greet him at the door. He was drenched in blood - not his. It was never his but it meant he'd had a really bad day and work and probably wasn't going to speak to you for a couple of hours. It happened occasionally so you stayed silent and went to make him a drink. Jungkook and you had met when you were working for him in one of his local bars and he took a liking to you. You'd been together for four years in December and you knew him like you knew yourself. A bad day meant leaving him alone to do his own thing, staying out of his way and making sure to stay as silent as possible so it was not to annoy him.

Your hands shook as you poured the scotch into a glass with ice cubes before handing it to him, normally you'd have a drink with him but you couldn't now that you were pregnant. The door slammed against the wall and you jumped - you'd think you'd be used to people storming in and out of your place like they owned it but you never did. Namjoon was stood there staring at Jungkook, he was also covered in blood.

"Drink?" He nodded at you and you went to make him the same drink as Jungkook. Your hands grazed as he took the cup from your hand and you avoided his eyes walking away from him. Namjoon was like a psychic when it came to things like this in peoples lives. You rushed up the stairs to go and run Jungkook a bath if he was covered in blood and stressed he was going to want to have a relaxing night instead of one filled with rushing around for himself. You turned on the taps and poured in some bubbles and salts turning around to see Jungkook in the doorway watching your every move.

"I made you a bath, careful it might be-" The door slammed in your face as he walked into the bathroom as you left it,

"Hot." You whispered going into the bedroom and trying to think of when the best time to bring up the fact that you were pregnant with him. You couldn't hide it too long because he was sure to find out about it sooner or later, you'd start showing in a few months so you had to tell him soon.

After a week of uncomfortable and painful silence, he finally spoke to you one night,

"You're the best, you know that?" He came up behind you and began rubbing his hands on your arms. You were standing over the kitchen sink doing the dishes when he came in from work. He must have had one of the best days ever since he was smiling so much. You bent your head back to kiss him and he smiled at you, kissing your lips and pulling away.

"You are," You whispered drying your hands on a towel before turning to get a real hug from him. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you as close to his body as he could with you. That's when he pulled back and put his hand on your forehead, a panicked look came across his face and he sat you down on one of the kitchen chairs.

"What's wrong?" You giggled as he began looking around the room for something, he headed into the medicine cabinet you kept stocked up since he was always coming home with some kind of new injury.

"Here," He took the thermometer out and pressed it against your forehead,

"I heard you throwing up this morning and you were sick yesterday too. Maybe we should get you to a doctor." The machine beeped and he read it out, you had a normal temperature but to Jungkook you were hot to touch. You knew where this was going,

"I already know what's wrong, I don't need a doctor." You told him and he put the machine away before turning to you. You were eating one of the apples from the centre of the table and he chuckled at the sight,

"I erm...I ate something bad but I feel fine now." You lied swallowing the lump of apple and trying to think of something else to say. He'd had a good day and you finally got the loving Jungkook back you didn't want to lose him so quickly.

"Do we have any popcorn?" You asked getting up and hunting around in the cabinets for something, you'd had a craving for them all week which meant you were further along in your pregnancy than you originally thought you were and you were going to run out of time to confess to him.

"It's probably not a good idea to eat popcorn baby, if you said you ate something bad plus you are putting on a little weight." You slammed the cupboard door shut and span around to face him, you were getting angrier with each second he stared at you,

"How dare you?! I work my ass off around the house and you call me fat?" You questioned him staring at him, you placed your hands on your hips to challenge him and he smirked at how cocky you were acting right now. You'd never spoken back to him before.

"Carry on talking to me like that, I dare you." You smirked back at him wanting to see what he was going to do.

"What are you going to do? Tie me up and torture me like you do everyone else?!" Your voice cracked and your hormones made you cry at the thought of Jungkook hurting you. You were an emotional mess and you couldn't stand it,

"I'm right then, looks like Namjoon owes me money." You blinked at him wondering what he meant.

"Well you are pregnant aren't you? Or are you going to deny all of the pregnancy tests, the morning sickness, mood swings and the weight gain?" Your hands went onto your stomach even though there wasn't much to feel you still wanted to touch it. Jungkook sounded pissed off at you in his tone and he shook his head,

"I told you to take the pill. If you just do what you're told we wouldn't be n this mess right now." You agreed with him but he wasn't right,

"I was taking it Jungkook, but it's only 98% effective." You were trying to reason with him when you knew for a fact that he wasn't even listening to you. He was starting to rant on about how he was too young for children, how this world wasn't right to bring someone new into and his work environment wasn't great.

"Jungkook, he or she will be fine. We can look after them-" He grumbled something and walked out of the kitchen,

"Where are you going!? Don't walk away from me!" You yelled at him but the front door was slammed shut, all that could be heard in the huge mansion you lived in was the automatic lock of the door and his car engine starting up outside. He was going to leave you...He was going to leave and you were going to have to raise the child alone.

The next morning you woke up to Namjoon sitting on your sofa watching something on the TV.

"What are you doing?" You asked as you walked over to him, you sat down beside him and he pointed at the TV.

"A birthing video, it looks painful." You stared at the side of his face as you heard screaming coming from the TV, you turned to look and your mouth fell open.

"Fuck," You sprinted in the direction of the kitchen, throwing up into the sink and holding your own hair back out of your face.

"Here," Namjoon took over holding your hair so you could grip onto the marble sink and hold yourself better, he started rubbing your back and you hummed a thank you in his direction. This was supposed to Jungkook's job but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Any idea where my husband is?" You asked as you cleaned the sink out and turned to look at Namjoon who was looking for something to make you for breakfast.

"Just told me to watch over you." You nodded and walked out of the kitchen to brush your teeth.

It continued like that for a week, Jungkook would come home late at night and not sleep next to you only to leave early again the next time and you were getting sick of it. You wanted your husband to at least tell you what he wanted you to do, even if it was you leaving. You would do that for him. The front door opened and Jungkook expected you to be asleep as you always were when he came in but he was surprised to see you standing at the door with a suitcase.

"Planning on going somewhere?" He asked looking at the bag next to your feet,  

"I'm leaving you. It's clear you don't want me or the baby so I'm going to save you the hassle of breaking up with me." You picked up the side bag and his eyes filled with tears trying to convince you to stay but you were already pushing your way through the door,

"I don't want you to leave-"

"What do you want Jungkook?! Huh?! Because I've been throwing up every day for a week and instead of my husband being there to comfort me I have his guard!"  He flinched a little as you shouted at him, he was exhausted from the late nights and lack of sleep he'd been getting and he was too tired to yell or fight with you so he took your hand in his and began leading you towards his office upstairs. The office that was always locked and off-limits to you because of all the shady business that went down in there.

"I was trying to clear my head, and then I went out every night so I could do this while you slept." You stared at the back of his head and watched as he unlocked the door and let you inside. The usual office furniture was gone, the deep red walls were painted over in yellow, a crib was in the centre of the room along with boxes of other furniture for children.

"Jungkook this is-"

"This will be the nursery, it's the main room of the house which is impossible to get into, I painted the walls and I was putting the furniture together while you slept...Namjoon was helping me pick out some clothes as well and the wardrobes are full. We even have a lifetime supply of diapers." He began rambling on about what else he had done on the week you thought he was planning to leave you and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by everything. You kissed him roughly on the lips and he steadied you as you rocked a little in place.

"Careful, special cargo." He whispered putting his hands on the bump under your shirt.

"I'm going to be here every step of the way, I promise." He whispered to you and the bump,

"When is the first scan? I'll plan everything around it I promise." Your eyes welled up and you nodded at him letting the tears flow as you realised how happy he actually was to have a son or daughter. Although the timing wasn't perfect a baby was a miracle and a blessing no matter what.

Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @fan-ati--c @lyoongx @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​

[itsallmightbitch]

Stitches (Part One)

Villain!Might is annoyingly sexy. God damn. Part One of two, because once again, it was getting way, way too long. The real smut is in part two but this has it’s fair share of naughtiness. *once again the gif is not mine

Pairing: Villain!Might x Reader

Rating: Explicit (Dry humping and dirty talk)

Warnings: Blood, Bad Language

Word Count: 7633 

Summary: It turns out that being injured on the job makes the biggest villain in Japan undeniably horny. If only he would quit being so handsy, maybe you could finish his goddamn stitches. 

--------------

You were only just getting used to having All Might stumble in to your apartment at all hours of the day or night.

 Only. Just.

 That didn’t mean you bloody enjoyed it though! Considering the amount of times it happened a week you should probably just give him a key- but there was little chance of him using it when he seemed so content in picking the lock anyway.

 It was sort of like a power play. A ‘look how easily I can break in’ kind of thing.

 In the beginning it had been an intimidation ploy and fuck, had it worked. You’d walked on eggshells for weeks until it slowly dawned on you that he was simply having a little fun on your behalf. Breaking in at all fucking hours to loudly watch TV and drink your goddamn milk like he owned the place.

 Scaring the absolute bejesus out of you when you went for water in the middle of the night and he was sitting in the dark like an absolute creep.

 He did that one a lot. Informed you that your reaction was absolutely priceless and he couldn’t help himself.

 You’d threatened to overdose him on morphine when he was asleep.

 Quid pro quo.

 Now… his intrusions had become more of a semi-welcome occurrence slash inconvenience.

 After much nagging and complaining on your part, when you felt confident that he had no real desire to murder you in your sleep of course, he’d stopped being such a prick when he came around and if you were honest, it was kind of nice.

 It would be less nice if any heroes or the police caught wind of you harbouring Japan’s Number One Villain but that was a thought best left for when the time came. Your less than legal activities for the criminal class hadn’t been sussed out in the six years you’d been here and you doubted that any of them were planning on ratting out one of their few sources of medical attention any time soon.

 Speaking of medical attention…

 All Might was certainly not welcome when he was bleeding like a stuck pig all over your new hardwood floor.

 He was framed in the low light of the hallway behind him, although he nearly blocked it out as he filled out the doorway with his wide shoulders. One large hand gripped the door jamb and the other crossed his chest, clenched over a wound you couldn’t see.

 But you could see the blood pouring from it- seeping out between his fingers and soaking through the tattered remains of the shirt he’d been wearing.

 His breathing was hard, eyes dark and guarded and the rain had flattened his hair to his head, making him look absolutely manic.

 “Oh my God!” were your only words, fear suddenly coursing through you as you lunged from where you’d been sitting- only stopping inches from him and praying that he could make it to the couch by himself. There was no way you could carry that much weight alone and the thought of calling for reinforcements should he pass out was less than appealing.

 The only people you really knew were criminals or your parents. You could see how that conversation would play out and it didn’t end well.

 The hand he’d been using to stem the blood flow fell from his shoulder and red splattered in a line in front of your socked feet. You took a step back as he ducked under the doorway, effectively inviting himself in.

 “What happened!?” you balked, moving out of his path and shutting the door behind him. A cursory glance told you that there was no-one else around, thankfully.

 “Bad business,” he grunted, steadying himself on a dining chair- although the wood creaked worryingly under his thick fingers.

 “Bad business,” you repeated incredulously, your voice tinged with mild exasperation at just how easily he could brush off an entrance like that with such a throwaway remark. He shot you a warning glance that you heeded. It was the most you’d probably get out of him so you didn’t attempt to pry further as he trudged tiredly towards the comfort of your couch.

 For now, at least, you would leave it at that.

 He sat down gingerly, learning from past experiences that throwing his weight around was likely to end with yet another broken bit of furniture and you calling him all the names under the sun. He didn’t look like he quite had the energy for your usual snarky banter.

 “Good to know you’re as enlightening as ever,” you frowned, following behind him and flicking on another lamp as you went. You would need plenty of light for what was about to come next. He sank into the soft couch cushions with a sigh of relief that he probably wouldn’t have made if he wasn’t gushing blood from his shoulder.

 “Shit,” you said, panicked suddenly at the sight of it coating almost every inch of his chest and arm. While you couldn’t see underneath his shoulder armour, you could guess that it was slick and red as well. His usually golden complexion was pale but besides that, there weren’t any other marks on him..

 Sucking in a deep steadying breath, you pushed away the encroaching panic.

 You were a medical professional, for fuck sake. Blood was basically a daily occurrence and the fact that it was suddenly pouring out of him of all people, shouldn’t make a difference.

 Except it did and deep in your stomach, panic still flitted around and made you quiver uneasily.

 “Let me see how bad it is,” you said, a tremor to your voice. But you made no room for an argument as serious mode was firmly engaged. Despite all he was to the rest of the world, you really didn’t want his stupid ass to die.

 He nodded stoically, recognising that you were now in your professional frame of mind and that acting up would only make treating him more awkward. Though his dark gaze still fixed on your face as you gingerly tugged the ruined edges of his shirt aside.

 You pulled in a hiss of air between your teeth initially, but the more you explored the less you wanted to freak out.

 Despite the superficial shock from the sight of so much blood, your stomach settled it’s uncomfortable rolling as you gauged the seriousness of his injury. The gash was fairly deep but not enough to bare the bone of his clavicle- and you guessed that the amount of blood he was covered in was a result of adrenaline and disregard for the injury as he fought.

 “How bad does it hurt? Do you need something for the pain?” you asked, not look at him and you tried to move his shoulder pad away gently. The thing weighed a tonne though and you had little success.

 He scoffed, pushing you away with a stern look followed by a cocky sneer.

 “Don’t be an idiot. I enjoy the pain,” he rumbled, staring you down as if daring you to disagree.

 You did more than dare. He wasn’t big bad All Might when he was in your fucking domain and sometimes he needed reminding of that.

 “Oh really?” you levelled a look at him. “So, doing this doesn’t hurt at all?”

 Without warning, you poked his shoulder just to the left of his injury and he yowled, infuriated and pained at the same time. His whole body stiffened in agony and his yelping quickly morphed into a half growl, low and dangerous- like you’d awakened the dormant dragon from his slumber.

 His eyes flashed and he bared his teeth in a snarl at you, a wounded animal trying to hide behind his bluster and bravado.

 “You fucking bitch,” he snapped, hand covering the gash once more as though you were about to go in for a second attack.

 Instead of cowering in fear like you had the first time he’d ever darkened your doorway, you simply rolled your eyes at his brutish behaviour. This arrogant showboating of his wasn’t new to you. Nor was he even remotely intimidating when he was clearly in pain.

 Hell, he hadn’t even attempted to get up from the welcoming comfort of the couch and so you weren’t particularly concerned for your physical safety.

 All Might- around you at least- was all bark and no bite. You clicked your tongue at him, as though admonishing him.

 “Language you big jerk. Show your doctor a little respect.”

 The look he shot you would have cowed a lesser man and had sent heroes in the opposite direction pissing themselves in fear.

 You patted his cheek fondly instead.

 “Don’t be a big baby,” you murmured, smirking as you wandered towards your kitchen in search of your supplies. “I’ll get you some bourbon. I still have that top-shelf shit you left here a few months ago.”

 His bellyaching abruptly settled into an irritated grumbling when he realised that you hadn’t meant your run of the mill Advil and instead meant ‘booze’. He still said something under his breath as you went though, sullen and annoyed at his current predicament and determined to get the last word in as always.

 You kind of sympathised? Maybe?

 It wasn’t often that he came to you with a serious injury. Usually it was for shrapnel damage or the odd burn when he was less than careful around Endeavor- which again, wasn’t often. You’d never had to really worry about him before, even if he seemed determined to make you.

 But it was fun to tease him now that the fear had abated and your mind was a little less on red alert.

 You left him sitting there, your cat staring up at him with big curious eyes, while you headed towards the kitchen.

 “You’ll give me sympathy, won’t you Marco?” he said, loudly enough for you to hear as you rounded the corner. You rolled your eyes.

 After pulling the bottle from your cupboard and setting it aside, you rounded on an indiscriminate blank wall- the one that separated your kitchen and hallway. Eyeing it for a moment, you lightly rested the pads of your fingers in the centre. It felt warm from the thrumming mechanism underneath and a soft beep, followed by a click, informed you that it was now unlocked.

 The panel compressed inwards by a quarter inch and you used your fingertips to slide it to one side, your face now illuminated by a soft blue light. God bless your satisfied customers, you smirked as you surveyed the medical equipment now on display.

 You had everything from sterilised needles to IV bags, scalpels to a portable defibrillator.

 It wasn’t as though you didn’t have all of this shit legally. But having a place to hide it made things easier when you wanted to pretend you were a normal, run of the mill citizen to your (very few) friends and family. They assumed, quite wrongly, that your medical career had been left behind in the army.

 You gathered what you would need, including a damn strong needle that glinted in the low light when you settled on it. You’d need something tough to get through his skin and only then did you begin to wonder again about just what had managed to cut him so deeply.

 It boggled your mind, the force that some of these people could fight with.

 He was staring at you impatiently when you returned.

 “You seem calmer,” he observed, sounding almost disappointed. “It’s almost as though you don’t care what happens to your favourite patient.”

 You tutted.

 “It’s almost as though you just enjoy making me panic.”

 “I like to watch you panic, sweetheart. Brings out your eyes,” he chuckled darkly, catching his tongue between his teeth while his own eyes trailed over you. You ignored the sudden surge of heat to your cheeks because as usual, he was managing to make you blush.

 Nothing new there.

 While you’d been fucking about in the kitchen, he’d had the foresight to remove both his armoured shoulder pads and the remains of his shirt- despite his injury making it painful to do so.

 You had an unobscured view of his chest now, blood painting it red and you were suddenly glad you’d invested in a throw for your couch because it was damn near everywhere had he clearly had no qualms about leaving bloody hand prints on it.

 “You better not have pet Marco with blood all over your hands,” you warned him as you laid out your supplies on the side table neatly, glancing around until you found your cat lounging on his cat tree- no longer interested in your intruder. Since All Might didn’t have food to sneak him today, Marco wasn’t bothering him any more.

 Fickle thing, you thought.

 “The cat is fine. I’m the fucking injured party here,” All Might scoffed, apparently irritated that you were no longer fussing around him like you had been. Despite how he always complained and brushed off your worry, you knew he liked having someone fawn over him. Sometimes you played it up just to watch him melt for you.

 Not tonight though.

 “Oh hush,” you said, leaning in again to examine the wound.

 It was angry and still oozing blood like it was the world’s worst slip’n’slide but from what you could see there was nothing in there you would have to dig out. It only really needed to be cleaned and then it would need at least twenty or so stitches but hey, at least he wasn’t dead.

 The warmth of him under your palm confirmed your ‘not dead’ diagnosis. How the Hell did one man produce so much heat?

 You hummed and debated with yourself for a moment because… well. Leaning over him like you were for twenty stitches would be rough on your back and from experience, you knew asking him to move from his current comfortable position would be met with a firm ‘fuck off’.

 This was going to be torture for both of you- for different reasons. You’d never hear the end of it.

 With no other way to reach him without being awkward about it, you straddled his thick thighs- grumbling all the way. His eyebrows rose as you climbed into his lap, settling your ass onto his knees before reaching for your things beside you.

 You refused to look him in the eye though and absolutely would not think about how far apart your legs had to go to accommodate him.

 All Might, despite the pain he was in, clearly hadn’t lost any major brain function. His hands came up and settled on your hips like they belonged there- blood staining your tee-shirt. They were heavy and warm, the sheer size of them covering both hips as his fingers splayed out across your back. He exhaled but said nothing about your sudden position, simply relaxing back to let you do your thing.

 His usually slicked back hair was mussed and falling over his eyes but you could still see the shock of bright blue following your every movement with a sharp, ardent scrutiny.

 Well.

 That was intense.

 “What!?” you snapped, annoyed at his incessant staring- and the effect it was having on you. His smirk broadened into a full blown, easy smile.

 “Not quite how I imagined you sitting in my lap for the first time,” he rumbled, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to say. Like he was talking about the weather. Your body jolted, head swimming. You prayed he couldn’t read your face but you knew it was a futile hope.

 Your expression and blush simply encouraged him more.

 His thumbs swept a wide path over your waist while you desperately tried not to think about how big his fingers were. You swallowed hard, attempting to steady the shake in your hands as you wiped away blood.

 “I’d always thought… well, hoped actually, that you’d sit on my face first, kitten,” he continued lightly.

 Honestly, the fact that you didn’t pop a blood vessel right then and there was admirable.

 “If you don’t quit that, I’m going to poke you with this big ass needle and it will hurt,” you managed to choke out, pressing a little harder than necessary as you cleaned his chest. He flinched, body tightening before sagging with relief when you removed your hand.

 He heaved an irritable sigh but you weren’t exactly finished berating him.

 “Symbol of Chaos my very fine ass,” you continued mockingly, embarrassment spilling out in the form of harsh words. He glared at you with icy, unreadable eyes. “You bleed all over my apartment, scare the shit out of me and then think it’s perfectly acceptable to make a joke about me riding you. You’re being such a dickhead.”

 You said it like you meant it.

 You already lived on edge half the time without having to worry about him as well. His lack of concern for his own well being was frustrating and you’d often find yourself scouring the news channels after a particularly vicious fight just to make sure he wasn’t dead or captured- seeing as he didn’t afford you the courtesy of a phone call.

 Not that you’d ever expect him to.

 “Are you finished, sweetheart?” he interrupted your train of thought, his fingers squeezing your hips almost painfully now. The mildly annoyed All Might was swiftly being replaced by the one who you would get into blazing arguments with. At least you knew how to handle this one…

 “I think you’re getting too fucking comfortable with me, little bird. You think I’ve gone soft? Huh?” he lifted your chin with his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him while the other hand held you in place. “You and I both know I could snap that pretty little neck of yours with one hand if I wanted to,” he growled, his face suddenly inches from yours and you had the gall to mindlessly think that there was nothing soft about him.

 You were a horny idiot with no self-preservation apparently.

 He released your chin and rested the side of his hand on your shoulder, open palm angled towards your throat but not touching it.

 A warning.

 You’d definitely hit a nerve.

 All the same though, some dumbass part of you refused to be intimidated in your own fucking home. You scowled up at him, pretending to be unimpressed rather than frightened. Blood thrummed in your ears, keeping pace with your rapid heartbeat.

 Looking him in the eye was like was like staring down a fucking lion.

 “Maybe I should. It would teach you a lesson.”

 But you’d been doing this little song and dance with each other for months now and you’d perfected your ‘you don’t frighten me’ face long ago. It infuriated him, sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that it also intrigued him.

 He knew full well that he wasn’t the Symbol of Chaos when he was in your apartment. He was just… Toshinori.

 Although he despised it when you called him that. Shouted and raged and screamed at you every time but let you continue doing it anyway. You didn’t know why he hated his own name so much nor why he relented so easily when you insisted on calling him by it but, it was always your trump card.

 “Toshinori,” you said sharply and he nearly flinched. “Stop being such a drama queen.”

 His anger withered right then and there into something else, and the beast reluctantly backed down as he seemed to come to his senses.

 But once a villain…

 “You going to stop being a bitch if I do?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. His brow was still furrowed, making his face look harsh but you could see his scowl lessen.

 “No,” you muttered petulantly, mustering up all of your courage to do so. He hadn’t killed you yet, after all. He’d never even laid a hand on you- violently anyway. Light touches and slapping your ass didn’t count. You pushed his large hand from your shoulder and he let you, dropping it back to the couch below. “But I suppose I’ll save it for when you’re not bleeding out on my couch.”

 “Gee, thanks.”

 And he was back ladies and gentlemen! How to train your villain, in three steps or less.

 You brushed off his sarcasm and leaned to one side, reaching for the needle and surgical thread. His hand came back up to your hip- finished with his tantrum. He supported your weight as you rummaged through the plastic container you’d set aside for him.

 It took you no time to find a rhythm for your work as you both fell into easy silence- pinching the wound shut with one hand while the other deftly stitched him up. You had to shift a few times in his lap, holding a small flashlight between your teeth when the lamps on either side of the couch weren’t bright enough.

 It was thankfully, a clean cut with no ragged edges to it and once again, you could only wonder how sharp the thing that made it was.

 There was no indicator that he was in pain other than the occasional squeeze of his fingers but you didn’t bring it up or offer him any other pain medication. He seemed content with the occasional swig of bourbon.

 Halfway there, you paused for a breather.

 “You good?” you asked softly, noting that you were ten stitches down with eleven more to go. When you looked up, you saw his jaw tick at your concern but he answered you all the same.

 “M’fine. Just get it over with,” he grunted, his breath fanning over the top of your head.

 He sounded more impatient than pained now but honestly, that was just the norm for him. At least he seemed less woozy as blood started flowing around his body instead of out of it. He’d have another gnarly scar to add to his collection at the end of this but you were doing your best to minimise the damage.

 “Almost done,” you said, patting his chest reassuringly. He said nothing but you felt a little of the tension in his thighs abate.

 “Good,” he grumbled eventually, as petulant as ever. Your lips quirked in a half smile. He noticed the mood change. “So…” he said, clearing his throat when it became clear you weren’t going to say anything else. “What does the good doctor recommend this time? Plenty of rest and chicken soup?”

 “You know, it’s like you read my mind,” you said, focusing hard on the last few stitches. You’d given him some of your best work despite the fact that your hands were shaking with adrenaline. Not to blow your own trumpet too much but you could see why he came back time and time again.

 There wasn’t a back alley, hack job doctor in the city who could do work like you could- mostly thanks to your Quirk.

 “But, you know, I can’t cook worth a damn so you’ll have to make do with leftover takeout, your highness,” you added, tongue caught between your teeth to hide your smile. He didn’t bother hiding his, grinning at you like the damn Cheshire Cat. “The bed rest is non-negotiable though. I don’t need you running rampant in Kamino and undoing all of my hard work.”

 You had already decided that he would sleep here for a few days before you even considered letting him leave again and he could throw all the fucking tantrums he liked because you wouldn’t be budging an inch on it. You knew he would tear the damn stitches the second you let him out of your sight.

 He didn’t whine though. Just said-

 “Well, there’s always one way to keep me occupied,” he leered, eyes trailing over you and down to where you were seated over his crotch. You rolled your eyes. Even when he was clearly in agony, he was trying to get into your pants. “What do you think, sweetheart? Wanna sit on my cock?”

 Um YES!?

 “Um, no, you big fucking pervert,” you tutted, rolling your eyes inspite of what your body screamed at you. He chuckled, amused at how fast you’d said no.

 “Shame. You’d like it,” he purred, his voice no longer tinged with pain.“I know I’d fucking love it.”

 His tone was light, teasing and it did unspeakable things to you. You had to hand it to him. He’d always been surprisingly playful when it came to you- that first meeting notwithstanding.

 If there was one word the media would ever use to describe the man who terrorised their cities day in and day out, playful would not be it. When he’d first stooped through your doorway and demanded your services, you hadn’t thought for a single second you’d ever make it out of there alive- let alone have him tease and flirt with you six months down the line.

 He’d inserted himself into your life with the sort of ease that came naturally to a wicked, no good villain like himself. Then twisted your worldview until you suddenly couldn’t see what life would be like without him annoying you.

 Sure, he made jokes and provocative comments and generally acted like a pervert when he wasn’t in need of medical assistance- but he also never pushed you and you felt a deep appreciation for the weird moral code that he stuck to.

 He was a liar. A cheat. A murderer. An absolute fucking psychopath when he wanted to be. He took a tremendous amount of pleasure in causing pain- almost as much as you took in binge watching Netflix on a Saturday night.

 But he’d reeled in indignation when it was suggested that he was interested in sexual deviancy.

 He insisted that he liked his partners willing and able to participate and then had looked you up and down like he was actually going to eat you on the spot. You’d quickly changed the subject and then when he’d said his brief goodbye you’d changed your panties too because that look had soaked you through.

 And he fucking knew it did.

 You’d spent years patching up the worst people that this city had to offer. Which, in comparison to other places, was a disturbingly high number per capita. Like, off the bloody charts high. At the end of the day though, you could detach yourself from them. If the army had taught you one thing in your seven year deployment, it was how to stay detached.

 Becoming emotionally involved with a man- especially one as universally hated and feared as he was- hadn’t been covered in the handbook.

 It had hit you out of left field like a Detroit Smash to the fucking temple.

 You had Vagabond- Ivy to her friends, to thank for the entire situation.

 She had been the first villain you’d ever patched up. You’d found her, barely breathing and severely wounded, in the alley way behind your apartment complex. It had been a spur of the moment rescue and after you’d nursed her back to health, she’d been surprisingly sweet to you.

 After a few successful meetings in which she didn’t murder or rob you and you didn’t shop her to the cops- she’d begun to recommend her ‘friends’, for lack of a better descriptor, to you when they needed something done.

 Seeing the money they were offering had put to rest any guilt you might have felt about helping criminals.

 All Might… had come to you on his own.

 Ivy had never mentioned any affiliation with him and you’d never exactly advertised your services, so when your door had swung open and he’d marched in, you had all but pissed your pants in fear. So had the unfortunate Yakuza member that you had been prescribing muscle relaxers to at the time.

 He’d certainly needed them as All Might had literally thrown him out into your hallway, face first and then demanded that you patch up the burn on his hand instead.

 Ivy had listened to your tale the next day, wide eyed and mouth gaping as you’d described the most feared man in the world sitting patiently on your couch as you’d whipped up a special salve to combat the sting of Endeavor’s handiwork.

 Despite his rude entrance, he’d been gruff yet polite as you talked him through caring for the burn when he was done. Then he’d thanked you for your time and left. Just like that. You’d never thought you would see him again.

 Then he’d started to come around more often. Sometimes he wasn’t even injured and while he passed it off as needing a place to lay low for a day or two, you suspected that even a man as intimidating and powerful as him- needed a friendly face sometimes.

 Or someone to ogle. Either or.

 Now that you were done with his stitches, you wiped the wound clean with an antiseptic wipe but left the gauze on the coffee table. He needed a shower and clean clothes before you would even consider dressing it.

 “Not that I’m telling you how to do your job, darling,” he queried, shifting underneath you but keeping you steady with his firm grip. “But don’t I at least get a band-aid?”

 You quirked an eyebrow at him, leaning back and away from the heat of his body because it was tampering with your ability to think straight.

 You ‘tsked’ disapprovingly at his question, grabbing his chin and moving his face to one side to get a better look at him. He was deathly pale and looked exhausted. Yet he still had the energy to suggest that you have sex with him. Usually you wouldn’t have been so openly pissed at the blatant disregard he had for his own well being but he’d terrified you tonight and had brought all your silly feelings for him rushing back to the forefront of your mind.

 “No,” you deadpanned. “You need to take a shower first and get into something clean.”

 “I knew you were trying to get me naked. All you had to do was ask you know,” he teased softly, hands sliding up from your hips to your waist.

 You grabbed his wrists to push them away but it was like pushing at steel and you narrowed your eyes at him. He made a low, vibrating noise in his chest- half laugh half admonishment for being disobedient.

 “You can’t keep teasing me like this kitten,” he informed you, even though you had no idea you’d even been teasing him in the first place. “You make me so fucking hard, d’ya know that?” He tugged you closer without warning until you were plastered against him, almost face to face.

 Your heart thundered in your chest and every nerve ending sparked to life under his hands.

 His voice was laced with thick arousal. Apparently life threatening injuries made him horny.

 Go figure.

 “Is that right?” you said, staring up at him while your gut twisted into a million different shapes. He leered at you and then to emphasise his point, he rolled his hips upwards and pressed his erection between your legs.

 Your breath hitched despite you trying not to make a sound. He grinned, wolfish and hungry- wanting to chase that sound out of you again.

 “Yeah, s’right,” he muttered lowly, eyes flickering to your lips and then lower. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he ducked his face to your neck, laying a hot kiss over your pulse point. His mouth was warm and wet and his tongue was thick, trailing in a line along your jaw and back again- until he tugged your earlobe between his teeth and you bucked mindlessly, without even meaning to.

 You felt him grin, then the sharp pinch of his canines as he nipped at your neck.

 “Come on sweetheart,” his voice was laced with arousal. “Tell me what you want me to do to you. Or do I have to guess?”

 Oh where did you even start?

 “I- I want-,” you breathed hard, letting him grind you down against his cock. Your thighs shook, the pajama pants you’d worn for your quiet night in, doing nothing to get in the way of the thick shaft that pressed between the lips of your pussy. God, he was big. You’d guessed he would be but this was just ridiculous…

 His hand slid along your back and covered your ass and pull you down harder- rubbing you over his cock in a steady rhythm.

 Your gasp of pleasure made him grin wickedly and hum a pleased sound in his throat.

 “That’s it, kitten,” he said encouragingly, like he was proud of you for being so pliable for him. So easily led into this sinful encounter. It’s not like you’d tried to push him away, was it? No. Because deep down, underneath all of your shaky morals you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

 “You’ve always wanted me to fuck you, haven’t you? Always wanted to spread your legs for me? Don’t worry, I’ll make it so good for you,” he murmured, a promise you never thought you’d hear him make.

 Gentle and All Might didn’t exactly go together and the thought of him making love to you, whispering sweet nothings in you ear was almost laughable.

 …Almost.

 It was also incredibly arousing.

 “I didn’t think you were the gentle type,” you managed to say, excited by the prospect of having him inside you now. All other issues were pushed out of your mind at the mere thought of him fulfilling all of these promises he was making.

 Abruptly, as if to make his point, he slowed the pace that he’d been rocking your hips at- taking on a more leisurely roll that saw him bucking upwards to meet you halfway.

 “You don’t think I can be gentle with you?” he asked, hand coming up to cup your cheek and he must have been amused by your rabbit in headlights expression because he laughed. Was this really the same man who you would have blazing, heated arguments with? Who tore down whole city blocks just because he could?

  “You really think I’m just a one trick pony? Oh baby, just wait until I get you into a bed. I’ll take my time with you. Fuck you long, and slow and hard until you can’t see straight. Until the fucking sun comes up.”

 His words were punctuated by your pathetic whines of pleasure as he ground against you and at the thought of him, not just pounding you into the bed, but actually taking his time? Of seeing a side of him you’d never seen before, loving you slow in all the right places?

 Well, you just about melted against him. Boneless would fail to describe how you felt.

 How had you gone from stitching him up to dry humping him on your couch? You had no idea but you also knew that it was a long time coming. Him getting all sweet on you was just… speeding up the process. He was still keeping the pace languid and you had no problem with that, the intense build up of winding tension in your stomach twisting ever tighter.

 You had soaked through your panties by now and the damp fabric was pressing against your clit with every upward stroke of his cock.

 You wanted to kiss him but even now, as close as you both were, his height still put him at an awkward angle.

 Vaguely, you remembered that you had goddamn hands.

 You reached up and circled them around the back of his muscular neck and tugged softly to indicate what you wanted. He leered at you tauntingly for just a moment before remembering his promise and letting you pull him in.

 He was, as you’d rightly guessed, an excellent kisser.

 His lips were cool from the rain he’d walked through to get here, but his tongue was hot and as always, he gave you very little preamble before the main event. His tongue was at your lips almost instantly, testing your boundaries of which you apparently had fucking zero tonight.

 All it took was a sharp nip to your bottom lip and you were letting him in, letting him take what he wanted from your mouth while you revelled in every second of it.

 His groan was music to your ears, deep and almost needy as a palm pressed between your shoulder blades. You didn’t think you could physically get closer to him but you were wrong as he devoured you, your breasts pressing hard into his chest. You kept up with him as best you could but eventually you needed air and to your surprise, he let you pull away when you wanted to.

 His eyes were dark and full of lust when you stared back at him, swallowing.

 It was then that you finally caught sight of your own hands on him, blood coating them.

 His blood.

 Your body went cold. Shit! How had you gotten so distracted!?

 Fuck. You longed desperately to throw all your inhibitions right out of the window because he was very, very good at this but that niggling voice that had been worried about him from the moment he arrived was suddenly getting too loud to ignore.

 As much as you wanted to enjoy the attention and his lips on your throat, he was currently in no state to even think about anything remotely physical. Although… you could do most of the work… No! No, he needed to shower and eat and get some of that strength back.

 You knew it and he knew it, despite his attempts to make you believe otherwise.

 He made an irritated sound at you when you pulled away.

 “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, amused by your sudden fussing of him as you checked over the fresh stitches. So much for keeping everything sanitary, you cringed. You’d been about ready to ride him into the couch not twenty seconds ago.

 “Sorry, big guy but the buffet is closed. As much as it hurts me to say.” And oh, was it excruciating. “Now, get your ass to the shower,” you commanded, levelling a hard glare in his direction and ignoring the whine that your brain gave at the loss of contact.

 Usually he would match your glare, not intimidated by some uppity little army doc who whored out her services to Kamino’s underbelly.

 His words, the first time you met each other, not yours.

 He was clearly more tired than he let on as he reluctantly relented, letting you climb off of his lap with no more arguments. You brushed yourself down, cheeks red all while attempting not to stare at the straining outline of his cock through his blood covered pants. You focused on his injury instead of the ache between your legs.

 When you were satisfied the stitches would hold through some light movement, you held out a hand for him to take. He shot you an incredulous look but took it all the same, standing in one swift movement that told you it had been out of courtesy and not necessity. You hadn’t even had to pull.

 “We aren’t finished here, I hope you know that,” he warned you and your body sang in response. Your face stayed serious though and you pulled your lip between your teeth. His eyes followed the motion and he dipped down for another kiss-

 You really, really wanted to let him but instead, you shoved him as hard as you could towards the hallway and in the direction of the bathroom.

 He growled, unimpressed at being denied so abruptly.

 It was only seconds ago you’d been whining and hot under his hands and now you were shuffling awkwardly and forcing him in towards the shower. Talk about a cock tease.

 “Leave your clothes out,” you said, before he could go. “I’ll wash them. You can’t go around in those bloody things like an animal.”

 “You sure you don’t want to wash my back in there, kitten?” he was suddenly towering over you, crowding you with the bulk of his body and you felt heat creep up along your neck. You resisted the urge to say yes and follow him- although it was a battle hard won.

 “Towels are in the cupboard and there should be pajama pants and a tee-shirt in your size in the bottom drawer,” you smiled sweetly, patting his stomach and ducking out from under his shadow. You cleared the room in an instant, leaving him in the entrance to the hallway and dancing out of reach of his very bad influence.

 He gave you a long, very searching look.

 “You had company over or something?” he asked bluntly, never one to beat around the bush.

 “Not that’s it any of your business but no,” you replied, tonguing the inside of your cheek as you contemplated your answer. “I um… I bought you some stuff in case you decided to use me as a hotel again. It’s not a big deal.”

 So what if you’d picked out a couple of shirts and some pajama pants in his size and colour? It wasn’t like you wanted him to move in or anything. You were being prepared. Which is the hill you’d chosen to die on and you weren’t budging from it.

 He shot you a filthy grin, pleased with your answer and the redness in your face.

 “Oh stop looking so happy with yourself and get out,” you huffed, flinging a cushion at him. He roared a laugh that shook your walls as he retreated down the hallway- appeased by your current level of affection for him.

 A soft, ‘mrrp’, to your left caught your attention and your cat stared back at you.

 “Don’t even start your lecture,” you answered, grumpily. “You like him too.”

 Marco rubbed himself against the cat post, scratching his own chin on the rough material. He gave another quick meow of agreement before hopping down and wandering away and leaving you wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into.

TBC...

---------------------------

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

[chancelloramidala]

Staring at the Sun ➤ Evan Buckley

Chapter One: You’re Fucking Joking.

Warnings: shooting, gunshot, blood, hospitals

Masterlist

Injuries on the job, especially as a firefighter, was nothing new. You had to be ready to endure whatever came at you, it was apart of the job description to be frank. But nothing could prepare Marceline Pierce for getting fucking shot, not once, but twice. The first bullet hit her in the thigh, luckily barely missing her femoral artery and stayed lodged in there, while the second on swiped clean through her left abdomen.

The call was to an cocaine overdose at a suburban mansion, and whilst everyone else was helping the victim, Marceline and Buck searched the rest of the house for the person who dialed 9-1-1. They made the stupid decision to split up so they could more ground because when I tell you the mansion was huge, it was. That’s when Marceline found who they were looking for in the bathroom.

It was a white male, early thirties and completely coked up by the smudged white lines on the marbled counter along with the white power covering his nose. He looked severely disheveled and was waving a gun around, muttering to himself and pacing back and forth. Marceline tried to talk the guy down, keeping her hands up to show that no she wasn’t a threat but didn’t keep her guard down. If worse came to worse, she was going to try and take the gun.

After that, everything was kind of... hard for her to remember if you could believe it. There were certain things she could remember, like how she was carefully walking towards the guy, Johnny that was his name, when Buck suddenly entered the room in search for Marceline. Johnny then pointed to gun at Buck, the last person, she wanted to be near a fucking gun.

So she acted on instinct, her mind yelling at her to make sure Buck was safe. Marceline charged towards Johnny, and when her hands were wrapped around his wrists, it went off and her left thigh was on fire. But it didn’t matter, Buck was still in danger. She groaned, biting through the pain as she staggering towards Johnny when he shot at her again but this time aiming for her side.

That’s when she finally fell, sort of slow-mo like as she bled onto the tiled floors.

Bobby was suddenly hovering over her, so was Chimney. Talking was hard at the time, so she just stared blankly at her Captain as one of the paramedics tried to stabilize her for transport. Buck was suddenly there too, he looked angry and seemed to be shouting but to be honest, Marceline couldn’t hear what he was saying.

But... where was Johnny?

Was the gun away?

Was Buck safe now?

Her mind was spinning.

She was then inside of the ambulance, Bobby beside her and holding her hand as he and Chimeny told her to stay awake. And Marceline tried, she really did. 

But, fuck, her eyes were heavy, almost as if someone put bricks on them.

So against her Captain’s orders, she slept.

Later, much later, Marceline woke up in a hospital room to the beeping of machines she was hooked up on and a cartoon playing incessantly on the shitty TV. Sitting beside her was her best friend, roommate, and ex-girlfriend Nicolette Bishop.

Apparently, she’s been out for four days from a medically induced coma after the shooting incident. Her team has been visiting since then, leaving small gifts and reading to her until she woke up. Even Nic’s daughter, Gemma came to visit a few times and proof of that was her poorly painted toenails and drawings left by her bedside.

Even though she was glad to be alive, Marceline couldn’t help but wonder if Buck was okay. Her chest was tight with anxiety at that thought.

Were her efforts in vain?

Did she really get fucking shot for nothing?

“No, Buck’s fine.” Nic told her as she fluffed Marceline’s pillow for the hundredth time that hour. “He visited you while you were out, just talking about random things, I didn’t really hear him.”

She relaxed at that, inwardly smiling at the fact that he was here when she was asleep.

The doctor said she’d be out of commission for at least a month and a half to heal properly and then another for physical therapy and check-ups.

Marceline fucking hated that. She verbalized that to her doctor, who wasn’t surprised and just shrugged before leaving.

What was she supposed to do till then? Sit her ass on the couch in front of the television and watch shitty reality TV? Plus, she knew Nic was going to baby the hell out of her till she could walk by herself.

But Nic wasn’t the only person ready to help Marceline.

By the time Marceline was released from the hospital, the 118 had already prepared a schedule where they’d take turns to spend the afternoon with her when they had the days off.

The last thing she wanted as her team to step into her home, one of the few places where she could separate her work life with her home life. But it’s not like she was able to have a say in any of this.

Nic was absolutely thrilled for the extra help, knowing that she’d be a little preoccupied from her job as a caretaker to take anymore personal days off, when only the month before Gemma was sick with a stomach bug.

For the next two months and a half, Marceline was bombarded by Bobby’s cooking, Chimney’s horrible jokes, and Hen’s warm hugs. As for Buck? Well he visited a little less than the rest of them, continuously thanking her for basically saving his life. The poor woman didn’t know how to respond to this, only lamely shrugging and picking at her nails while saying, “I just did what anyone else would do...” for the one’s they love...

In between those heartfelt visits, Athena Grant came by to give her a stern talking to about charging at someone with a loaded weapon. For as long as Marceline could remember, Athena was the mother-figure she never had growing up in the foster system and always fretted when she did something a little too reckless on the job.

“What the hell were you thinking? That druggie had a gun pointing at you, Marceline! You’re obviously not bulletproof!” Athena would go on a tangent, wagging her finger at the younger woman. 

“But he pointed the gun at Buck too, Athena!” Marceline shot back with a type of ferocity that the cop never saw before. “I...I didn’t think at the time, I know that but... I didn’t care what happened to me.” she chewed at her lower lip as she stared at the older woman. “Buck was in danger, I just- I had to- I would never forgive myself if something-” happened to him.

Marceline broke down, her hands now shaking as tears spilled out of her eyes. She broke eye contact with Athena, covering her face with her shaky hands to hid how embarrassed and vulnerable she felt in this moment.

Athena watched the young woman that she considered one of her own as she was struck with a realization. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Marceline whimpered, curling herself in a ball that wouldn’t break her stitches.

“Oh, baby,” Athena sat down next to her and wrapped her arms around the weeping woman before pulling her into a side hug. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, I was just worried about you.” she placed a kiss to Marceline’s hair. “But I understand. We do crazy things for the people we love.”

Marceline was finally cleared to go back to work in the next two weeks. Her confession was only known to Athena and Nic (the latter only learning this piece of information months beforehand with a drunk Marceline going on and on about why she loves Buck), and was never spoken about again.

But after her sort of near death situation, Marceline decided that she should tell Buck how she feels. Even if he was a self-diagnosed sex addict. It didn’t matter. Life was too short to have any regrets, right?

Marceline came to her first day back with anxiety settling in her bloodstream, her blue duffel bag hung over her shoulder. She was glad that there was no one greeting her or anything, it was as if she never got shot. All she wanted was to get back to work and have everything go by smoothly. Then she walked over to her locker, “PIERCE” written in neat, bold handwriting and stuffed her things inside.

“Mars, come up, breakfast is getting cold!” Bobby shouted over the railing.

She grinned. God, she missed Bobby’s cooking. Not that she didn’t have constant access to it because there were literally tons of leftovers currently sitting in her fridge, but it was different when Bobby cooked at the fire station. Now, it was actually a home cooked meal.

“Alright, Bobby, hold on,” she yelled back at him before ascending up the stairs, holding the railing because wow did these steps get bigger somehow?

And as she finally reached the top steps, she almost immediately wanted to turn around run away.

“Welcome back, Marceline!” everyone cheered and smiled excitedly underneath a large, brightly colored banner hung up above.

Fuck, this is not what she wanted. “Oh gosh,” she started, her hand finding it’s way into her hair. “You guys really didn’t have to-”

“Ba-ba-ba,” Chimney shook his head and stepped forward before slinging his arm around her shoulder. “Yes we did, we’ve missed your brooding presence inside the truck and had to celebrate your return.”

"Look, we know you didn’t want a big welcome back kind of party, so it’s just us, some cake, and pure vibes.” Hen looked at Marceline thoughtfully with a small smile.

It really was just Bobby, Hen, Chimney, and Athena. The presence of Buck was missing, but that wasn’t too surprising, he tended to be late to almost everything.

Bobby then held up a cake with a bright smile. “It’s ice cream cake, your favorite.”

Yes, ice cream cake is indeed Marceline’s favorite. And, yes, she really did not want to make a big deal about her return... but the hopeful and expecting looks on her teams faces made her throw away her previous reservations.

“Alright, fine.” she sighed before playfully shoving Chimney’s arm off of her shoulder. “I guess, I’ll enjoy myself until we have a call.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit!” Athena smiled and clapped her hands together. “Okay, here are the plates and the utensils-”

“Hey guys, sorry for being late,” Buck’s voice filled the air and Marceline almost instantly whipped around with a dumbest smile on her face. “But I wanted to bring Abby,”

Abby? Who the fuck was Abby?

Marceline’s smile wavered at the sight of a redheaded woman who was at least double her own age standing behind Buck. With closer inspection, they were holding hands.

Oh...

“That’s alright Buck, c’mon and get some cake before Marceline eats the whole thing,” Bobby smiled at the other man and waved the couple over.

"Well, I felt a little silly coming here without anything so I brought brownies,” Abby smiled lightly, holding up store-bought brownies as she walked over.

“All food is welcomed,” Athena replied in kind to her before sneaking at glance at Marceline who stood scarily still and was obviously biting back a few emotions.

Abby nodded and placed the brownies on the table as she took a plate that Buck handed her before turning her attention to Marceline. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Abby, I’ve heard great things about you”

Marceline hated how almost on sight she hated Abby’s guts. And it was over a stupid fucking reason, a boy. God, way to be less of a fucking feminist, Marceline.

So she put on one of her best “this is fine, I’m perfectly okay” which meant a tight smile plastered on her face and shoved every dark and ugly emotion she had into the deepest parts of her soul.

You could do this, you can fake being nice and perfectly okay, you’ve done this your whole life.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Abby, I’m Marceline,”

@skyslowalking​ & @beelarson 4 u darlings <3​

[shreddedparchment]

Absence Makes the Heart

04/17/2020

Pairing: Superman x Reader          Word Count: 5,431

Warnings: language, lots of language, violence, blood, wounds, injuries, plenty of angst

DCEU Canon

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this one down for a while. It’s based on a dream I had but I just went and added details and a little bit of backstory. Nothing too crazy. This will probably just be a one shot. The top half is heavily edited while the second half I just spat out because I was inspired and I went with it. Hopefully it’s good. This is my first foray into something other than Marvel, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Edit: I forgot to thank @babiiface95​ @evansweaters​ and @sherrybaby14​ for giving me some feedback on this! It helped tons!! xoxo

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

In this moment, all you can feel is the pain in your side.

You stumble forward, hitting the chestnut wood of your door hard. With nothing to brace yourself on, you slide along the length of it until you’re sitting, shoulder pressed against it.

“Ugh…” You groan, letting your hand trace the smooth grain until it can latch onto the handle. “Fuck this shit. I quit.”

You tell no one.

There hasn’t been anyone for months.

The door gives as you twist the knob sending you falling onto the small foyer of your apartment. You’re on the top floor, beside the penthouse. Your own place is small. Compact. Just three rooms, four if you count your bathroom.

You pull yourself along the dated ceramic tile and watch as you leave a smear of red behind you.

“Honey…” You begin, kicking the door shut while you stay flattered against the floor. “…I’m home.”

No one responds.

You exhale through your nose as annoyance rips through your chest.

“Fucker.” You say at no one, but obviously someone.

It takes every ounce of strength you have left to haul yourself into your bathroom. You peel off your suit, letting it drop to the floor in a whip of heavy fabric, space quality tech that was not fashioned on Earth but created for you.

To protect you.

Because he said he cared.

“Fucking…fucker.” You huff, yanking the first aid kit from the open shelf beneath your sink.

Your sports bra is drenched in sweat and blood, sticky against your skin as you plop yourself at the small kitchen table. You pull open the kit and reach for needle and thread.

It’s a messy stitch, clumsy and crooked from the angle you’re forced to work in. However sloppy, you do seal the wound to your ribs and the bleeding finally stops.

In your blood-soaked underwear, you make yourself a sandwich and stand at your counter, staring at the primary blue coffee cup sitting beside your own in teal.

You chew loudly, smacking your mouth as the bread sticks to the roof of your mouth. Eyes glaring at the cup, you bite down more fiercely. Tearing the food apart angrily.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Y/N. Get over it.” You sigh, then retreat to your bathroom to tidy up.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exhaustion is not your friend. It makes you cranky and irritable and sad because you can’t stand the silence in your home.

You groan, pressing your hand against your side gently, then reach for the remote and turn on the TV to war the silence.

It’s a cacophony of sound and for a moment, it grates your nerves. Some cartoon, loud and full of slapstick.

Next channel has people screaming at each other from opposite sides of a stage. Chairs begin to get thrown. A guy with a mullet takes off his shoe and chucks it at a man with one ear.

Next channel has an old black and white movie. The pretty woman with dark curls and a heart shaped face leans across a table, chin in her hand as she moons over the composed man who is smirking at her casually.

Nope. You think. No romance.

Next channel is the news.

“-sure what to make of what we’re seeing. It’s like nothing we have witnessed before. Veronica, can you tell us what’s happening?” The news anchor presses his hand to his ear, eyes squinted as he stares ahead.

The screen shifts and Veronica—a pretty woman with flowing red hair and deep blue eyes fills your screen.

“Miguel, it looks as if all of the ocean’s water is being pulled away from our coastline and out towards the ocean. Where the water is going, we aren’t sure. There is no way to know what this means or what can be causing it. And although we’ve seen this phenomenon happen in films, doomsday blockbusters where a tidal wave the height of a skyscraper builds up before the subsequent flood, experts are sure this is not at all what’s going on.

There are dozens of meteorologists, marine biologists, oceanographers, and astronomers still searching for the cause. The only thing that they all can agree on for certain is that the oceans are not withdrawing, but rather, they are draining, leaving sea life, coral reefs, and the ocean floor exposed.

“Something is pulling this water away. Whatever is causing this, is not natural.”

Sitting up, you place your elbows on your knees as the video changes to that of a helicopter shot as it circles the ever-decreasing ocean line. A humpback whale and her calf attempt to outswim the retreat, but they fail and as the water falls away, the creatures are beached between two sheer ocean cliffs.

“What the hell…” Reaching up, you cover your mouth, watching as the video moves back to Veronica.

“If we can’t figure out why the ocean is draining, we will have hundreds if not thousands of species left without chance of survival. This is not only a loss of a life for many endangered species, but also leaves us to face the consequences within our fishing industries and the millions of people it not only feeds but employs as well. If we cannot stop-”

Veronica suddenly stops speaking, holding her hand to her ear as she listens for a moment.

“Sorry, Miguel, it looks as if Doctor Rashda has found a source point for the draining. Doctor Rashda can you hear me?” Veronica asks, waiting for a moment before the video splits vertically.

The second frame of video sits empty, a sloping sandbank visible in the distance. It curves around in a semi-circle at the center of which is a growing swirl of dark blue water.

“Doctor Rashda?” Veronica asks again, her eyes frantic as they search a monitor out of view.

“Surrender.” A voice says, high pitched. Female. “Surrender and you will not suffer. Surrender your planet, and I shall make your end quick.”

Veronica is silent as the column of swirling water parts a little, just enough so that a pale face is visible.

“Surrender.” The voice says again, the pale face’s lips moving as it speaks. “And you will die quickly.”

Frowning, you move to the edge of your seat, your anger doubling.

“M-Miguel are you seeing this?” Veronica asks, voice small with fear.

Miguel doesn’t answer.

The figure in the water holds out its hand and from the swirl comes a smaller sphere. In this sphere something moves. As the camera zooms in, you can make out the distinct shape of a body, thrashing within its bubble.

Veronica screams just as you and everyone else that must be watching realizes that within the bubble is Doctor Rashda, struggling and gasping for breath.

You’re up on your feet, racing to pull your suit back on when a commotion pulls your eyes back to the TV, legs already in but with one shoulder exposed as you freeze mid-dress.

“He’s back!” Veronica is shouting gleefully. Relief and reverence painting her voice. “Superman is back!”

You move two steps closer to the TV, not intending to take the word of a panicked reporter. Until you can lay your own eyes on him then it isn’t real.

A few seconds pass. Then, a blur of blue and red streaks through the center of the bubble and when the water stops rippling, Doctor Rashda isn’t there.

“Motherfucker.”

You pull your suit on roughly, ignoring the way the movement tugs at your side as you zip up and launch out your open window.

You fall fast, plummeting towards the ground in a streak of teal and gray. When you’re only three feet away, you feel a surge of power as your arms, and legs burn with white hot energy.

It pushes you upwards and propels you higher and higher until you’re soaring across the sky at incredible speeds, leaving a silver trail of light behind you.

It only takes you minutes to reach the coast but sometime between you jumping out of your living room window and arriving here by the Golden Gate, the fight has moved cityside.

You hear a deafening crunch as blue and red goes slamming into black, gray, and brown ocean floor, disappearing into the subsequent rubble.

Heart pounding, you propel yourself towards a thin figure, long stringy black hair, sallow skin, arm still stretched out from her hit. She turns to look at you just as you reach her, but you throw your own fist out in a powerful uppercut. It throws the strange woman high into the air.

You follow for a few feet, hovering in there as you watch her skyrocket out of sight into dark clouds overhead.

Behind you the heap of ocean floor rubble begins to shift.

Coming to rest on the cliffside above, six feet below he breaks through the rock and it falls around him, a flurry of fine sediment saturating the air.

Chest heaving, side burning, heart clenched so tight you think it might truly be shredding, you watch as the fucker stands up and does a quick scan of the area looking just as perfect as he did when he left.

His eyes are focused, searching the sky for sight of his attacker but instead he finds you.

His eyes soften and you’re still so angry you glare. You turn on your heel and walk away, staring up at the sky as you wait for the woman to fall.

“Y/N…” You hear him say, but you don’t turn to look at him.

You can feel the swirling of wind as he flies up to you, the soft pats as his feet hit the ground. He circles around your right, leaning forward to get a better look at your face.

In your peripherals you can see the gentle curl of his dark hair, falling along his forehead and a hundred memories of your hand gently sweeping it aside make your body tremble.

The pleasure that the memory brings makes your blood boil and you roll your eyes, ignoring the puppy eyes he gives you.

“Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.” You assert and watch as the strange woman careens towards the two of you, an inhuman screech growing louder as she falls.

Moving forward a few steps you aim yourself, bend your knees and launch yourself up towards her. As you collide, she grabs hold of your shoulders, and the two of you twist and spin in the air, struggling to get the upper hand.

Shifting quickly, you pull her over you, grab hold of her shirt front and with all the force in your body, you spin and chuck her down as Clark flies towards you to finish the job.

~~~~~~~~~~

A tattered white dress is all that remains of the ocean thief.

“Who was she?” Clark wonders, moving to stand beside you as you watch the stain of saltwater grow as her body dissolves to nothing.

“You don’t know?” You ask him, turning to look at him and hating how much it pleases you to finally see him again.

His broad body, thick with muscle and stupidly accentuated by his damn blue skintight suit, feels larger than before he left though you know that’s silly. He’s as God like as ever, though he’s only an alien. To the world, he’s a savior. Invincible.

Superman.

What really hurts to look at are his eyes.

It chokes you, those baby blues, full of unspoken questions and expectation. For you. For the future. For the present. He wants to know you again.

You tear your gaze back down to the woman as Clark shakes his head.

“No. I was flying home when I saw the ocean empty and followed the trail to the spout she was in.” Clark explains.

“Well, it’s too late to find out now.” You point out. “The water will come back soon. You’ll need to make sure people stay away from the coastline.”

Turning towards him, you wait, your rage evened out and layered with betrayal.

That painful gaze of his so piercing it nearly steals your breath away.

“Where were you, Clark?” You ask quietly, your anger outweighing the hurt.

The apologetic look he gives you, the tilt of his head, the step he takes towards you grates your nerves.

“Y/N-”

“It’s been months. Almost a year.” You sigh, unwilling to give in.

He takes your hand and the impulse to pull away nearly overwhelms you.

His hands are rough, only in that masculine way. His skin is unblemished. Perfect.

The strength of his movements are carefully calculated. A natural habit he’s developed after a lifetime of having to be gentle to keep from breaking those he touches. The heat from his hands is familiar and it envelops yours easily.

“I was coming home.” He tells you.

“Home? How do you know that it’s still your home? Maybe someone else has moved in.” You threaten and there’s a visible fall in his eyes.

It nearly breaks your icy exterior. But you have every right to be angry and hurt that he left you. Out of the blue, no word as to where he was going or when he’d come back.

“I have to go.” He’d said, and left you sitting on the couch, wondering when he’d come home.

He looks down at your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

“You went to see her first, didn’t you?” You accuse and he quickly meets your gaze.

“No.” He assures you passionately, moving a little closer. “No, I was going straight home.”

“She’s been looking for you.” You tell him, tempted to confess how useless you’d been in those first few weeks he was gone. “All of them have been. Where is Superman? Is the million-dollar question. And now here you are.”

He’s back just as randomly as he’d left. Just as sudden. Just as quiet.

“There he is!” A familiar voice shouts. On the bank across the large ravine you both stand in Veronica appears looking dazzled and excited, her camera man hoisting up his camera to begin what will be the first clear footage of Superman finally back. Earth’s hero returned.

Quickly you pull your hand from his and turn to walk away.

“Where are you going?” He asks, following for a few steps.

“Home. I’ve been in Australia for the last month dismantling a new crime syndicate with Bruce. He and I are both very tired. He stayed behind.”

“Oh.” Clark says.

“Superman!” Someone calls. “Superman is back!”

Civilians have begun to gather along the empty waterway, all of them eager for a glance at the Man of Steel.

You know how you made it sound and maybe it’s your annoyance making you push him away now that he’s home, but all you can think about is getting back home and being alone.

“The water will be back, Kal.” You shift to his birthname with so many ears nearby. “Get these people away.”

You leave him standing there, watching you fly away, with those baby blues full of quiet yearning.

~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment…your home…it’s a void.

You sit on the arm of your sofa still in full uniform, hand gently resting on your thigh—palm up. You’re a mess again. Dirty with blood and dirt and sweat.

Needing a shower doesn’t do much to deter your silly brooding. Silly because you did this to yourself. You made it seem like you had someone new waiting for you here when really the bleak emptiness is in need of a six-foot, three-inch tall Kryptonian.

His presence is here. Loud and white hot. His coffee cup burns you from across the kitchen—asking where its owner is. His drawer still full of clothes. Comfy sweatshirts and crisp white t-shirts. Blues and grays and reds too.

There’s one you’d set aside. The last he’d worn. Only once. It had sat on the end of your bed night after night until you’d caved and pulled it on. Now it probably smells more like you than him.

The place is silent. Only the drip, drip, drip of the bathroom sink breaks the quiet.

Your gaze wanders to his shoes by the door, shoelaces left undone, a small speck of mud on the side of the left heel.

Shutting them, your eyes water.

No. You shake your head. I won’t cry.

You take a shaky breath and release it slowly, sighing as your body slumps forward.

The movement reminds you of your earlier wound and you gasp in pain as you sit up straight again, leaning to the side to look at the spot growing increasingly wet on your side.

“Shit.” Stitches are probably torn open. “Fuck.”

Maybe it’s your frustration with this whole situation or maybe your wound really just hurts a lot, but as you reach over to feel the bloody spot, your voice finally breaks. Though there are no tears, they really want to fall.

“Fucking, stupid, fucking…” You sigh again, this time faster, angry.

“That’s a lot of French.” Clark says, his voice smooth and even and excruciatingly beautiful to your ears.

You stand up, startled, and spin to watch him pull his left leg in through your open window, following his torso.

He’s still in his suit, cape and all. Once again, the sight of him reminds you of his Godlike status. His perfection unreachable and yet, here he is. In your home. Where he’d given himself to you openly and without reservation.

He stands there, his hands clenched into nervous fists. Skin just as dirty as yours but not sweaty. Not bloody. His hair is a little disheveled. The tresses normally so carefully tempered are free to curl and wave.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice still weak from your raw emotional outburst.

“I went to see Bruce.” He explains, and you might just kick yourself for implying Bruce would be waiting for you. “Why-?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you.” You admit, cutting him off before he can word the question. “Because I wanted you to regret leaving me the way you did.”

“I do regret it.” He sighs. “I-I only left because I thought I heard…”

He hesitates and you’re tempted to kick him out. You turn away from him and move into the kitchen, trying to ignore the wound that needs tending.

With your own coffee cup in hand, you pop a k-cup in your Keurig and punch the power button, waiting for it to power on before you select the largest cup option and listen to the whirr of the motors instead of Clark’s silence.

“I went to Krypton, or what’s left of it.” Clark finally says, this time from the mouth of your kitchen archway, hands still clamped tight.

You shut your eyes tight, hands clinging to the edge of your counter. Squeezing ever tighter until they begin to ache, and you still only keep squeezing.

“I wish I could be as impressed by that answer as I was the first time you told me that.” You shake your head.

“It was different this time, Y/N.” He shakes his head, then takes a step closer.

The movement draws your eyes and you watch the intense focus on his face, the uncertainty to speak.

“What is it?” You ask, still a little bitter.

Even though he looks as if he means it and this trip to Krypton is more serious, he’s not speaking. He’s keeping this from you. Holding it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ Clark, I guess you don’t trust me.”

“No.” He insists, moving another step closer which still leaves him a ways away from you in the kitchen. “It’s not that. I do trust you. More than anyone. But…”

You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to go to hell and to stay away from you and to shove his excuses up his ass, but your curiosity is growing.

There’s a small panic in his baby blue eyes. A fear.

So, you wait. You hold your tongue. You’re patient for now. You give him a familiar silence that tells him you will wait until he’s ready.

He recognizes it and meets your quizzical gaze as your coffee finishes brewing.

You don’t even realize it’s done as you stare into Clark’s eyes and he stares into yours.

The moment he decides, his shoulders relax. His jaw drops a fraction of an inch as he stops clenching his teeth.

As the weight on his shoulders is visibly lifted, you feel yourself relax too. Nearly a year of being without him and you’re still so attuned to his moods.

“I found someone.” He tells you. “On another planet, in a Kryptonian ship that had been sent only days after my own.”

“Another Kryptonian?” You ask, curious but also fearful.

You remember very clearly the last Kyrptonian that had come to Earth. Zod and his minions had torn Metropolis to shreds. They’d killed so many people and Clark had made the hardest decision in his life.

Not that you’d been there. She’d been there. But Clark had let you in on the weight of that moment. The choice that he hated to make but would gladly do so again.

He must see the fear in your eyes because he shakes his head and takes yet another step towards you.

“No. Don’t be scared. Really. She’s-”

She?!

“-she’s harmless.” You frown at him because that’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s said since getting back. Maybe the stupidest thing ever.

“Okay,” He amends. “Maybe not harmless, exactly. She’s my cousin, Y/N. And she needed help.”

“Your cousin?” You ask, voice low and full of questions.

“From what I can tell, she was sent here after me, but when her ship was knocked off course, she was trapped in form of hypersleep for a long time. She was older than me, but now she’s a lot younger.” Clark continues to explain, speaking with some gusto now that you’ve allowed him to pick up some momentum.

“Where is she?” You wonder.

“I left her with a family that can take care of her. Someone that I trust. Far away from me. She’s still very young and I think it would be best if she remained hidden for a while. Just until she learns how to control her abilities here on Earth and to give the world time to get used to the idea of another Kryptonian.” He takes one more step.

“After Zod, I don’t know that there is any amount of time that would prepare the world for a Supergirl.” You frown.

With your defenses lowered, Clark takes the opportunity to step even closer, finally stopping beside you.

He hesitates again, this time as he reaches to take hold of your elbow. His fingers press against your arm gently like he’s stroking piano keys. Testing to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

He lifts your arm a little and doesn’t break eye contact with you until your arm is lifted enough that he can get a clear look at the red on your side. Head tilted to the right as he assess the injury.

Straightening his head, he slides his hand down to your hand, taking it before gently pulling you away from the kitchen, through your bedroom, and into your bathroom, switching on lights as he goes.

Watching him be like this has always been your favorite. He moves with a purpose, eyes trained on what he’s looking for without a glance spared your way.

You stand beside him as he holds your hand, hunched over to look under the sink for your first aid kit.

After he retrieves it, he pulls you back out into the kitchen. There’s more room there for both your bodies, especially with his taking up so much space.

He places the kit on the floor before he pulls you in front of him. Both of his hands find your waist and he lifts you up onto the edge of the counter to sit.

Slightly surprised, you gasp and place your hands on his shoulders, tracing the muscle while you can do so discreetly until you must remove them and place them at your sides.

Clark steps towards you, his hard abdomen pressed up against your legs as he wraps both arms around you, hands searching for the zipper on your back. Leaning over your shoulder to get a look at it, he’s almost hugging you.

And you can’t stand the tease of it.

The movement is quick, and he leans back again once he’s got the suit undone.

“What happened?” He asks as he hooks his thumbs into the top of your suit and pulls it down over your shoulders, your biceps—then holds the arms still as he waits for you to pull them out—then bunches it down along your waist to expose your injured side. “Lift your arm.”

You do as he ass, wincing as it tugs on the reopened cut.

“This is deep.” He disapproves.

“Bruce and I really were in Australia. One of the guys caught me with a knife just as we were getting them rounded up.” You explain.

“This is gonna hurt.” He tells you as he pulls the kit onto the counter beside you and pulls out a pair of small scissors and tweezers.

It takes him almost no time at all to snip away the broken threads and clean the wound again.

He waits, thinking for a moment, then meeting your gaze.

“Do you want something for the pain?” He checks, eyebrows raised in worry.

“Just do it, Clark.” You sigh, frustrated because this is all too familiar. This proximity, the smells, the heat, the way his hands poke and prod at the edges of your cut.

His eyebrows gather together as his jaw flexes with a frown, staring at the cut as he threads the needle quickly.

A proper needle this time, sanitized and threaded properly.

Taking your lifted arm, he pulls it over his head onto the opposite shoulder and places your hand there where his cape meets his suit.

“It’s gonna hurt.” He says again, and you realize he’s giving you something to squeeze.

And he’s right. Without the adrenaline from before, you feel every stitch and you’d thin you would get used to this sensation. But it hurts like fuck all and you squeeze his cape tight until you can’t help but give a small yell in annoyance.

“Why is it always the little wounds that hurt the most?” You sigh as he sips the thread and moves to clean his work area.

“You should go shower.” Clark says as he sanitizes the counter. “Be careful with your stitches.”

You don’t fight him on this because you desperately need another shower. Maybe if you’d been fine, you would have argued, but you’re dirty and aching.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you find that the sky outside has darkened. You dress quickly, just a pair of black old cutoff sweats and one of Clark’s gray hoodies.

You’re absolutely swimming in it, but it’s so soft and comfortable. Loose so that it doesn’t add any pressure to your stitches.

The apartment is so quiet you stand there, pulling the sweatshirt down as you listen intently for any kind of movement.

“Clark?” You call, just a little insecure after months of his absence.

You move out into the living room. The floorboards creak and moan as they settle beneath your feet. The large carpet in your living room silences your steps but you also stop walking, staring at the empty kitchen, then the empty living room.

Had you dreamt him?

Maybe he really isn’t back?

What if you’ve finally gone crazy?

What if he’s never coming back and you’d passed out after you got back from Australia and everything with the ocean had been a dream?

Are you really going nuts?

There’s a soft thud from your bedroom and with eager footsteps you rush back in.

Sitting on his side of the bed with his bare feet planted on the ground, Clark is hunched over. Elbows on his knees. Hands resting relaxed at the wrist while he stares at the floorboard underneath your bedroom window.

“Clark…” You sigh, not realizing how relieved you sound.

He’s changed, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.

He looks good. Showered. His curls just barely damp.

“Am I welcome here?” He asks, staring ahead.

You move to the bed and climb on, walking on your knees towards him until you stop just a foot away and sit back on your legs.

It’s a good question. One you think on for a moment.

“You didn’t come back for ten months, Clark.” You sigh, hating that fact. “I didn’t know if something had happened to you or maybe you’d decided to leave me and Earth behind altogether? Mostly I just thought you were dead. I spent most of my time convincing myself that you’re so close to invincible that killing you might be impossible but-”

“I’ve died before.” Clark says, hating the idea that people think him a God. He turns towards you and frowns.

His words, however true they may be, send painful clenches into your chest.

Your face does something that makes his demeanor shift. Suddenly he’s sitting beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches up to push your hair back and away from your face.

His fingers graze the skin of your neck and he hooks it there, squeezing gently.

“I’m not dead.” He says, maybe guessing your thoughts of madness? “I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t.” You shake your head. “And I was so angry at you. I hated you. I cursed your name. Fuck that guy. Stupid fucker. I hate him.”

Clark simply watches you, his eyes moving side to side as he looks at your face and every expression that crosses your features.

The one thing that you’ve always loved about Clark, is the way that you can tell he’s really listening. Not once have you felt as if you weren’t being heard. Even if he doesn’t agree with whatever you’re saying, he listens so intently, trying to understand your point of view before he poses his own.

And you love him for it.

Shit. You still love him. Of course, you do. Of course, he’s always been yours.

Even in his absence, you were his and he was yours.

“I said that almost every night, hoping that you would hear me and come back. But you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Clark says. “I’m here. And I’m sorry I left without explanation. I’m sorry that I put you through that. And I know that you can’t forgive me for it. That I’ll be trying to earn your trust again every day that we’re together. But, please can I stay?”

He rubs your lower back, his large hand sending heat into every inch of your heart. Restarting it after he killed it ten months ago.

“Please?” He begs. “All I’ve thought about is getting back here. To you. To our home and our life together.”

You shut your eyes, relishing in the way his arms feel around you, his hands large and hot. His breath is sweet and warm. His scent is clean and so him that it makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t need that shirt of his anymore. Now you have him back, here with you. Where you can touch and feel and love and laugh and just be with him.

“Or should I leave?” He asks.

Your eyes pop open, red fury raging through them. “You do and I’ll hunt you down, Kent.”

He smiles, softly at first. But when your hand begins to trace the taut sinew of his muscly forearm, his smile grows wider. It grows and grows until it’s blinding and beautiful.

You trace the curve of his shoulder, tickle his neck before reaching up to smooth the curls that fall against his forehead gently.

He shuts his eyes, enjoying the affection before you push yourself forward between his legs and settle on your side.

You cuddle into the center of his chest, tucking yourself between his arms, head on his chest, under his chin, arms grabbing tight to the soft cotton of his shirt.

“I missed you.” He whispers against your hair.

You smile, shutting your eyes as you let yourself finally be at ease. Clark is home.