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macfrog · 8 months

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you'll hurt me if you don't trust me sex on fire chapter eight

super special sparkly shoutout to @chloeangelic ✨💛✨ whose influence inspired a whole load of intimacy in this. it is, unashamedly, eleven thousand words of sheer self-indulgence. so. love u guys. see u soon

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you’re unwell. joel makes you feel better. until he doesn’t.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, softsoftsoft!joel, they eat chinese food together, reader has her period + mention/description of used tampon, discussion of abandonment/absent parents & parental death, discussion of cheating, lying, thigh riding, unprotected piv period shower sex (that is a mouthful thatswhatshesaid), VERY needy reader, SLIGHT dacryphilia (kinda not really?), creampie, aftercare joel, praise kink, daddy kink, angst & fluff & angst all over again

word count: 11k

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Martha had been pretty good about it. She’d watched you near-doubled in pain most of yesterday, hobbling to the kitchen every four hours to top up on pain meds. She knew you weren’t making it up. She made a conservative two jokes about you calling in this morning, and then told you to rest up. She’d let Joel know you’d be back tomorrow.

“You owe me, though. Joel’s got that shareholders meeting today. If I’m forced to sit in with him ‘n his cronies talkin’ numbers and takin’ notes, sweetheart, all so you can catch up on The Bachelorette…”

Alright. Three jokes.

You hang up and slide the phone back across your nightstand; roll over and stuff a pillow between your thighs as if that’ll do anything against the dull throb gnawing at your belly. Your shades are tilted upward, shrinking your bedroom into a foggy gray save for the shards of light which split across the ceiling.

There’s a heavy ache tugging behind your eyes, an irritating weight which shoves you into the arms of sleep and then pulls you back by the hair before you’re taken off by it. You’re dozing, fingertips massaging your eyelids and stretching the skin back and forth when the doorbell slices the stillness of your apartment in two, shrill in your sleep-deprived ears.

You ignore it at first. Fuck that. Fuck whoever that is. You’re not planning on leaving your cocoon today unless it’s to go pee, grab a snack, or maybe if you lose the remote in your sheets.

But it rings out again. Twice, this time. And in a blur of hormonal rage, you whip the sheets back, throw yourself out of bed and stagger down the hallway. You straighten up only enough to peer through the peephole, your palms pressed to the back of the door, and that’s when you see him.

He’s cradling a brown bag in his left arm, a second dangling from his wrist. His head is huge in comparison to his body, owing to the distorted fisheye glass. He shifts from foot to foot impatiently, awkwardly glancing down the hall. You’d recognize that jawline fucking anywhere.

Your breath pushes nervously against the door. You click the lock and curl around the heavy wood, your fingers clamping on the edge.

The two of you eye one another up and down before Joel speaks.

“Hi, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Martha said you were sick?”

You pause. Look down to the bunch of wild flowers sat in the crook of his elbow, and then back up to his face, painted with – what is it – concern? There are lines you rarely see when he’s looking at you, carved deep between his brows.

A fire strikes in your belly.

“…I’m fine. I’m – I’m all good. Just – feeling a little…”

“What is it? Is it the flu? I brought flu stuff.” He nods into the bag, and reaches inside for a box of cold tablets and a pack of tissues. He tosses them across the threshold and you catch them, holding them close against your shoulder.

You smile, trying to hold back on a laugh, but also because what the fuck? He’s so sweet. The flames lick at the bottom of your lungs.

“It’s not…it’s not the flu, no.”

Joel nods, looking back into the bag. “Good thing I also brought these, then.”

He tilts it forward and you unhook from the door, leaning over to peer in. A box of Tampax, two bottles of painkillers, green packets of face masks and floral sachets of herbal teas. You fish one out.

“Chamomile,” you muse, pouting.

He shrugs. “Lady at the store said it’s a good muscle relaxant, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“Cancelled it. You freaked me out.”

Your heart knocks on your chest wall. Did you fucking hear that? You freaked him out. You gulp in response. Swallow hard to shut it the hell up.

“So, Martha’s in the office by herself?”

“She’s a big girl. Told her she could leave early if she got my to-do list done. I give it until one,” he mutters, glancing down at his watch. “Oh,” he says then, spotting the brush of green and burst of purple in his arm, “got you these. I don’t know what you like yet, but…”

Yet. Yet yet yet.

You take the posy delicately between your fingers, as if it might fall apart at the mere touch of your hand. The brown paper crinkles as it lifts from Joel’s arm, and you tilt them in the hallway’s milky light.

The sprigs shoot in wild directions, tangling and twisting around one another. Daisies, lazy in their climb, swirling around the gentle brush of lavender, wrapped tightly to some other flower you don’t recognize. They’re tied together in a neat, white lace bow.

You imagine Joel stood in the middle of some fragrant florist, rotating on the spot. Dumbfounded before some assistant in a flowing skirt and tinkling bracelets sweeps over to him. I don’t know what she likes – yet, he tells them. And your heart screams into the pillow of muscle surrounding it.

“Thank you.” The smile on your lips threatens to break into a grin. At the same time, a shot of pain rips across your belly. “Come in,” you groan through a wince, taking his shirt in your fist and pulling him inside.

Your apartment is probably a couple years too small for you. You’ve accumulated so much in the time you’ve lived here that you could do with finding a bigger place – but you’re comfortable. It feels like home, when nowhere did for so long. It’s snug, and humble, and as you lead him down your hallway, you imagine you’re feeling how Joel probably did when he showed you around his childhood home.

Your cheeks flush with something a little blunter than embarrassment, but prickled with nerves. Your living room rolls its eyes inward, every object looking over in suspicion and wonder. Who the hell is this man, in your space, armed with toiletries and a ten-grand watch on his wrist?

You pause by the sink, filling a glass with water for the flowers. Your teeth bite down on your lip. There are dishes on the counter, there’s laundry piled on stools, blankets and cushions strewn messily across your couch. Joel shakes his head when you apologize, holds a palm up when you try to explain how you’d gotten home from work last night and gone straight to bed. I haven’t had the energy to clean.

He won’t hear it. Says he’s not here to see your clean apartment. Here to see you.

He sets the bags on the worktop and looks around the room. Blinks from the sheer curtains guarding the balcony doors, to the pastel candles on your coffee table. Smiles when he notices the Pretty Woman poster framed above the couch.

“What?” you ask, when his eyes finally land back on you. You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it further down your bare thighs.

“Nothin’. Just – knew there was somethin’ more to you.”

You fold your arms and rock forward gently on the balls of your feet. Your head tilts. Your brows knit.

Joel clarifies, “I knew you weren’t as put together as you pretend to be at work. This – looks like your place. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? ‘n what does my place look like?

His cheeks lift. “Little all over the place. Little surprising. But bright. Cozy. You.”

“Bright ‘n cozy,” you echo.

He nods. Purses his lips, then adds, “And great in bed.”

You cough a laugh, reach out to shove his arm, and he catches your hand. He reels you in against his body and cups your head, fixing some flyaway strands of hair. You stare up at him, eyelashes slowly blinking him in and out of focus. His mottled beard and hazel eyes. The flecks of honeydew and amber swimming around his pupil. His shirt wrinkles beneath your chin.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rumbling through his chest. You seem to understand the vibrations sooner than the words, these days. He reaches for the handles of the white bag, sliding it over towards you. “I brought lunch.”

“You brought lunch.” You scoff, grinning to yourself. It quickly fades, though, when your hand lowers into the bag and meets a warm, flat surface – two halves of a folded lid. Your brows pull. “You brought…”

Joel smiles as you lift the box, popping it open. Hot steam escapes the minute the lid folds back.

“Chinese okay? I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by callin’ to ask what you wanted. I can run out and grab somethin’ else if you’re not –”

“How did you know to get…?” Your voice whittles to nothing as you stare down at the fresh-cooked meal, the bed of greasy noodles mixed with fried vegetables. Your tongue swipes at the corners of your mouth.

“’cause I know you,” Joel says, digging for a second box from the bag. “Anytime you’re stressed with work, anytime I give you a hard day, that’s what you order in for lunch, right?” He nods to the container as he tosses an egg roll into his mouth.

You giggle, lifting the box to hide your swollen cheeks. Your heartbeat hammers below your jaw.

“Right?” Joel laughs. “Chow mein? I’m right, ain’t I? You know I’m right.”

He nudges against you, taking his own lunch from the bag, and casts a familiar glance – the same one you saw a few days ago in Lavender Oaks. Like the decades-old mask slips just for a second and suddenly, a younger, shyer Joel shines through. He’s almost imperceptible, almost concealed by the cocky smirk and witty remarks of his older self, but you’ve seen him once, and now – he’s impossible to lose sight of.

“You’re weird,” you note, spinning off towards your bedroom.

Joel’s hot at your heels. “I’m weird?”

“Uhuh. For noticing that.”

He snorts, and then you feel a slap to your ass cheek. “Nice underwear, by the way. Who’d you steal them from?” he murmurs close to your ear, averting your gaze when you turn back, beaming.

You pad across the soft rug to your bed, dropping down and pulling the sheets back to make room for Joel. He’s setting his food down. You think to offer him a change of clothes – something more comfortable than a dress shirt and suit trousers – but the best you’d have is an oversized tee, and not much else.

The thought almost dizzies you. Joel, in his boxers and a t-shirt from your wardrobe. A shirt that smells like you, feels like you, belongs to you. A piece of you, hung from his shoulders like it was always meant to be shared between you. The way it’d still smell of him even after the sun had set and he’d peeled it from his body, folded it into a pile at the end of your bed and left in his button up.

He sits on the edge of your mattress to kick his shoes off, and marvels some more at the room just like he did in the kitchen. The fire in your chest is slowly turning your lungs to ash, stealing breath each time his dimples appear – squinting at the framed photographs on your dresser, tilting his head to read the titles of the books on your shelves.

When he catches sight of the paint-splattered easel in the corner, he turns back. Your eyes are already locked back on your chow mein, refusing to meet his. He doesn’t say anything. Just shuffles up against the headboard, nudges your knee with his own.

“You get that at the concert?” he asks, eyes a little south of yours.

You glance down. You’re wearing an old Queen tour tee, graphic print accompanied by 1986 in multicolored lettering. A little before your grand entrance on the planet. A little after Joel’s.

“Rod’s Retro, eastside,” you reply. “You find some cool stuff in there, Mr. CEO.”

Joel’s chin lifts, considering. “Hm,” he says, “you gonna take me someday?”

You nod. Maybe a little too eagerly. It doesn’t feel like you ought to care. “Um, yes. You would fucking love it. Half my wardrobe is thrifted.”

He nods once – banking the information. “Every day, I learn somethin’ new.”

“Shut up,” you quip, kicking him gently. “How come I never get to learn anything new about you?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Self-absorbed.”

You kick him for real this time. He laughs into his takeout box.

“I’m messing with you. You know plenty about me. You met my mom the other day, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Not enough. Don’t know where you get all your clothes from, or what your comfort food is.”

He replies through a mouthful of chop suey. “Then, ask.”

Your voice is high, defensive. “No. That’s too easy.”

Joel snorts.

You reach for the remote and click the screen opposite to life. Joel lifts his arm to let you sink against his body, and you flick through the channels. Shark Tank, Grey’s Anatomy, Wendy fucking Williams, and then –

You gasp. Joel looks up from his food. His brows arch, eyes flitting from you to the screen. You swear a groan escapes from his lips. You feel the thunder against your ear.

“You ever seen it?”

“Dirty Dancing? Yeah, I’ve seen Dirty Dancing, pretty girl.”

“You probably saw it at the movies, right? When it came out? In the eighties?”

“Careful.”

You smile. “What did you think of it?”

Joel’s shoulders lift. His eyes are back on the screen. Be My Baby is crooning from the TV. “I liked Patrick Swayze,” he says.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, you lean closer. “You…you liked Patrick Swayze?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, like it’s obvious. He turns back to you, one eyebrow raised. “He was cool. You don’t like ‘im in it?”

“No, I like Patrick Swayze,” you tell him. “Just…if that’s all you like about it, then…we might have a problem.”

He scoffs. “I don’t remember much of it, to tell you the truth.”

“Good. We’re watching it.”

Your head moves with his chest as he sucks in a deep, defeated breath. “Baby, I –”

“Ah,” you tap the remote on his knuckles, “you remember the Baby part.”

With a laugh which sounds an awful lot like approval and a grunt which sounds an awful lot like Alright, Joel sinks lower into the mattress. You drape your legs across his, and when he finishes eating, his fingers draw round shapes on your hot skin, daring past the hem of his own boxers on your thighs.

Somewhere around the lake scene, you notice your hand intertwined with his. Locked together, surfing over one another, squeezing and then loosening. Tracing the curve of each other’s palms and learning the lines scored into the skin. Fingertips becoming fluent in the landscape of one another’s bodies. Mapping them, like you’re afraid to forget.

Your eyes glass over, whether from fatigue, or from the now smoldering fire inside you, or from something harder to pinpoint. Your head feels heavy, leaning on Joel’s chest, listening to the drum of his heart against your ear. It sounds familiar, like you’ve known it forever. Like you can almost hear the whisperings between the soft thudding.

You start when you feel him moving beneath you. He groans, stretches his arms, and then snakes them around your body. The end credits are rolling. The movie’s over. You weren’t asleep, but you missed half of it. Your mind elsewhere – though you have no idea where.

Maybe you do. Maybe that’s not something you can bear – yet. Yet yet yet.

You crane your neck and look up to your boss. He’s already staring right back at you. His eyes widen.

“What did you think?” you ask sleepily.

He sniffs. “It’s good. Very politically charged. Lotsa Swayze.”

Your lips curve, cheek nuzzles into his shirt. “Very us, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Especially that part in the water. When he –” his arms lift, holding an invisible Baby up – “y’know? You ‘n me, we do that all the time.”

“I hate you.”

He tightens his grip around your shoulders and lifts you closer, smiling. You think, when his eyes dart for half a second to your lips, that he might kiss you. You think you want him to. But he simply asks, “You want some tea?” and reaches over to swipe the empty containers from your nightstand.

You nod. “I’ll come help.”

“I got it,” he assures in that Southern gentleman tone, steady hand on your thigh as he slips out of bed.

“You don’t even know where the mugs are.”

Joel considers this for all of five seconds. Shrugs. Tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” and disappears through to the kitchen.

You lay back and close your eyes, counting each cupboard door opening and then immediately falling shut as he makes his way around the place, seeking out your collection of mugs. When he eventually opens what must be the right one, you hear him exclaim.

“Ha! First try.”

You snort, bleary eyes opening again to focus on the TV. They’re discussing the Kardashians on The View. Your eyebrows lift in agreement as if you’re sat in the studio with them. They move on to some segment on the president.

Joel returns a few minutes later, two mugs in hand, and passes you the one shaped like a ghost.

“Cute,” you whisper, taking it in both hands.

He flashes you a proud grin as he lays back down, sipping on a black coffee in a faded mug your mom gave you years ago.

You tap your nail against the ceramic in his hands. “World’s Best Daughter.”

“That’s me,” he replies, propping himself up on an elbow. “Your mom get you it?”

Your head drops, eyes staring at him from under low brows. “No. My fucking neighbor did.”

He stares back as he lifts the mug to his lips. They melt in a kiss against the ceramic. When he pulls it away again, he swallows, and says, “You’re close to her.”

“My neighbor? Yeah, she lives right next door.”

“Easy, smartass.”

You flash him a smug grin, which dissolves as quickly as you notice his eyes lingering on the half-heart charm around your neck. By instinct, your fingers clutch the smooth gold, as if protecting the smallest part of yourself from him. The only part you’ve never let him in on.

But there’s something in his eye – something that feels less like a spotlight and more like a warm fire. Sharing secrets muted by the sputtering of wood, held safely by the round rusty glow of the flames. Something kinder. Something protective.

“Yeah,” you say, voice crackling, “we’re closer ‘n anyone. Been through a lot together.”

Joel nods. He knew that already. “I’ll bet, pretty girl.”

And in typical Joel fashion, he doesn’t press for any more than you willingly offer. A part of you kind of wants him to ask more, wants him to push you. A weight jumps at the bottom of your chest, like the words fail to launch. And before you can retry, before you can confess more of yourself into his hands, he says –

“Ask me som’.”

You stall, and look at him intently. “What?”

“Anything you want. Free pass.”

Your cheeks swell. “What do you mean?”

“If we’re sharin’ things, ‘s only fair we both do.”

“I don’t – We don’t have to –”

“Ask me,” he says slowly, eyebrows twitching.

“O-kay…”

You push a deep breath from your lips, cheeks globing as you scan around the room for inspiration. Something casual enough that you can ask it with ease, but deep enough that he’ll give you an answer worth sinking your teeth into. Something you don’t know about him; light enough to roll off your tongue, and then heavy when it lands in your palms.

Your gaze orbits back to his patient form and you ask, “How did you get the money to start your company?”

Joel seems to feel the weight of it when he catches it. Heavy, rather than light. Deep, rather than casual. He opens his mouth, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he answers. “My, uh…my dad. He had a little bit of money.”

“He invest in it?”

“No, no. He, uh…he left it when he died.”

Your lips pull in a wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Joel looks up.

“’s okay, baby,” he replies, with a soft chuckle that makes the loose collar of his shirt quiver. He pushes some hair out of your face, settles his hand on your knee.

You hook two fingers around his thumb. He squeezes lightly.

“He musta loved you a lot. Leavin’ you so much.”

Another deep breath. His body stiffens. You think to unlock your fingers and take his hand properly, comfort him, maybe – but he’s already lifting it, scratching his beard with his thumb. He watches a bubble swirl around in his mug until it disappears with a pop into the dark coffee, and he finally looks up.

“It’s kinda…complicated. He and my mom – they were married for years, ‘n he ended up…” Joel swallows. His jaw clenches. “He cheated on her. Had this mistress for months. Mom found out through a friend of hers. She kicked him out of the house, but they never divorced. Just stayed separated until he died, ‘n then he left all his money to her.”

“To your mom?”

Joel nods. “She didn’t want a penny of it. Hated the man ‘til the day he died ‘n beyond.”

And you believe it. Ruth Miller was kind, warm and charming to you. She laughed with you, she smiled like she’d known you her whole life, she held your hands and she whispered secrets about Joel in your ear – purposefully to embarrass him, to make that bashful side turn its head again.

But she was sharp. She was quick, and you knew within the first five minutes of meeting her exactly where Joel got his wit and his mind. You can see her, clear as day, guarding the front porch of that little white house – one hand on her hip and the other pointing in the direction her cheating husband was to head.

Just as clear, you can see her stood over that same husband’s grave, waving her fist and tearing his will into confetti. It brings something of a smile to your face. Sad, sympathetic, but…impressed.

“Wow…So she – she gave it to you? And you – put it into the company?”

He shrugs, grip tightening around the mug. “When I started makin’ money, I paid off the mortgage on her house, managed to convince her to retire early. Got her into a good retirement home, once she was ready for it.”

Smart guy.

A calm quiet falls between you. Joel turns to watch the commercials on TV. Your chest fills with a need to ask him something – a feeling all too familiar whenever you’re around him. Only him. A weight on your mind, a bubbling which starts in your stomach and rises up until it’s practically pushing the words out over your tongue.

“Your dad – how do you not hate him?”

He turns back. Your eyes are stinging. He notices. Holds his palm out, and your fingers instantly lace through his. Your nails find those same valleys, the grooves you’d traced while Swayze and Grey mamboed.

Joel stares up at you, face suddenly tight with worry. He knows there’s something loaded behind your question. Knows you’re asking for something more than another jigsaw piece of him. You’re doing it again. You’re freakin’ him out.

“I…” He falls quiet, looks between your eyes at the pearly tears which form in the corners, the way your face sets to stone. He glances down at your necklace again, and shakes his head softly. “I spent a long time hatin’ him, baby. Changed nothin’. He did what he did. He was a scumbag.”

The answer melts your angry frame, body folding and sinking further into your pillows. You tug the bedsheet a little closer to your chin, press your lips into the top of the ceramic ghost’s head.

Your voice sounds small, sounds like it doesn’t even come from your chest, when you say, “I think I hate my dad. For what he did.”

Joel finally relaxes. Like he’s finally seen the tiny creature casting the huge, stretched shadow on the wall. “You…Yeah?”

You nod. Stare at the cotton mountain of your legs entangled in his. “Yeah. He just up ‘n left, when things got boring. When I grew up, and my mom got older. Just packed his car, and…I always wonder –” a breath lurches from your chest, “– I always wonder why I wasn’t worth stickin’ around for. Why he just – decided one day to…”

Your voice fails to carry. Joel knows the end of the sentence, anyway.

You’ve never told anybody any of this. Not Blake, not your mom, not any of your friends; you barely even know in yourself how you feel about it – even twelve years later. But the air in the room feels different – feels thicker, like you’re tucked away from the world. The conversation won’t leave your apartment, you know that much. Know that Joel wouldn’t speak of it again, wouldn’t so much as let it cross his own mind, if you asked him not to. And so you let the words tumble from your tongue, let them sit heavy in the space between you.

The space between you, which is now silent, like you’re both preoccupied. Joel, taking in the weight of what you’ve said into strong, safe hands; and you, feeling that same weight lift off of your chest. Until the silence itself feels clunky, and awkward, and you scram to find something to break it up.

“Anyway. Sorry to be a bummer.”

“You ain’t a bummer. Are you kidding?” Joel sighs. “I’m sorry, babygirl. Sorry that happened to you.”

“’s okay. He was just a scumbag, right?”

“Sure sounds it.”

You take a small sip, the tea sugarcoating your lips and flooding over your tongue – the sweet taste ridding them of the bitter memory of your dad. “Your turn,” you hum.

Joel’s head jerks. “No, darlin’, you already told me somethin’. You go again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I’m changin’ the rules.”

You try to protest, manage the sound Jo– before his hand lifts and he shushes you.

“That’s what I was gonna ask, anyways. Was gonna ask about you ‘n your dad. Now, go.”

He’s lying. You know it, and you suspect he knows you know it, too. It’s a terrible attempt at a lie, no matter how kind it is. But you’re too tired, a little too in pain to argue back over it. And he’s looking at you again, with that honeycomb twinkle in his eye, that Joel look which stirs something in you every time he shows you it.

You sigh, accepting defeat, and rack your brain for something else you want him to talk about.

“Alright, uh…What about your brother? He didn’t want any of your dad’s money?”

Joel’s face twists into something of a grimace. You instantly regret bringing it up.

“Touchy subject?” you ask, already coming up with five new, two-dimensional questions to ask in place of that one. Who was your first kiss and what was your first car and when did you find your first gray hair and what’s your mom’s maiden name and –

But you don’t need them.

Joel says, “Not with you,” and tilts his head, like measuring up his answer. He takes his time letting it filter down to his lips, and you reckon you’ve a good idea of why.

He was closed-off about it in Paris. About his brother. Didn’t say more than three sentences about him. And that was only where a sheep farm was considered. What you’re asking about right now is a hell of a lot deeper and a hell of a lot more difficult than a ranch in the Texan countryside.

“He was always closer to Dad. They used to go out huntin’ every Sunday. Liked the same music, watched the same TV. They were buddies, more ‘n anything. When it turned out my dad had this whole other life behind our backs – behind Tommy’s back – he flipped. Couldn’t take it. He disappeared, never looked back. Just packed his car, moved across the country.”

He’s staring at the TV now, barely blinking. Barely breathing, until you speak and it’s like he remembers he’s in your apartment, on your bed, with you. Not back in time twenty years, watching the dust kick up from under his little brother’s tires.

“He must’ve been pretty mad.”

“Yeah. Tommy’s like that, he’s got a hot head on his shoulders. But it meant leavin’ Mom, y’know? She went through all of that without him. I had to pick up all these broken pieces, juggle all this stuff, ‘n he just got to walk away from it all. And then, when Dad died, he refused to come back still. Left me to organize everything – the money, the funeral. The whole damn thing.”

He flicks his head, resentfully, like trying to dislodge the memory from his mind. Trying to shake it free. When you speak, it seems to soften him. Seems to thaw whatever angry image was frozen behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “that part sucks. I bet it was hard goin’ through all that without him.”

Joel’s head angles towards you. “Not any harder ‘n it was on you, goin’ through what you did.”

“Well…I know I would’ve found it easier if I had a brother or sister. Someone like me, someone who gets it, y’know?”

“Hm. We weren’t all that close to begin with, I guess.”

“You were close enough to want to buy a ranch together.”

He shakes his head again, this time refusing to let the idea in. Turning it away at the door.

“You miss him?”

“It my turn to ask somethin’ yet?” he asks, smiling.

But you’re feeling braver now. He’s answered everything up until now; it feels less like a game and more like…more like he wants to talk about it. Like it’s been pent up all this time and this is the first anyone’s brought it up. A relief to get it off his chest, if nothing else.

You ignore him. Press him. “Do you?”

Joel sighs deep enough that his coffee ripples a little in his mug, and then nods. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if we were on speaking terms, yeah.”

“So, call him. You have his number?”

“I ain’t gonna call him, baby.”

“Where’s he at?”

“Last I heard, ‘n it was a long time ago now – he was in Wyoming. Married, kid on the way.”

“Call him. You really gonna let that kid grow up without Uncle Joel around?”

“Uncle Joel,” he repeats, laughing now. “He does not want to hear from me, angel. Let it go.”

Joel turns the volume up and settles back into bed, pillows propped behind him. You pass him your empty mug and he slots it alongside his own. As the commercials end and Whoopi Goldberg flashes a grin into the camera, you give it one final shot.

“I’d give anything to have someone who knew and understood me as well as a brother might.”

His hand falls limp against your bedsheets, remote loose in his fingers. You lift his arm, nuzzling underneath it to lean your head by his heart, and he sighs.

Argument won.

“Too many big questions,” you mutter after a while, eyes clinging to the screen. “Ask me somethin’ stupid.”

“Somethin’ stupid,” Joel repeats, and you nod. “Alright. Who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You slap his chest. “Dirtbag!”

He chuckles. “Who was it? Blake?”

“No,” you reply.

“Damn. Who?”

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see you.

But suddenly you feel the loose spaghetti straps of a slip dress over your shoulders, see the off-white glow of three-year-old sneakers crossed at your ankles, chipped pink fingernails tracing the blurry pastel shapes on floral bedsheets. A dry throat, the sanitized backwash of vodka and coke splashing across your tongue. A smash from downstairs – someone’s broken the host’s mom’s best vase.

“Was just this guy I slept with at a house party,” you tell Joel, clearing your throat. “Lisa Tait’s sweet sixteenth. We were in her bedroom, all of us, ‘n everyone started heading downstairs, ‘til it was just me ‘n this dude Jack laying on her bed.”

“You had sex on some other girl’s bed?”

You nod, cringing a little. “I wasn’t even friends with her. Wasn’t even friends with him. Just thought, fuck it. I didn’t wanna go into senior year a virgin ‘n neither did he, I guess.”

“How’d it go?”

The messy, uncomfortable thrusts between your legs. The hand shooting down to guide himself back in. The wet lips running along the shell of your ear, the acidic breath on your cheek. Is that good for you? Yeah, it’s good for me. You sure? I’m sure. Just hurry up.

“Lasted, like, four minutes, thirty seconds.”

Joel’s body jerks. You know he’s staring at the crown of your head. “You timed him?”

“No. He lasted as long as Paradise by Coldplay. It was playin’ downstairs in the living room.”

He tips his head back and laughs to the ceiling. You giggle into his shirt.

“Poor guy,” Joel says, rubbing your shoulder.

“Poor me, more like.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and pats your head. “Least you’re doin’ alright now.”

You push yourself up from his chest and glare at his satisfied smirk, dodging his thumb when it lifts to clip your chin. “Oh, you’re so smug about it.”

“Are you kidding? For lastin’ longer than five minutes? ‘course I am. Can make you come twice in that time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. Runs the tip of his tongue along his top lip, corners of his mouth twitching. Something sparks to life inside you.

Your knee lifts, reaching over his waist and planting into the mattress on the opposite side. Joel’s hands come to rest on your thighs, fingers slipping up beneath the black cotton and edging against your hipbones. You bend over him, lips running a wet trail from the base of his neck to his earlobe. His breath falters.

“Prove it, daddy,” you whisper, and his grip tightens.

“Baby,” he warns, voice suddenly sharper. “We don’t have to –”

You ignore him, holding him down by the shoulders. “I want to.”

“I’m just sayin’,” his fingers wrap around your wrists, “’s not why I came here. We can just hang out.”

“We are hanging out,” you tell him. “This is what we do.”

And he seems to agree. Or, at least, accepts defeat, in the form of rolling his hips upwards. His fingers slip through yours, locking at your knuckles, anchoring you to him. You grind against his belt buckle, the hard metal flat against your clit. Joel clocks you instantly.

He sits up. Holds you by the ass on his body until your center is flush with his. You feel him stir beneath your open legs.

He shifts to the edge of the bed, keeping you chest to chest in his lap. Your teeth grit against one another. His lips are warm, they still taste like coffee. You lick at the corners.

“Wanna make yourself feel good on me?” he asks.

A smile as sweet as sugar and laced with something darker spreads across your lips. “You’re best at it, right?”

Joel hums. “Alright,” he says, impressed. His chin lifts; he breathes a laugh as you pepper his jaw with kisses. “Take what you need, angel. ‘s all yours.”

Your knees spread wider. You push down on his swollen crotch, voice catching as he meets you halfway, bucking up into you again. Your clit throbs at the contact, forcing you back up off him.

“D-addy,” you choke, hands suddenly gripping his shoulders.

Joel’s stronger. He takes your waist and replaces you on his lap. “Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, “’s okay, baby. I got you. We’re gonna make you feel good together, alright? Here.”

He slides you over until your legs are either side of one of his, his thick thigh flat against your most sensitive spot. You dig your nails into his forearms, squeezing hard, but he doesn’t budge. Just looks up at you, holding you steady, and says –

“Go on. Ride it, babygirl.”

You move an inch. The rough fabric catches on the soft of Joel’s underwear. You gasp, relief mixing with arousal and spilling warm and soothing between your legs.

Joel squeezes your hips. “Do it, darlin’. Make yourself feel good. ‘m here, I’ll watch.”

The fabric beneath your pussy is soaked, probably dampening a mark into his pants – and you don’t fucking care. It feels good – the steady weight of him, lifting his thigh as you drag yourself along it, beginning to rock back and forth.

Your eyes are closed, head to the ceiling, grinding your core against his. You can feel him staring. Watching you, his gaze red hot on your already fevered skin. You collapse into him over and over, his body solid as a rock, letting yours fold against him. Liquid in pleasure and feeling.

Your eyes open a sliver and you smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel smirks. “You know how fucking perfect you look right now?”

You nod, forehead coming to lean heavily on his.

He bucks his leg, jaw tight. “How – fucking – beautiful you are? Making yourself come on daddy’s thigh?”

You inhale the words as he speaks them, swallowing them in gasps and parting your lips complacently for more. Keep going. Keep telling me –

“–you my good girl?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, legs starting to give.

“Gonna get me covered in you? Gonna come all fuckin’ over me, babygirl?”

“Daddy, I want –”

“Tell me,” he demands, “tell me what you want.”

His hands are clamped on your waist, guiding you – driving you, more than your weak hips are able to – holding you to him almost painfully. Your body circles messily, becoming sloppier the closer your orgasm draws, quivering when the feeling runs a delicate hand through your hair and plants wet kisses along your neck.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” you whine, body rocking again. Your hand lowers to cup the outline of him, rock-hard and restrained beneath linen. He shudders when you squeeze him – looks down to your small hand on the huge bulge in his trousers. “Need to feel you inside me.”

Your own eyes are stuck on the place where your bodies connect, writhing against one another – the wet seam of Joel’s underwear, the folds of his pant leg as you rut against him. Your empty cunt tightens, aching for more against his firm thigh.

“’m gonna, pretty girl,” he says, groaning as you palm him. “‘m gonna fuck you so good. Just give me one first, alright? Let me see you come for me.”

Your body jolts as you come. Hips lose their rhythm; arms lock tight around Joel’s shoulders. And all the while, his lips stay pressed against your ear.

“Look so good, baby,” he coos. “That feel good, angel? Yeah?”

As quickly as your orgasm sent you under, you’re pulling back. You haven’t even regained feeling between your legs, but you’re pushing yourself from his lap, separating your bodies.

Joel sits back, body lightweight when you tug on his wrists and drag him up to height in front of you. You’re backing up across the plush rug, his chest bumping against yours, your fingers fumbling for the buttons of his shirt. Your back hits the bathroom door. Joel twists the handle.

You spill onto the cold tile, attached at the mouth, frantically tearing clothes from each other’s bodies. It’s desperate. It’s burning. It’s almost fucking painful, how bad you need him.

His hands run from your cheeks to the hem of your shirt, hauling it over your torso and tossing it to the counter. You peel the shirt from his shoulders and your bare chest meets his, his hands finding your hips again when he whips them from his sleeves. The white shirt drops to your damp floor, dark, wet marks spreading across the dress fabric.

“Shoot,” you mumble against his lips. “My – bad. Sorry.”

“Don’t – care,” Joel breathes, and his thumbs push beneath his waistband.

You spin on your heel, backing towards the shower and taking him by the jaw with you. He shoves the clothing down his legs, stepping out of them and catching you again in time to drag the underwear from your thighs.

You shift into the shower, both fully naked. Joel spins the nozzle and the warm water rains down between you. His chest quickly soaks, dark hair thicker and blacker, flat against his glistening skin. He tilts his head under the spray and soaks his hair – gives one heavy flick of the head like a wet dog, and you laugh as he pulls you in again.

His hands cup your face as he connects your lips, and then his right drifts down your neck and pushes your tit up, squeezing the sensitive skin in his palm and rolling your firm nipple between two fingers. He lets it drop, runs his hand delicately down your frame, following the curve of your waist to your hips. He cups between your legs.

You come up for air, a sudden realization over your head as though the water runs freezing cold. “Wait,” you start, “I gotta –”

But he’s rubbing gentle circles against your clit, slow, pacing you as the tide of your first orgasm disappears to sea. He doesn’t seem to know, yet – or if he does, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Joel –”

“I know,” he says, voice low and busy, but still – assuring. Unbothered. He moves his hand lower, surfing along your slit, until his fingers brush the wet string.

Your breathing jumps. He taps the seam of your thigh twice, and your leg tilts aside. Your eyes flit back up, crossing over his chest to fix on his jaw. You feel a flushing heat cross your cheeks, a moment’s hesitation before your fingers clamp around his wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you almost don’t hear him over the running of the shower. He keeps his left hand on your jaw, his right between your legs. He shakes his head once, and takes the string in two fingers, and –

Gently pulls. Only a fraction, and then he pauses. Looks back up at you, a question in his stare.

You nod, exhaling heavily. He pulls again, and he doesn’t stop.

The tampon falls wet and heavy into his palm. His hand leaves your cheek and settles around your waist, leaning both of you out of the shower while he reaches for some toilet paper. Once it’s wrapped in a roll of white tissue and sat on your sink, he moves back into the cubicle.

He runs his palm under the flow; splashes of red swept up, watered down, and carried to the drain along with every last whispering of worry on your lips. Your elbows bend around his neck and he dips his head to kiss you, pushing you carefully into the corner.

“You tell me –” he kisses you, “– if it hurts or it gets too much, you tell me.” His body stands huge, blocking yours from the stream of water. Your back bumps against the shower wall; the shock of the cold tile pushes you closer to Joel.

“Just – fuck me.”

But he’s adamant. “You tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. You’ll know.”

“This is about you feelin’ good.”

“I’ll tell you,” you whine.

“We’re gonna have a word,” Joel instructs, lining up between your legs. He lifts your thigh to sit on his hip. “’n if you say it, I stop. Alright?”

You nod, fervently. “Please –”

His fingers separate your lips; his tip nudges your entrance. “Maple, alright? It gets too much, you say maple. You do that?”

“Joel, if you don’t –”

“Baby.”

“Maple,” you agree, “I’ll say it. Just –”

He pushes in without another word.

How many times has it been, by now? Ten? More than that? Enough for you to know in your mind, if not from trying to learn then simply from muscle memory, exactly how he feels. The curve of his cock, the width of the tip, the length of him as he slots deep inside you.

And yet – every fucking time – you feel so full. Full of him in every sense – your cunt, swollen around him, your lungs, breathing his scent, your every thought and feeling and sense replaced by Joel. Joel Joel Joel Joel –

He’s suffocating. And if you died right now – if you were smothered by him, swaddled until you couldn’t feel anything anymore – you’re not sure you’d be able to tell. Not sure you’d care enough to notice.

He pushes in slow, but deep. So fucking deep. Lets your walls expand around him the first few thrusts, lets your body welcome him back in. His lips press against your temple, his arms cradle your lower back. Your weight bears down on his shoulders and he lifts you, your other leg sitting on his waist. He holds your ass in both hands, begins to bounce you steadily.

“So good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me. You’re daddy’s girl, ain’t you?”

Your answer leaves your lips in the form of a moan. Something shaped like his name, or maybe some attempt at a response to his question, or maybe something more dangerous.

“My girl,” he repeats, whatever it was you said. “Daddy’s girl.”

Your head rolls back, cushioned by Joel’s hand between you and the tile wall. He knots his fingers in your hair, snaps his hips quick and hard, panting into your shoulder. And there’s a feeling – a stinging, a burning, sweeping across your eyes, and for a second you think it feels like shampoo, like the sharp scratch of soap between your lashes, until you realize it’s –

Tears. The heavy cut of tears, brimming your eyes. Blurring your vision. And with every thrust, every blissful meeting of Joel’s cock and your cervix, every inch he spreads you open wide – they form quicker, and quicker, and quicker. Until they spill down onto your cheeks, and you can’t tell the difference between them and the spray of the shower.

But Joel can. His head lifts from the crook of your neck, his teeth dragging from your skin. He spots your eyelashes, silky and wet, and in one motion, wraps his arm around your head, holds you with the inside of his elbow.

He dips his jaw, presses his lips featherlight to your cheeks, kisses the tears away as quickly as they roll down.

“I –” gasp, “– don’t know –” gasp, “– why I’m –”

Joel’s head shakes as he pulls away. Shuts you up. His answer is simple. You believe it instantly.

“’s okay. You’re okay.”

And right then – you think you understand.

Because you can see him – plain as day. You can see the amounts he cares for you, the limitless needs he can meet for you. There’s a warmth within you, spread throughout your body for him, and you have no fucking idea how to let him feel it. How to have it seep through your skin – so that every time his fingers ghost over your body, he’s met with a blaze strong enough to burn. A fire, big enough and bright enough that it shows him exactly how you feel.

Only him. No one else. A flame only he can see, dancing across your eyes when you look at him. A heat only he can feel. How do you make him feel it? How do you tell him? What combination of words might translate it?

It’s like slamming your fists against a glass barrier. A transparent wall, that allows you only to see him and draw near to him – never to feel him. Not really.

And so, you cry. You cry for him, for yourself. And Joel lets you.

For a little while.

His lips are back on your neck, biting marks into the soaking skin. “’attagirl,” he hums. It rattles your pulse, disturbs the rhythm and sends his own beating through your veins. “So good, baby.”

They soothe you – his lips, and the words which come from them. Soothe the sweet pain between your legs, the swollen ache every time Joel pushes into you. The stretch, the bruising tinge when his tip finds home in the deepest part of your body. Somewhere no one has ever reached, no one has ever found. No one, you feel, has ever been worthy enough to know.

Until him. Until Joel.

That same rhythm – your pulse on his wavelength – begins to flee south. Loops and swirls and dives to where his body connects with yours. Tightens rapidly around your cunt. Your hips grind against his, your thighs clamp on his waist. He starts to falter, hips slipping whether from blood or come or water. And then he’s growling, face burying into your chest as he steadies the two of you with an abrupt palm on the wall, and he stills.

The feeling of his release tips you over. The warmth spreading inside, so far you feel him in your stomach. Your walls contract around him, squeezing until every last drop of him is buried somewhere in you, and you lower one foot to the shower floor.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants, pulling his lips from your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, head rolling against the wall behind. You’re not crying anymore. The shower whirrs somewhere over Joel’s shoulder. Your chest feels tight. And you feel fucking euphoric.

He gives three more lazy, broken thrusts, pushing his come deeper inside. You both still, mouths curved open, exchanging breath and letting your tongues flick idly against one another.

You hold onto him long after your orgasm is shallow ripples between your legs. Long after the feeling has washed back into the ocean, your high a glimmer of sunlight bursting over the distant horizon, the aftereffects painting your world golden.

You hold onto him, and you let him run his hands slowly up and down your spine, and you sift your weak fingers through his dark hair, and you let him kiss your neck and your shoulders and your collarbones. He leans back; the flow of water cascades between you, carrying away any mess left on your bodies.

And then you let him carry you out of the shower, his tip still inside you, slowly softening. He settles you carefully against your counter, and reaches over for two white towels, caping one around your shoulders and using it to draw your body against his own.

You take the corners from his fingers and he lifts your chin, pushing your lips apart with his tongue. Then he pulls away, allows you to wrap the terry around yourself.

Joel wraps his own towel around his waist, slung loose enough that you can trace the dark hair peppered from his belly button down between his hips.

“You know how inappropriate it is to look at your boss like that?” he tuts.

You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back in. “Then stop lookin’ at me the way you do,” you tease, and he kisses your cheek.

He disappears through to your kitchen, reappears moments later with the box of Tampax, and you don’t even think to laugh or tell him you’ve an open box sat in the cupboard you’re leaning against. You just smile, and accept the clean tampon he holds out in his fingers. He leaves you to get dressed with the door closed over.

He’s sat on your bed when you emerge from the bathroom, holding his soaking shirt between two fingers. “Sorry about, uh…”

“’s alright,” he shrugs, standing up, “I’ll take it from your paycheck.”

His knuckles pinch your nose. You free yourself to place a chaste kiss on his fingers, and pass him the crinkled mess.

“I have something that’ll fit you somewhere,” you mutter, slipping past him as he hangs the shirt by the collar over your door.

“Do me a favor,” Joel’s voice follows, and he takes your wrist. You turn back to face him. “Catch your breath.”

“Huh?” you ask, and his hand comes up to mold around your cheek, the way it always fucking does. As if your bodies were made to be held by one another.

“Just – take a breath. You’re doin’ it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Movin’ at a hundred miles an hour. Breathe for me.”

You scoff, loosening yourself from his grasp to go sift through your wardrobe for something big enough for him. You settle for a Jurassic Park tee – logo faded and cracked, hem a little ragged.

“Rod’s?” he asks, holding the shirt up.

You’re already collapsing onto the mattress. “You bet.”

Joel smirks and tugs it over his head, throwing himself down against the headboard. Your hand wraps around his thigh, lips press soft kisses on the skin. He runs his hand over your hair.

“Are you gonna take a sick day off me for this?” you ask.

He shakes his head simply. “Doctor’s orders. Can’t say nothin’ to that.”

“I didn’t go to the doc–”

His thumb presses against your lips. “You don’t know when to fuckin’ lie, do you?” he whispers. “’s alright, we’ll getcha trained up.”

You snort, shaking yourself free of his hand. Your head settles by his hip, nails draw aimless patterns along the curve of his stomach.

“Need you better by Sunday, anyway,” Joel sighs, “Martha’s son’s birthday party.”

You grunt in response. You forgot about that.

Joel tuts. “Still gotta find him a present. How in the hell do I know what to buy a twelve-year-old?”

Your hand pauses. Neck cranes up to look at him. He’s staring down at you, his trademark glower still recognizable even upside down. Somehow, not sat upright in front of him, the thought seems less scary. Less of a commitment, more a casual suggestion.

“Why don’t we just get ‘im a joint one?”

The hard expression immediately wipes from his face. Replaced by something rounder. He blinks at you. “Really? From – you ‘n me?”

You shrug against his waist. It’s not answer enough for him.

“As in, you n’ me?” he asks.

“Why not?”

Joel’s head shakes. His mouth curves as he considers the thought. But he can’t mask the pang it sends through his body; can’t pretend he’s not covering the way his veins light and his nerves stand to attention by taking your hand in his and squeezing it briskly.

It doesn’t have to mean something. You, Joel, and Deb are the only people from work that Martha invited, and Deb’s bringing her two sons, which means her gift will be from them, too. All it has to mean is that you’re Martha’s co-workers, and figured it’d be cheaper and easier to get one gift over two.

Except – one of you is a millionaire.

It means something. The fact you asked. You’re not asking to save a buck, to make it simpler. You’re asking because you want to wrap some video game in paper Joel picked out; you want him to hold the folds down with one finger while you tear tape with your teeth. You want to sign the card with both of your names, in your handwriting. See how they look paired up.

You ask him because you want to feel the way you think you ought to have felt this entire time. Your body is ablaze. You’re ready to let him feel it. And you ‘n me seems like a pretty good combination of words to start with.

You’re ready. And that’s why you ask him.

Joel’s quiet for as long as you are. You both go to talk at the same time, both noticing how silent the room has fallen while you realize all of those things in real time.

“Sorry, baby, you go,” Joel says, sniffing.

“No, I was just – no, you go. What were you gonna say?”

He smiles. “Was just – wonderin’ what you wanted to get Alan.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and then you pause. “Al–? What?”

“What you wanted to get ‘im,” Joel repeats.

You push yourself up, lean on one hip in front of him. “Yeah, I heard that part. What did you call him?”

“Alan?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel stares right back. “Martha’s son.”

“Martha’s son’s name is Henry.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t.”

You’re biting back a laugh. “Yes, it fuckin’ is.”

“She calls him Little Al. All the damn time, baby, he’s –”

“That’s because he acts like Alan. Her husband. His father. All the damn time. You gotta be messing with me. Have you been calling him Alan the entire time he’s been alive?”

“No.”

His expression tells you yes.

You’re laughing now. Really laughing. It breaks your words in two, your head tilting back to the ceiling. “You…idiot.”

Joel’s struggling to compose himself, sliding off the bed. “The email she sent out says Alan’s Twelfth Birthday. The hell’s my phone?”

“You think she had a kid in two thousand eleven, and named it Alan? You don’t think they’d call Child Protection on her for that?”

He points a finger, tossing pillows to the bottom of your bed. “That’s disrespectful to the Alans of the world. Where the fuck is my –?”

Your chest swells in a giggle, eyes start to sting with tears. “What do you write in her Christmas cards? To Martha, Alan, and Alan?”

You slap the bed, leaning forward with a deep gasp, trying to catch your fucking breath. Joel’s still stripping the bed, still keeping his own laughter deep in his chest, but it’s quickly crumbling.

“Her email –” he chuckles, “– says Alan’s Twel–”

“She’s fucking with you!” you holler, catching the pillows he throws to you. “She’s fucking with – I’m gonna piss my pants. Martha, Alan, and Alan, oh my fucking –”

“Here,” he finally throws you the phone, “go find it. Find the email. Search the damn word Alan; she uses it every time she talks about him. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. You want another chamomile tea, Little Miss Smartass?”

He lifts your mug and tilts it in your direction. You nod as you reach for the phone, wiping tears from your cheeks. Joel disappears through to the kitchen.

He clued you in on his passcode a few months after you started. You were still in the office past five o’clock, looking out files he needed for some client visit the following morning. His phone had buzzed, you were nearest it. He lifted his head and nodded to the lit screen.

1-6-9-1, he told you.

It finally made sense only a few days ago, after three years of wondering. Three years of knowing and never asking; a mystery solved. 1691 Maple.

His background was always one of the standard ones. The boring ones. A soft, blue gradient. Usually, his lock screen was too populated by notifications for you to even notice.

But now – it’s changed.

Now, it’s a photo of the view from the terrace in Paris. The pale sunset, faded blue into sweet yellow. The Eiffel Tower carved out in the center. You suck in a deep breath as you swipe texts and emails away to properly study it, figure out exactly where he was standing to take it, and exactly where you might’ve been when he did.

You tap in the four digits and his home screen lays out before you. Only, the background is different – again.

It’s Paris, still, but indoors. Dark wall, an ornate frame pinned to it, housing an amused smirk and soft hands. She’s looking off into the distance, past the photographer. Or maybe – she’s looking at you.

You, stood leaning on the barrier in front of her. The Mona Lisa. Your head tilted towards her, beaming like it’s a photo with your favorite celebrity.

It’s not a big deal. That’s what you tell yourself. It’s his home screen. Only visible if you know his password – and you’re fairly sure that you’re the only one who does. Not even Martha would know that this photo exists, never mind the fact that it’s his wallpaper. It’s not a big fucking deal.

No matter how much you think you want it to be.

You swiftly tap on the email app icon, trying to rid your mind of your own cheesing image. He has thirteen unread emails, all from the last hour. Some you know he’ll forward straight to you and Martha; others look a little more serious. As you’re scrolling down them, you notice a familiar face.

Denis Pelletier. His square-jawed grin flashes back at you from the tiny circle icon beside his name. You tap on the email, and your cheeks lift higher the further down it you read.

I hope your flight home was pleasant, and It was wonderful to take you both around Paris, and Your assistant was very sweet. You breathe a laugh, scrolling down the three-paragraph message urging Joel that if he’s ever back in Paris – if you’re ever back in Paris, both of you – to make sure you let the chauffeur know.

But there’s no email from Martha. At least, none in Joel’s inbox. You return out of the folder and wheel down to his Deleted folder, scrolling past password reset emails, panicked cries for help from Mackley and Tom, past order confirmations for brands you’ve never heard of, when –

A head of hair, more salt than pepper. A bright, unnerving smile, too many dazzling teeth in a mouth too small to house them. A pink sky behind him; candy floss clouds and townhouses glowing orange in the sunset – the building blocks of the Paris skyline.

Jean-Marc. An email – a deleted email – from Jean-Marc.

Dear Joel, It was such a pl… is all you can read from the preview. Your eyes flit up to your door. Joel’s still in the kitchen, humming. You glance back down to his phone.

Would it be invading his privacy? It’s only an email from Jean-Marc. It’s not like you don’t know who he is. What if your thumb slipped? Accidentally opened it? What if your eyes scanned over the text before you quickly swiped back out of the email?

There’s the sound of a drawer rolling closed. A spoon rattling against ceramic. He’s stirring your tea.

You click on the email.

It was such a pleasure to see you again.

You scan over the first paragraph. It’s just Jean-Marc cozying up to Joel. Your nose wrinkles and your lips turn.

I loved meeting your assistant, the next paragraph begins. And your focus is pulled.

I wonder if you had given our conversation any more thought? Whether she might be looking for a new challenge? Something this side of the Atlantic, perhaps?

Your heart skips a beat. A new challenge.

“You want the last egg roll?” Joel calls from the kitchen.

You jolt back to life. “N-no, you have it,” you reply. You hear the rustle of the bag.

I wonder if you might relay the message onto her, Jean-Marc continues. Please give her my email address and phone number.

You quickly pull the screen up, noting the date the message was sent. Three days after you got home from Paris. More than a week ago. You tap on Joel’s response as his footsteps creak back towards your bedroom.

His reply is as short and sweet as the few words he spoke to the Frenchman that Sunday morning.

I’ll pass on your details, he’s written, but unfortunately, my assistant is currently unavailable. Maybe sometime in the future.

Your jaw jerks. Eyes trace the words, over and over. Thumb scrolls up and down the email, making sure you’re reading it right. Joel, making promises he never followed through. Joel – your Joel, the one you pestered for fucking days after Paris over what he’d talked with Jean-Marc about – one hand laced through yours, the other with a vice grip around a secret he never intended to clue you in on.

You. He’d talked about you. They’d probably talked about you the entire fucking meeting, as soon as Joel mentioned you. You can see Jean-Marc’s ears twig; his eyebrows lift with interest. The way he sets his wine glass down, offers Joel another whiskey and invites him to say more.

Joel. Lying. And covering up. And keeping you close by his hip, walking in stride with him out of that fucking penthouse – like you’re on some kind of leash, or something.

The fabric of his underwear on your hips feels claustrophobic; a second layer of skin that rubs against yours like sandpaper. You want to rip them off off off – want to separate yourself from him, peel him from your body and forget the feeling of him as quickly as you seemed to absorb it. Instinct tells you to detach yourself – to remove any trace of him ever having laid eyes on you, never mind touched you.

What a fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t fucking care about you after all.

You don’t even notice when his form saunters back into the room, when he shoves the door closed with his elbow. There’s a bitter taste on your tongue, sour with disappointment. Acrid with anger. Sick with fear.

Unavail–?

“You find it?” he asks, and you subconsciously clutch the phone to your chest.

“Not yet,” you murmur, watching as he sets the mug back on your nightstand.

His fingers slip through the handle, knuckle nudges the temple of the ghost a little further along the surface, and he straightens, lifting his own mug to his lips.

“’s in there,” he says against the ceramic. He holds a hand out, curls his fingers. “Let’s see.”

“Never mind,” you say, tapping out of the email, out of the folder, out of the app. “I believe you.”

And then –

“…You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

He licks his lips. Holds the mug by his side, fingers gripping the lip. He gives a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

“No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #sex on fire

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chiabeanz · 3 days

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Safehouse Sanctuary

summary: bucky barnes x reader drabble - tending injuries and nightmares 😌 (830 words)

You and Bucky Barnes stumble into the safehouse, a luxurious apartment hidden away in the heart of the city. You wince as you close the door behind you, the adrenaline from the mission wearing off and leaving you acutely aware of the sharp pain in your arm and the throbbing in your forehead.

Without a word, you and Bucky fall into a practiced routine, scanning the apartment for any signs of danger. You move through the space with careful precision, peering into corners and behind furniture, checking every nook and cranny. Bucky mirrors your movements on the opposite side of the apartment, his combat instincts as sharp as ever.

"We're clear," Bucky finally says, with you replying “Same here.” before putting the flashlight away.

"Great," you mutter, heading towards the kitchen where you know the med kit is stored. You pull it out from the cabinet and sit at the island, examining the laceration on your arm. The cut is not too deep but unfortunately hurts every time you move your arm which is very annoying. Your forehead wound isn’t as bad, but it still stings.

You start cleaning the wound, the antiseptic making you take a deep breath. The gauze and tape are ready on the counter, but as you fumble with the roll of tape, it gets on your last remaining nerve. Frustration bubbles up inside you, and you grab the offending roll, throwing it across the room where it hits the wall and bounces away.

Bucky watches this with a raised eyebrow. "It's not the tape's fault," he comments, his tone almost teasing.

"I know." you reply, annoyed and raising your voice more than you wish you did.

He approaches you, his demeanor softening. "Here, let me help."

"I don't need your help," you snap, more out of frustration with yourself than with him. "I can do it myself." That was uncalled for. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before replying more composedly. “I’m serious. I can do it myself.”

"I know you can," he replies calmly. "But you don't have to."

His gentle insistence makes you relent. He takes the tape and begins to expertly dress your wound, his touch surprisingly gentle. You watch him work, the furrow of concentration on his brow softening his usually stern features.

"Thanks," you murmur as he finishes, securing the bandage with a final piece of tape. "Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head slightly. "You're the one who pushed me out of the way. I only have a few small cuts that'll heal in a few hours anyway. You shouldn't have done that."

"If I didn't push you out of the way, they might've shot your ass," you retort. "Super fast healing powers or not, a bullet is more uncomfortable than a small cut."

He gives a small, almost reluctant smile. "Fair point but never do something like that ever again."

You scoff as you get up and walk to the mirror in the hallway, looking at your bandaged arm and the small cut on your forehead. With a wry smile, you say, "There goes the beauty pageant backup plan."

You turn to Bucky and ask, "What do you think?"

"Breathtaking," he deadpans, his expression unreadable. Then he gets up and moves towards the living area, leaving you to process his words.

Later that night, you claim the bed while Bucky settles on the floor, insisting that he doesn't need much to sleep. Despite the comfort of the bed, you find yourself lying awake, listening to the sounds of the city outside and Bucky's steady breathing below.

Suddenly, his breathing changes, quickening and becoming more erratic. You hear him mutter something unintelligible, his body twitching in the throes of a nightmare. Without hesitation, you slide out of bed and kneel beside him, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Bucky." you whisper urgently. "Hey."

His eyes snap open, wild and unfocused, but they soften as they meet yours. You notice the way his gaze briefly flickers to your arm, guilt shadowing his features. He sits up, running a hand through his hair, still breathing heavily.

"You okay?" you ask, concern evident in your voice.

He nods, though he looks haunted. "Yeah. Just... old memories."

You reach out to comfort him, but as your hand accidentally brushes his, he flinches away. The gesture is subtle but tells you everything. He’s afraid of hurting you.

"You didn't hurt me," you assure him softly. "In fact, you used these hands to tend to my injuries a few hours ago remember?” He looks at you, searching your face for any sign of fear. Finding none, he visibly relaxes, though the guilt doesn't completely leave his eyes.

"I know you think the floor is fine, but I don't," you say, trying to lighten the mood. "We're both adults. You should sleep on the bed. We can put a pillow between us if that makes it more digestible." For a moment, he looks like he might argue, but then he nods. "Alright."

The extra pillow, however, is never put down. Bucky settles in beside you, not too close but not too far either, his presence surprisingly comforting. Sleep finally claims you both, the knowledge that you have each other bringing a measure of peace in an otherwise tumultuous world.

A/N: Idea came from a dream btw thank you R.E.M

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #the winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #the winter solider imagine #bucky x female reader #james bucky buchanan barnes

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 4 months

Note

Can I request Carol Danvers x Reader. While the whole team is on a mission, Reader finds themselves in trouble. Carol swoops in a saves them. The team starts to harass R, which makes R have feelings of doubt toward their abilities and also not good enough for Carol. Angst and then you can end it however you see it. Thank you! If you don’t like this request, please feel free to ignore.

My Voice of Reason

Warnings: Bullying of R by the team that's about it

Word count: 660

A/N: thank you for this request! I had a fun time with it~

“Y/N! Come in! What's your status?” Cap shouted over the comms. Your head was reeling after being knocked back about 50ft. You had no voice left, you had been shouting, using your voice manipulation to subdue the enemies.

You had run out of throat spray to ease the pain and talking was something you couldn't even fathom.

“Anyone got eyes on Y/N?” Natasha called through the comms.

“I'll find her.” You heard Carol call through, and before you knew it, she was standing above you. “You good, Echo?” The nickname that stuck with you for being able to mimic any sound. You were able to nod, point at your throat, and sign ‘no’. “Can you get up? Can you walk?” As Carol asked, another handful of Hydra goons came round, and without a second thought, Carol picked you up before unleashing an attack, knocking them out. “Let's get back to the QuinJet.” You nodded, gripping onto her, burying your face against her to hide the blush covering your cheeks.

The ride home had been full of whispers as if you couldn't hear them talking down. It was your voice that wasn't working, not your ears.

You felt Carol's strong hand on your shoulder. Looking over, she gave a soft smile. “Almost home. We'll have to debrief, but you should grab some medicine first.” You gave a soft smile back and nodded.

“Y/N do you have anything to say?” Tony remarked, all eyes on you.

“Ran out of meds. Couldn't talk.” Your voice still hoarse.

“I am so sick of that excuse! You need to train more often and stay off missions. You're grounded.” Cap called across the table. You pulled your sleeves over your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. You couldn't look at any of them.

“I'm sorry…” you spoke softly. Letting the ‘adults’ talk even though you were 21 you were still the youngest besides Peter, but Tony kept him mostly off field.

A few hours later you'd been released from the debriefing, heading straight to your room. “FRIDAY. Soundproof.”

“Sound proofing complete ms. Y/L/N.” As soon as it was soundproof, you let out a banshee scream in frustration. You yelled until your voice was just about gone again, “Fuck them. I try so hard…Tony has a stupid suit, Cap is a super soldier, Thor is a literal God!” You yelled. “It's not fair…its…” you started crying which turned into uncontrollable sobbing.

“Echo? Are you in there?” You heard Carol knocked at your door. As you tried to gather yourself together real quick and told FRIDAY to stop the soundproofing.

“Y-yeah…here…” you called out, spraying your throat.

“Can I come in?” Carol asked, making you hesitate for a moment before opening it and pulling her inside. “Hey, you okay?” Carol cupped your cheeks, you tried looking away, anywhere, but at her. She was always so kind and caring towards you. “Look at me Y/N.” It caught you off guard, she never used your name ever since she learned your nickname so of course you looked at her. “Don't listen to those idiots. You're amazing and you're an amazing super hero. They have fancy gadgets and enhancements. You don't have those things. Sure your voice is a power and makes you an enhanced individual, but your power hurts you too. It isn't endless your body has limits and they need to understand that.”

You felt your body shake at her words, trying to hold back your tears, but they end up falling as you're pulled against her. “Shhhh I'm always on your side.” Carol pulled your face up gently before pulling you into a soft kiss making your heart soar as you kissed her back pushing up on your toes and wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

Through all of it, Carol was here with you, and so long as you had her by your side, anything the other members said didn't matter.

#ley speaks #ley requests #ley drabbles #ley writes #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers #carol danvers x female reader #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x female reader

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chronicowboy · 1 year

Text

Eddie is a big enough person that he can admit he's being difficult. He feels like a dick, okay? A nurse's job is difficult enough without a stubborn firefighter wriggling away from their relentless offers of pain medication, and he feels truly terrible about making it ten times worse.

But his team, his family, all came way too close to death today. And what did Eddie do? Lie there like a fucking damsel in distress just waiting for Buck to come rescue him.

Hell, even Hen performed a rope rescue whilst heavily concussed. Eddie was about one tenth of the muscle power behind lifting the slab of concrete off Bobby, that's it.

And, look, maybe that's not a good enough reason to snap at the very nice nurse pursing her lips into a smile for him. But Athena had dropped him down on the closest bench when they'd arrived, and everybody else was being dealt with because their injuries were more serious, and Eddie's alone. He's alone, and he has no idea what's happening to his friends, and no one will tell him anything.

The curtain hooks squeak as a dusty figure slips into his little nook in the corner of the Emergency Room, and something coiled tight in his chest loosens into warm relief when he meets their eyes.

"Hey, heard you were being difficult." Buck quirks an eyebrow at him, and Eddie can see the way his mouth twitches as it desperately tries to fight off a smile.

"I'm not being difficult," Eddie insists because maybe he's not as big of a person as he thought he was. The nurse shoots him a dirty look, and he withers under the attention. "Okay, maybe a little."

Buck huffs a laugh as he drags a spare stool over to the bedside unoccupied by the needle-wielding nurse, collapsing into it with a poorly hidden grimace. His eyes flick around Eddie's face for a moment, and Eddie swallows thickly at the attention, suddenly afraid Buck might see something on him that Eddie can barely see himself - that tends to be how they work.

(Its a lot that he's choosing not to see. Or, well, its impossible not to see, but Eddie has never cared to look too closely, never cared to take a step back and look at the whole picture.

The magnitude of it terrifies him because what he can't see he can feel. The loosened coil in his chest that had turned taut at Buck's grimace, the way the throbbing in his ribcage had eased up ever so slightly when Buck's voice had crackled through his radio, the leap of something behind his sternum when Buck's hand had found his in the chaos.

And the details of it that Eddie has spent hours staring at just for them all to blur together into an answer he's never dared read. The spot on the couch that always sits empty on Christopher's other side, the cookies Christopher's teacher had complimented him for at pick-up, the cartoon heart tucked away in the box at the bottom of the closet with all of Christopher's old drawings.

God, part of him hopes Buck reads it all right then and there, puts them both out of the misery and drags the answer out into the daylight.)

"Take the meds, Eddie," Buck murmurs gently. There's something on Buck's face, something Eddie wants to read into, something Eddie wants to find an answer in. "Please."

"Buck..."

"I saw how much pain you were in, Eds." Buck shakes his head, shoulders hunching tight with tension. He looks smaller under the fluorescent hospital lights, not the competent saviour of his team, but the little kid terrified of losing his family. "I saw it."

Eddie doesn't need to read that answer, hears it instead. Hears the: I saw the pain this time, let me fix it like I couldn't then. Hears the: I see you whether you like it or not.

"I heard it," Buck whispers. Eddie isn't sure whether or not he's meant to hear that, but then Buck is turning blazing eyes on him. "I heard it when I pulled you out, Eddie, and it killed me because I was the one making it worse."

"No, Buck." Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. "You saved me. You saved everyone."

"Please, just..." Buck drops his head with a sigh. "Let the nurse give you the meds, so she can get the hell away from you."

"Do you know anything about the others yet?" Eddie asks, too afraid of the raw quality of Buck's voice to worry about his own. Buck squints at him before his face softens.

"Hen's CT came back clear. She just pushed herself too much. Karen's already drafted up a screentime allowance for when she gets to take her home in a couple of hours." Eddie takes a deep breath, swallows down the fear that had gripped him when Hen had thrown up. Buck shuffles a little closer, the wheels of the stool squeaking with the movement. "Bobby's X-ray says his ankle's only sprained, shoulder's only dislocated. But they're keeping him overnight to keep an eye on any complications in his chest. Just in case." Another deep breath, another relief, another lingering fear. "The rebar missed everything important in Chim, but they're still in surgery patching him up, pumping him full of all the fluids he lost." Eddie exhales, a long, deep thing that makes his eyes water with gratitude. "Everyone's okay, Eddie," Buck reassures him.

Eddie turns to look at him fully then, examining Buck in a way he hadn't been able to at the bridge what with the pain, the fear, and Buck running around putting out whatever metaphorical fires combusted as they popped up. The right side of his face is caked in a paste of blood and dust that makes Eddie's stomach turn worse than the pain in his chest.

Before he can think it through, Eddie reaches up to cup Buck's jaw, swiping his thumb over the stubbled skin just under the lacerations.

"What about you?" he rasps, suddenly exhausted. Buck blinks lazily at him, blue eyes startlingly clear when they meet Eddie's, a small smile shifting the skin under his palm.

"Just some cuts and bruises," Buck tells him. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"If I promise to let you stick me with the drugs without bitching," Eddie turns to the sharp-eyed nurse, "will you let me clean and patch him up?"

"Deal." The nurse sighs heavily like its the best news she's heard all week and stabs him with the needle before he can even draw his next breath.

"Ow," he mumbles under his breath.

"Deserved it." Buck snorts.

The nurse slips through the curtain, gone just long enough for the meds to warm his veins, the pain fading into an aching hum under his skin. She returns with a box of wipes and an array of gauzes that Eddie accepts both gratefully and apologetically.

"I'm fine," Buck insists, but he makes no move to resist when Eddie tenderly cups his left cheek and reaches up to clean the right.

"Mhm." Eddie grits his teeth as inconspicuously as he can when the movement tugs uncomfortably at his ribs, unwilling to let Buck use his pain as an excuse to not be looked after. "They check you for concussion?"

"Yes, dad." Buck rolls his eyes, and Eddie tries not to think about the way Buck refers to him as dad with Christopher. Something must show on his face because Buck reaches out to touch gentle fingers to the medallion resting against his chest. Eddie's eyes sting with fresh tears. "I'll drive you home when Chim's out of surgery."

"Okay." Eddie uses the clean side of the wipe to clear Buck's face of dust. "Does Chris know about..."

"Yeah." Buck nods. "Told him we'd be a little late, but that we're both okay. He's gonna be gentle when he hugs you."

"Just as long as I get a hug, you know?" Eddie laughs wetly, dropping his head back against the wall. His eyes roll back to Buck. "Thank you."

Eddie doesn't know what magic words will erase the lingering tension in Buck's frame, but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Christopher will because Chris always knows just how to save Buck. Has saved him over and over again.

My best friend's daughter...

Eddie grabs Buck's hand where it had dropped onto the edge of the mattress and squeezes once. Buck squeezes back twice in return. Neither of them knows what it means. Not yet.

For now, they just sit together and wait.

#sami rambles #okay i just had to write buck and eddie in the hospital bc i know buck sat with him the whole time.#911 spoilers #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 ficlet #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie ficlet #buck x eddie fic #episode coda

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deejadabbles · 1 year

Text

the mistake you can't live without (Rex x Reader)

Summary: After spending hours by your side in the med bay, Rex decides that maybe mistakes are meant to be made.

Rex x Jedi Reader (gender neutral), angst with happy ending.

A.N: Got inspired by the song The High Road and since Rex seems to be a source of angst for me, it fit perfectly. This is entirely from Rex's POV.

Warnings: Mentions of injury/hospitalization, self deprecation and questioning ones self worth, mentions/implied steamy situations.

The urge to take hold of your hand was eating him alive.

Kix said nothing when he stood guard at your bed side, just gave him a little smile and nod. Kix knew, but the captain couldn't much care right now. Hours passed and the pain in his chest never ceased, if anything it grew, spread like a poison down to his finger tips. And maker did they itch to touch you, as if his skin on yours was the only way to cure that poison.

Instead he focused on the steady rise and fall of your chest, the assurance that you were breathing- something that wasn't so easy to see when he pulled you from that wreckage. You had felt so small and cold in his arms as he screamed for Kix and he didn't think that memory would be going away any time soon.

It should have been him. It was his job, it was what he was made for!

But he knew what your answer to that would have been: that protecting others was what you were made for, the job the force had laid in your arms. It was one of the reasons he admired the Jedi so, their dedication to life, their fierce protection of the innocent and those who relied on them.

He still should have protected you. What good was he if he couldn't? Just another reason he didn't deserve you. Just another reason he held himself back from taking you in his arms.

And force, did he want to take you.

Every time you stood close to him, so close he could feel your warmth seep through the spaces in his armor. Every time you smiled at him, that smile that made his heart skip around like some child playing in the park. Every time your hand grazed his shoulder, the touch that set his skin on fire in the most delightful way.

Every time you spoke to him in that intimate tone, told him how proud you were to fight beside him, told him he was worth more than he knew, told him you would always be there for him.

He didn't know his heart could soar and shatter at the same time until he met you.

Rex jumped when Kix tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned he had a tray of food shoved onto his lap and Rex looked up at the medic in bewilderment.

Kix winked, "Knew you wouldn't leave the General's side, so I had Echo bring up some food from the mess."

The captain let out a long breath. Maybe he'd been holding it the whole time. He hadn't even realized how many hours had passed of him just sitting there with his eyes on your breathing.

"Thanks," he said and briefly thought about giving him a grateful smile, but realized it would probably just be a grimace.

He forced himself to swallow a few bites, again because he knew what you would say. You would tell him he needed his strength, then when he still resisted you would narrow your eyes and turn it around on him. Tell him he owed it to his men to stay strong and healthy. And you'd be right. You were almost always right.

His eyes couldn't stay away from you though, not even here. He always found it hard not to look at you when you were in the room. As if his gaze could never get its fill of you, as if trying to burn your visage into his mind.

And what a visage you were. That effortless aura of power and control, but still somehow so soft at the edges. Soft enough to laugh when Fives and Hardcase were at it again, soft enough to smile at Echo when he sassed his brothers, soft enough to ask a 'stick in the mud' captain to join the fun.

He always told himself to look away. You didn't deserve to be ogled, didn't deserve to feel his eyes running over every feature that he adored.

Rex was starting to realize that everything he did around you was a mistake. His feelings were a mistake. Even if there was ever a chance that you wouldn't recoil at his feelings, you were a Jedi. Even on the slim chance that you felt the same, you could never love him back.

That didn't stop him from letting little things slide, small acts slip through. His hand brushing yours. Eyes lingering even after you catch him staring. Leaning in just a hair closer than needed. Smiling at nothing more than you being near.

Whispering for you to stay with him between calls for a medic.

Every slip-up big or small was something he should regret.

When had he gotten so comfortable making mistakes? He had never allowed for such sloppy behavior before, he prided himself on his control and meticulous nature. It would seem as though he started to let mistakes slide, so long as they were tied to his feelings for you.

Rex wondered if you even noticed. He wondered if he wanted you to notice. If he ever made you uncomfortable he would never forgive himself. But, as far as he could tell, you were never uncomfortable with him. You always lifted your fingers towards his brushing hand, smiled at his lingering gaze, leaned in to match his closer than needed posture.

Maybe...

He closed his eyes and sighed. This was no time to think about that. Besides, none of that mattered. You were a Jedi. Anything that could ever be between you two would always be a mistake.

Again, Rex had lost track of time. Tup cleared his throat right behind him and only then did he take turn from you again.

"Sorry, Captain, but General Skywalker wants to see you. The Jedi council wants your personal report on what happened."

Rex saw the way his eyes flickered to you, the guilt that flashed across his face for just a moment. Tup had been one of the ones you saved with the force, one of the troopers you had pushed to safety as the building caved in. Tup, Fives, and himself. Just another day in the field, another time they owed their lives to you.

His body felt like it was made if durasteel as he rose. As much as he wanted to stay, wanted to be there when you finally woke up, duty came first.

And that's who he was. Duty. It always had to come first. You knew that, so both of you knew that any feelings between you two didn't matter in the end.

Duty came first, and anything else would be a mistake.

Rex hadn't been by your side when you woke. Anakin had ordered him to get some sleep the moment he was done debriefing the council. There were only a few times that he had wanted to defy orders, and that was one of them. In the end though, he knew his general was right, and of course, just like his eating, he knew you'd insist on it too.

Not that much sleep came to him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw your body in the midst of that rubble. Blood covered and as still as a corpse. Rex had seen too many of his brothers like that to not fear the worst as they dug you out.

He laid awake with nothing but his thoughts and in the end fate had kicked him again; he hadn't been there when you woke. Kix insisted that you were fine, well on the mend, nothing a few hours in a bacta tank couldn't solve.

Rex had to ignore the ringing in his ears as you explained that you managed to mitigate the worst of the impact with the force, cocooning yourself with it until the sheer weight was too much.

All in all, you were fine. All things considered it had turned out better than anyone could have hoped.

That didn't stop Rex from collapsing in the first dark hallway he found. His stomach heaving up bile in place of the food that wasn't there. He had kept such a tight hold on his grief and worry that, when it was rapidly replaced with relief, his body couldn't take it anymore.

You were okay! You were safe! You were alive!

His eyes watered when the dry heaving reached its peak, but he was able to get his breathing under control eventually.

How could relief cause such an effect on his body, even when it was relief over you? He pressed his forehead to the wall, the cool durasteel soothing him. Maybe he just need sleep, or food, or both. Maybe it was all just a combination that made his composure snap.

In the end all that mattered was that you were okay. He could live with himself so long as he knew that you hadn't died because of his mistakes. And of course, all he told you was that he was glad you were safe, because anything more would be an even bigger mistake.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed that fate, or the force, or some maker who hated him had other plans.

He had been in the gym, practicing his forms when the news came. Dressed in nothing but shorts and a black top, he had already worked up quite a sweat when Kix and Jesse wandered in. They were also dressed in training clothes and Kix was wearing an amused smirk as he talked.

Usually he wouldn't pay them any mind, but Rex paused when he heard your name and 'injury' in the same sentence. Wheeling around in an instant he called out, marching towards the men and all but demanding to hear what they had just said.

Kix straightened up, seeming taken aback for a moment, "Uh, was just joking that I should have a frequent visitor program, the General was in for another injury just now."

"What!?"

Kix and Jesse shared a quick look before Kix mentioned that you were in your quarters resting and- and Rex didn't know what else he had said because he was out the door in an instant.

Perhaps he looked like a mad man as he ran down the halls, but that was the furthest from his mind. It hadn't even been a week since you fully healed from getting near crushed to death and you were injured again? He didn't think he heart could take this, this constant cycle of aching worry and blinding relief. Especially since he knew that someday, that relief may never come.

He bypassed the keypad by your door all together, electing to pound his fist against the durasteel instead. If it wasn't locked he would have opened it without a word.

A call of your name died in his throat as the door hissed open, your eye wide the second they met his.

"Rex, what-!"

"Are you okay?" he closed the small distance between you two in an instant and the door slid shut behind him, "Kix said you were hurt again, I- what happened?" his hands were hovering over your arms, needing to touch, to hold, but afraid of hurting more. "Was it your last injuries? Were there complications-"

You held up your hands, shushing him gently, "Rex, Rex, I'm fine. I was training with Anakin and Obi-wan, and Obi just managed to nick my hand." You waved the bandaged palm, "Bacta patch is taking care of it as we speak."

Without thinking, he took your hand in his, gazing at the wrapping as he felt that blinding relief again. Just a scratch, just a little burn, it was nothing. So why did he feel so sick again? His fingers were stroking your palm an effort to ground his reeling thoughts as he felt the urge to tuck it against his chest.

He flinched when he felt your other hand brush his cheek

"Rex, you're shaking." It was a whisper, as intimate as the closeness of your bodies. "What's wrong?

He finally broke his gaze away from your injured palm to meet your eyes. What a mistake. Those eyes were so full of worry, a silent plea to confide in you, to let you in. You were right, he was shaking, and his heart was pounding in his chest violently. He should be calming down now, now that he knew it was nothing, that you were fine, that you were safe.

Instead, all he wanted to do was envelop you in his arms and beg you to never worry him again. Wanted to bury his face in your neck and tell you every little want and need in his heart.

The hand that was clasped in his started stroking his knuckles. "Rex, pleas-"

"I can't do this any more," he whispered, before dropping your hand, cupping your face, and pulling your lips hard against his.

He knew he shouldn't, knew it was a mistake, but he just couldn't take it, not now, not anymore! The hands holding your cheeks must have been rough against your soft skin, because he heard you moan into his mouth.

It was only then that Rex pull back, ashamed, " 'm sorry," he whispered as he began to step away, "I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry."

But your hands gripped his shirt tight, yanked him back against you.

"Don't you dare," your words were breathless as you cupped the back of his neck, "don't you dare stop kissing me, Captain," and your lips were back on his, all passion and desperate desire. Just as his had been.

It was his turn to moan into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you, making sure every centimeter of your bodies were pressed against each other. All he could think of was the way you moved against him, the way one hand slid down to grip his arm while the other moved to grip what little length his hair had.

But it didn't take long for reason to seep in.

When you pulled back for air his mind cleared just long enough for him to say, "We shouldn't, we shouldn't be doing this."

"Why?" was your only panting response.

He shook his head, and since he couldn't bare that look in your eyes, he closed his and pressed his forehead to yours. "I have no right. No right to impose my feelings on you, you're a Jedi-"

"I don't care," that was practically a growl as pulled back, making him look you in the eyes again. "I don't give a damn anymore. Rex, I love you, and now that I know you feel the same, I don't care what the Jedi say." You moved then, pressing his back against the cold metal of the wall. Then, placing a hand over his heart you said, "This can't possibly be wrong, Rex, I know it, I feel it." Next your hands were cupping his face, just as his had done when he first pulled you in. "Rex, do you want me?"

His answer was quick, as easy as breathing. "More than anything."

"Then don't stop kissing me."

He was a man who followed orders, and said nothing else as he leaned into your waiting lips. He wasn't holding back this time. The captain relished the whimper you let out when his tongue slipped passed your lips, eating it up, wanting more.

If you didn't care, then he couldn't find it in him to care either, not now, not here with all his dreams coming true. Mistake or not, it was yours and his to make, here, now, together.

Your robe found its way to the floor when he started backing you up towards your bed. He would spend hours giving you the worshiping attention you deserved, devote night after night to fulfilling any desire you wanted. If this was still a mistake, if he was a mistake, than damn it, he would make damn sure he was a worth while one.

Anything you wanted was yours, he swore it. Anything that was in his power to give was yours for the taking. He would make himself the mistake you couldn't live without.

#captain rex x reader #captain rex x y/n #captain rex x jedi reader #captain rex x you #rex angst #angst with a happy ending #clone x reader #deeja writes #sw

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xxspringmelodyxx · 12 days

Text

That Girl’s A Liar~

Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

Here is part II my lovelies! Thank you all for the support and I hope you enjoy! <333 | Part I |

"One of these days, you’re going to get yourself really hurt, Toru! You need to be more careful," I scolded the white-haired boy. I wrapped the bandage around his upper arm, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than getting distracted by his shirtless body.

Earlier that day, Satoru and Suguru had been dispatched to exorcize a particularly nasty cursed spirit that had been terrorizing a nearby town. The mission was supposed to be straightforward, but things quickly took a turn for the worse. The cursed spirit, more powerful than initially anticipated, had launched a ferocious attack. In the ensuing battle, Satoru had been injured, his arm nearly severed by a brutal strike. Despite the pain, he managed to defeat the curse with Suguru's help, but not without sustaining significant injuries.

Back at the school, I waited anxiously for their return. When I saw Satoru limping back with Suguru supporting him, my heart sank. Shoko immediately took Suguru to another room to tend to his injuries, leaving me to care for Satoru.

“Relax, Y/N. Tis but a scratch. It’ll take a lot more than that to truly hurt me!” he said with a cocky smile, his confidence radiating as usual. I looked at him with a deadpan expression, unimpressed by his bravado.

“This is not just a scratch, you idiot! Your arm was almost cut off from that curse!” I retorted, my voice filled with frustration and worry.

“Still, nothing can stop me. I’m literally the strongest sorcerer here in our high school. Probably of all time, too,” he boasted, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation.

“Toru, for the last time, I don’t care if you are the strongest sorcerer in the world! You are still a human being, not some indestructible weapon! You could still... never mind,” I started, trailing off as my mind filled with the horrifying image of him getting severely hurt, even to the point of death.

Toru’s smirk quickly disappeared as he noticed the bright blue skies outside the window getting covered by dark clouds. He looked at me with genuine concern, fully aware that the sudden weather change was my doing, a manifestation of my emotional turmoil. I was losing control of my cursed technique.

“Hey…” he said, his voice softening. He placed his uninjured hand on my arm, snapping me out of my dark thoughts.

“I’m going to be okay, Y/N. You know that, right? I’m gonna be here for a long, long time,” he said, trying to reassure me. His attempt to comfort me only made my brows furrow deeper.

“That’s the thing, Toru. You don’t know that. And if you keep acting like nothing can stop or hurt you, you are going to eventually be met with a bad fate,” I said, clipping the wrap around his arm with a finality that echoed my worries.

“I… I just don’t want to see you hurt, okay?” I added, turning around to put everything away. My voice softened, betraying the depth of my feelings and the fear that gnawed at me every time he recklessly threw himself into danger.

Toru sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "I get it, Y/N. I really do. It's just... this is who I am. Protecting people, fighting curses—it's what I'm meant to do. But I promise you, I'll be more careful from now on," he said, his tone earnest.

I sighed. "You better. Because if you keep scaring me like this, I might just have to find a way to tie you down and keep you safe myself," I said with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'd like to see you try," he teased. Toru felt his body warm up as he absorbed my words. Did you really care about him that much? The thought seemed to surprise him, stirring something deep within him that he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. Maybe, just maybe, you possibly felt something for him as well? Or did you mean it as a friend? These types of questions pondered his mind as you continued to put the medical supplies away.

“Okay, that should do it. Now let's get out of here before Utahime sees us,” I said, turning around to face him. As I did, I realized how close we were to each other, our faces only inches apart. The sudden proximity made my breath catch in my throat, and I could see the same surprise reflected in his eyes.

We both instantly tensed up, the proximity catching us off guard. The air between us felt charged, a silent tension simmering just below the surface. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and my heart began to race.

I quickly pulled away from him, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. “S-Sorry. I-I didn’t—” I stammered, struggling to find the right words to diffuse the awkwardness. My mind raced, trying to process the unexpected closeness and what it might mean.

“No, don’t be,” he interrupted, his voice softer, trying to compose himself. He reached out and gently touched my arm, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “I, uh, didn’t mind,” he added, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic vulnerability that took me by surprise.

Now all that was left was an awkward silence between us, the unspoken tension hanging heavily in the air. We both stood there, not knowing what to say next, the moment stretching out longer than it should have. Thankfully, a miracle happened when Suguru walked in, his presence breaking the silence and startling both Toru and me.

“Hey, you two. Shoko and I were thinking about going out for dinner tonight. You two are coming with us. I don’t care what you say. Shoko has been on my case all week saying how we need to all hang out,” Suguru said, instantly sensing the tension between us. He noticed how red Satoru had gotten, causing him to smirk.

“Well… I’ll just be waiting outside for you two when you’re ready,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Just as he began to leave, he turned to face Satoru, giving him a knowing wink.

Toru just flipped him off, trying to ignore the rapid pace of his heartbeat. “That guy,” he muttered, shaking his head, but there was no real malice in his tone.

I chuckled, grateful for Suguru’s impeccable timing. “Guess we don’t have much of a choice, huh?” I said, trying to ease the lingering awkwardness. My heart was still pounding from the earlier closeness, but I tried to act normal.

“Nope. But maybe it’ll be fun,” Toru replied, a hint of his usual confidence returning. He ran a hand through his hair, still looking a bit flustered. “Let’s get going before they come back and drag us out,” he added, offering a small, somewhat shy smile.

As we made our way outside, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. The unexpected closeness with Toru had stirred something in me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering if he felt the same.

“So, dinner, huh? Any idea where they’re planning to go?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light and avoid the tension that still lingered.

“No clue, but knowing Suguru, it’ll be somewhere decent,” Toru replied, his voice a bit more relaxed. He glanced at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment. “You okay? You seem… a bit off.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said quickly, hoping to sound convincing. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess. And, you know, you scared me today with that injury.”

Toru’s expression softened, and he reached out to touch my arm again, this time more deliberately. “I’m sorry about that. I promise I’ll be more careful. I don’t like seeing you worried,” he said, his voice sincere.

“I appreciate that, Toru. Just… take care of yourself, okay? I need my study partner with me at all times.” I joked, feeling a strange mix of relief and lingering tension.

He chuckled and nodded, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before we continued walking.

*****

Dinner with Suguru and Shoko turned out to be more fun than I had expected. The restaurant was a cozy place near the edge of town, known for its delicious ramen and lively atmosphere. The walls were adorned with colorful posters and fairy lights, giving the place a warm, welcoming vibe. The inviting aroma of rich broth and sizzling dishes filled the air as we walked in. Shoko was already there, waiting for us at a corner table, waving enthusiastically as soon as she spotted us.

“Hey, you two lovebirds!” she teased, her grin wide and mischievous. Both Toru and I blushed furiously, glancing at each other awkwardly.

“Cut it out, Shoko,” Toru grumbled, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. Despite his annoyance, there was a playful edge to his voice that made me smile.

As we settled in, the conversation flowed easily. Suguru recounted a hilarious story about one of their recent missions, complete with exaggerated impressions and wild gestures. Shoko chimed in with her dry wit, and soon, we were all laughing.

Despite the light-hearted atmosphere, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Toru. His laughter was infectious, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled, and every time he laughed, my heart seemed to flutter a little more. I wondered if he noticed the way I looked at him, or if he felt the same way.

At one point, Toru caught me staring and our eyes locked for a moment longer than usual. I quickly looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up. Did he know what I was feeling? Did he feel it too?

“You okay?” Toru asked, his voice soft and concerned. He leaned in slightly, his presence calming yet thrilling.

“Yeah, just thinking,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “This place is really nice. Thanks for bringing us here, Shoko.”

“Anytime,” Shoko said with a wink. “I knew we all needed a break. Plus, watching you two dance around each other is the best entertainment.”

“Shoko!” I exclaimed, my face growing even hotter.

“Well, it’s true,” Suguru added with a smirk. “You two have been acting strange ever since we got here. Just saying.”

Toru cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “Alright, enough of that. Let’s just enjoy the food, okay?”

We all laughed, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. As the night wore on, the laughter and camaraderie made me feel more at ease.

Midway through the meal, I excused myself to go to the restroom. As I washed my hands, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to steady my racing heart. Why was it so hard to just tell him how I felt? Every time I thought I had the courage, something held me back. Maybe it was fear of rejection, or perhaps the worry that it would change everything between us.

When I returned to the table, I saw Aksana entering the restaurant. She was hard to miss with her striking blond hair and confident stride. As soon as she spotted us, her eyes lit up, and she made a beeline for our table, her gaze zeroing in on Toru.

“Hey, Satoru!” she greeted, her voice overly sweet and completely ignoring the rest of us.

“Aksana,” he acknowledged her with a nod. His usually bright eyes seemed a touch colder, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was annoyed by her sudden appearance.

“Mind if I join you guys?” she asked, not waiting for a response before pulling up a chair next to Toru. She slid into the seat, her proximity to him making my stomach churn.

Suguru and Shoko exchanged glances, sensing the tension immediately. Suguru raised an eyebrow at me, while Shoko gave a small, sympathetic smile. I tried to focus on my food, but Aksana’s presence made it difficult. She leaned in close to Toru, laughing at his jokes in an exaggerated manner and touching his arm whenever she got the chance.

“So, Toru, I heard you had a pretty intense mission today,” Aksana said, her voice dripping with false concern. “You must be exhausted. Maybe I could help you relax later?”

Toru shifted uncomfortably, clearly not enjoying the attention. “I’m fine, really,” he replied, trying to gently brush her off. “Just needed some time with my friends.”

“Oh, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed you for a bit,” she insisted, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Right, Y/n?”

I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “Actually, Aksana, we were in the middle of something. Maybe another time?”

Aksana’s eyes flicked to me with what seemed to be disgust, her smile faltering for a split second before she regained her composure. “Oh, of course. I just thought Satoru might like a change of company.”

Suguru, sensing the rising tension, decided to step in. “Actually, we’re all having a really good time together. It’s been a while since we all hung out like this.”

Shoko nodded in agreement, adding, “Yeah, I’ve been wanting us all to hang out again, so tonight seemed like a good night to do so.”

Aksana’s smile was tight, clearly masking her irritation. “Oh, well then, don’t mind me. I’ll just be sitting here, listening to your stories.” Her tone was overly sweet, but the fake smile gave her away.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. The food was delicious, and the conversation lively, but Aksana’s presence cast a shadow over the fun. She kept trying to insert herself into our conversations, making pointed comments and giving Toru lingering looks. I even almost lost control of my cursed technique because she kept hugging his arm. And by that I mean the winds started to pick up like crazy outside, causing the doors to blow open, which startled a lot of people. Shoko thankfully brought me back to my senses, but it was still so aggravating to see Aksana practically throw herself on Toru. By the time we left the restaurant, I was feeling more confused and frustrated than ever.

Toru walked me home, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. The night air was cool, and I could feel the tension building with every step. Finally, we reached my doorstep. I turned to him, searching for the right words to express my feelings.

“Toru, I…” I began, my voice trailing off as I looked into his deep blue eyes.

“Yeah?” he prompted, his gaze fixed on mine, full of curiosity and something else I couldn’t quite place.

Before I could continue, my phone buzzed with a message from Kai. He needed help with the science project again.

Damnit, I forgot we needed to start working on that.

I recalled the scene vividly, etched into my memory like a photograph frozen in time. The classroom hummed with nervousness as Mr. Takahashi dropped the bombshell: a major science project due at the end of the semester…two months away.

—flashback—

“Y/n, you’ll be partnered with Kai,” Sensei Takahashi announced, gesturing towards Kai who was grinning nervously.

Kai’s eyes met mine briefly, and I could sense his relief mixed with a tinge of apprehension. “Looks like it’s you and me,” I said, offering a reassuring smile to calm his nerves.

“Yeah, for the next four months,” Kai replied, his voice tinged with what seemed to be disappointment. I looked towards him and found his eyes looking at someone else. I followed his gaze and saw him staring at another girl in our class, Amai, his expression softening with admiration.

I couldn't help but chuckle inwardly as I noticed Kai's subtle admiration for Amai. It was clear that he had a crush on her, which I thought was adorable.

"W-What?" he stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being caught.

"Nothing, just thinking," I replied casually, suppressing a smile as I reached for a pencil and paper.

"Now, let's start brainstorming some ideas. What do you think we should do our project over?" I initiated, launching into a discussion about potential topics. Despite the distraction of Kai's crush, we delved into a detailed exchange of ideas, weighing the pros and cons of each suggestion.

—end of flashback—

I sighed, feeling torn between my responsibilities and my emotions. This moment was slipping away, just like so many others.

“Never mind,” I said, forcing a smile to hide my disappointment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Toru nodded, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes that mirrored my own feelings. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

As I watched him walk away, I couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if I had just spoken up. Would he have understood? Would it have changed anything? The weight of my unspoken feelings pressed heavily on my heart. I turned and went inside, trying to shake off the lingering frustration.

That night, as I lay in bed, my mind replayed the evening’s events over and over. Aksana’s blatant attempts to get Toru’s attention, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at me, and the unspoken words that hung between us. It was all too much to process, and sleep came slowly.

*****

The next day at school, I was determined to talk to Toru, to finally clear the air between us. The tension that we had yesterday had been gnawing at me all night, and I couldn't bear another day of uncertainty. I spotted him near his locker, and with a deep breath, I began to make my way over.

As I approached, I noticed Aksana was already there, her laughter echoing through the hallway.

”Oh Toru, you’re really a great guy!” She praised, spotting me in the distance. Her eyes narrowed a bit as she continued to talk to him.

“You know, I actually need help with my homework and I was wondering if you could help me with it now since we have some free time?” She asked. As Toru was about to answer, he spotted you in the corner of his eye and turned towards you, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips, making my heart flutter with anticipation.

I smiled back and quickened my pace, but just as I was about to reach him, Kai stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Y/N, I need to talk to you about something," Kai said urgently, his voice low. Toru's smile faded slightly as he noticed the interruption.

"Well, actually Kai, I'm kind of in the middle of something important," I replied, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.

"Please, Y/N. It’s about Amai," Kai insisted, his eyes pleading. He leaned in closer, ensuring our conversation remained private. "I need your help."

Confusion flickered across my face as I looked up at him. Meanwhile, Toru's eyes narrowed, a twinge of jealousy evident as he watched us.

"What's going on, Kai?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite the awkward timing.

Kai glanced around nervously before speaking. "I want to ask Amai to the dance, but I have no idea how to do it. I need your help to get to know her better."

I smiled softly at him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Toru's jaw clenched subtly at the sight. "Kai, the dance is still a while away. You have plenty of time to get to know her," I said, trying to calm his nerves.

"But that's the problem. I'm so nervous around her. I need someone to be there when I talk to her. Please, be my wingman," Kai pleaded, his desperation clear. He grabbed my hands, his earnestness almost palpable.

Toru's gaze darkened at the intimate gesture, his jealousy simmering just below the surface. I nodded towards Kai, deciding to help him after I got talk to Toru.

"Okay, I'll help you," I said, squeezing Kai's hands briefly before pulling away. "But wait here for a moment, I need to handle something first."

Before I could take another step, I saw Aksana grab Toru’s arm, her voice still bright and cheerful. “So, Toru, about that homework…” she trailed off, leading him away. My heart clenched slightly as I watched them walk off together.

"Y/N? Is everything alright?" Kai asked, his concern evident.

I sighed, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over me. "Yeah, let's just go," I replied, my voice heavy with frustration. The chance to clear things up with Toru had slipped away again.

*****

"Wait, I need to talk to—" Toru started, quickly removing Aksana's hand from his arm. He turned around, his eyes searching for me, but he was too late. I was already walking away with Kai.

"Are you alright, Toru? You seem tense," Aksana asked, her voice filled with concern as she noticed the change in Toru's demeanor.

Toru forced a smile, trying to mask his frustration. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking about some stuff," he replied vaguely, his gaze lingering where I had disappeared with Kai. The sight of me with someone else stirred a mix of regret and irritation within him.

Aksana's eyes followed his, her brow furrowing slightly. "Is everything okay between you two?" she asked gently, her voice soft. Aksana knew what she was doing. She feigned concern, but inside, she relished the friction between us. It was her chance to step in and take my place.

Toru hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "It's... complicated," he admitted reluctantly, his thoughts still consumed by my departure with Kai. The unresolved tension gnawed at him, leaving him unsettled.

Aksana nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here," she offered, placing a hand on his arm. He quickly removed it, the touch making him uncomfortable.

"Thanks, Aksana," he said, forcing a polite smile. His mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of you, and the conversation he desperately wanted to have.

“So, shall we go to that small little cafe and you can help me with the homework?” She asked.

"Sorry…I gotta go," he added abruptly, his voice strained. Leaving Aksana behind, he walked away, his emotions in turmoil. He needed to clear his head and find a way to resolve the growing tension between you two.

Aksana huffed as she watched the white haired boy leave her alone in the school hallway. She tapped her foot, folding her arms together as if she were in thought.

“Looks like I need to play harder…”

____________

Part III coming soon!

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multific · 2 years

Text

Bliss

Alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Omega!Fem!Reader

Warnings: A/B/O themes, violence, nudity

Summary: An Alpha find his Omega

Being an Omega in the army was difficult. Thankfully the medicine was enough to keep your second nature at bay. So much so that every member of your team thought you were a Beta.

They even called you a Beta during missions. Even if it wasn't your code name.

And you were okay with that.

Betas didn't have a scent as Omegas or Alphas did, and with your team full of strong Alphas you knew you had to keep your Omega at bay, or you'd get hurt.

But to say that it was hard would be an understatement. Every time they did something nice for you, your Omega kept on yelling at you.

You needed a mate. And you knew that every single one of these men around you would be a perfect candidate.

But of course, you had to get feelings for the one in the mask.

One time, during a mission, he handed you a bowl of food, something the others never did and you felt your insides screaming at you 'Alpha provides, good Alpha.'

And ever since, anything he did made your insides go wild, let that be simply driving or killing a man, your Omega choose him, and after that, no medicine could keep those feelings at bay.

"Your heat should come soon, thankfully you don't have a mission so what will you do?"

"I'll go to my place and wait it out. Told the Captain I will need some time off."

"I still don't agree that only Price knows about you being an Omega but it is not my decision. Here are your meds for after, stay safe, find a good Alpha to help you through it maybe." you wanted to scoff at her suggestion but you did no such thing. You only thanked her and headed out.

Price already knew you would be going away, he understood because of your nature, so he didn't sign you up for any missions.

"Hey, Beta Bitch!" oh great, drunk people, just what you needed on your way back to your room. "I know your secret." the man said but you didn't react, at least not on the outside, on the inside you were shivering, you had to calm yourself, he must be lying.

"Let me through." you said as he blocked the hallway, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Why would I do such a thing... Omega?" you felt a shiver run down your back, fear, something you didn't feel in a long time.

"Let me through." you said again but he always moved with you, not letting you pass.

"I will never let an Omega tell me what I should do." he was an Alpha, his smell was... awful, and made you want to throw up. "I assume your little dream team doesn't know about this little fact, would you mind if I told them?"

On the inside you were panicking, thankfully you didn't let that show.

"Why would they care? I do a good job, doesn't matter what I am."

He laughed, a wicked laugh then pulled something out at his back, you noticed it and assumed it was a knife.

You took a step back but he followed.

"You'll learn your place when talking to Alphas, whore." he raised his hand but another stopped it before you could do anything.

It was Ghost, his smell was clear. He didn't speak as he hit the other man in the stomach, making him double over and groan in pain.

"Why are you standing up for this Omega bitch?"

Ghost lifted the man by his collar, looking at him in the eyes as the man struggled against Ghost's power and height.

"Leave her the fuck alone." Ghost threw the man, almost all the way across the room. The man's friend quickly got his friend off the floor and they both left, running.

"Thank you." you said as he turned to you.

"Are hurt?" he asked as he moved your hair out of your face, you looked into his eyes, and shook your head.

Suddenly you felt a lot calmer, it took you a minute to realize that it was him, his scent and as his hand moved along your scent glads, it made you a lot calmer.

"I'm fine, Alpha." you basically moaned, and this was when you realized just how you were behaving. Suddenly a cold shiver ran down your spine. "Sorry." you said as you quickly pulled away from him and quickly walked away.

You heard him walk behind you, but you only hoped he had to go the same way as you.

"Omega, Y/N, you are not okay. You smell-" just as he said that you stopped and turn to look at him, making sure no one was there.

"I'm fine, Ghost. Thank you for your help but please just forget what happened." you turned back and looked up at him, he was closer now, way closer. "What do you mean my smell?"

"Your smell is showing... I-I could smell you from across the camp."

"T-Did the others?" when he nodded you wanted to just die right there. "Oh, no."

"Hey, it's okay. All good really, I get it why you didn't tell us. But I just want you to be safe. Now it all makes sense."

"What makes sense?"

"Why my Alpha was yelling at me to keep you safe. To keep my Omega safe."

"I-I don't understand. I'm confused, very confused. I-I have to go back to my room."

As you started to walk, he followed you.

You arrived at your door, opening and closing it behind you two.

"Is your heat near?" he asked and you really wanted to disappear on sight.

"Yes, why? Can you smell it?"

"I can." he replied as if it was the most obvious thing.

"You must have a magic nose then."

"No, I can only smell you. I always could, but the smell was faint. I assume you took meds. But now I can smell you clearly."

"What do I smell like?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Like a warm sunny day on a field. Calming, beautiful and warm. What do I smell like to you?"

"Like fire on a cold day. Safe and comfortable." you said as he sat down on your small living area. You followed him and sat next to him, he moved closer, his instinct to keep you safe was clear as his hand moved behind you. "So, that's why you gave me food?"

"My Alpha was screaming at me to feed you, to provide for you. I told myself to stop and that you are not an Omega but I guess I was wrong."

"I'm glad," you said as you looked at him, no point in hiding your true self and feelings any longer. "I'm glad I wasn't the only one who felt this way."

His eyes were shining, even in the small room you could tell.

You moved closer to him, putting your head on his chest as he held you.

"I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know. Thank you." He looked around your room, seeing you everywhere, you really made this small space into a home. He looked into your room, seeing your bed and a nest on it. He could imagine you cuddled up in it much like you were with him right now, your fist clenched around his sweatshirt as he started to rub your back.

"Do you need a couple of my shirts for your nest?"

"Can I have you instead?"

"I have a mission from tomorrow. Soap and I are going to Las Almas."

"Hmm. Be careful."

"Of course."

He ended up leaving two of his sweatshirts for you, one to wear and the other for your nest.

Las Almas became a lot bigger deal.

Price wanted you on board as well, but he now knew, and understood that you were an Omega going through heat.

So he excused you.

Your heat hit very differently this time. Your doctor said it will happen once you find your Mate.

And you definitely missed him and after a week his scent started to fade.

You locked yourself in your room and didn't let anyone in besides your doctor.

After a week and a half, your heat was over.

Usually, your heat lasted for a week, and you were glad Ghost wasn't there with you, you wanted to keep things slow, and heat at the start of a relationship is not what you really needed.

So, while yes, it was hell without an Alpha, it was also something you didn't regret.

As soon as the plane landed you got a smell of his scent. It was inviting, he smelled like he was missing something. And that something was you.

"Welcome back guys!" you said as they all came over to you. Only one daring to come closer and hug you.

Soon you and Ghost were back in your room.

"Thank you for the shirts, but I'll give them back, I need ones that smell like you now." you stopped and looked at him, something was off. "What's wrong?"

"It's Makarov."

"Oh."

"We will go after him, but I don't want you to come. It's too dangerous, I don't want to lose you."

"Who will save your asses then? I can do something that is more... Like not on the front line?"

"He's dangerous, you know that. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I don't want you to get hurt either. We only just found each other. But I know what you mean. I will help with Makarov, but I will take a step back. I planned on moving to the medic bay to be a nurse."

"Thank you." he said as he moved his head into the crook of your neck. Smelling you, taking you in, he missed you, so much, only the thought of you kept him going faster.

Soap teased him without end, but he didn't care, he just wanted to be with you again.

"I missed you very much." you said as you moved your hands over his mask and his back. He had a different kind of mask on, not his usual one which covered all of his face, his eyes and this eye area were all exposed.

"You can take it off." he said suddenly, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. And you didn't have to be told twice. You moved your hand under the mask , lifting it off of his face, he moved a little back to fully allow the material to fall from his face. He immediately nuzzled back into your neck, now feeling his breath fan over your neck more freely, it felt amazing.

He could smell you better like this and you could finally run your fingers through his hair.

He soon pulled back, looking at you as your eyes met him for the first time, dark around his eyes to complete his look but he looked so handsome, you cupped his cheek as you smiled at him.

"There's my Alpha." and he smiled. He was beautiful.

"Can we take a bath?" he asked.

"Oh, already? Didn't even bring me on a date and you already want me naked, Simon?"

"Always." he said with such a serious expression you didn't dare to say anything else. You just guided him to the bath and as you both sat in the warm water, you against his chest, with his fingers running up down your hands as the water consumed both of you. He was so much bigger than you, towering over you like a giant.

And you loved it.

The warmth that radiated off of him was something else.

Your insides were purring due to this closeness. You were very very happy, and you were sure you smelled happy too.

He sure did.

There was something about him, something so happy, so warm.

He washed off his face paint now, and he felt bare. He felt vulnerable, he was afraid of rejection. But you would never and you certainly didn't.

He moved slightly, pulling you closer as the water moved around your bodies, he placed his head on your shoulder after kissing it.

Is this what having a mate felt like?

This warmth was something Simon never felt. His father would often tell him he would never find a mate.

And for the longest time, he believed it.

Simon believed he didn't deserve to be a mate to someone, he didn't believe he could ever find someone in the first place.

He knew he was destined to die alone, and yet here he was, in an Omega's room, bathing with her, all comfortable and warm.

It felt almost illegal to him.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy every second of it.

The way you smelled mesmerised him, the way your skin felt against his took his breath away and the way your gentle touches felt against his arms, he was sure he died and went to heaven, but it was impossible that he was in heaven, he didn't deserve heaven.

A man of his job, he could never have a comfortable life after death.

And he wasn't even dead.

He refused to believe your kind soul ended up with his in Hell.

So, he had to be alive.

After placing another kiss to your skin, he let out a long sigh.

"I will keep you safe, forever." he said, and at first, he didn't even know he said it out loud, only when you turned your head towards him and smiled did he realize, he talked out loud.

Doesn't mean he didn't mean it.

"Thank you." you kindly whispered back as he leaned over to place a small kiss to your lips.

Bliss.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months

Note

49. “Who hurt you?”. Please.

Lightning flashes. The wind drives rain into the windows by the bucketful. The world outside is a blur, all the city lights in the night blending into a watery mess. To anyone else, it might even be beautiful, even if it is Gotham.

Tim scowls and draws the throw blanket around his shoulders tighter. It’s not beautiful; it’s stupid and annoying and loud. It’s the middle of the night, and the thunder keeps rattling him down to the bones, and Cass is out there somewhere wrangling the Penguin, and Tim is stuck on his ass on the sofa in a haze of painkillers and frustration.

The TV blares on, news coverage that doesn’t actually tell him anything about what he wants to know. He’s supposed to be resting, but resting just makes him antsy. Even with the meds, his ankle hurts, a dull throb radiating up his whole leg, and all the bruises on his back and ribs ache.

Another flash of lightning lights up the room, bright as day. Tim glares at the TV as if it can quell the storm. A low rumble of thumber rolls through the sky, distant and ominous. Then, closer—

CRACKABOOM!

The lamp on the table flickers; the TV blacks out for a second. Tim sucks in a breath. If the power goes out, he swears…

He glances at his phone again. Nothing—Cassie stopped texting back and went to bed hours ago. Even Bart is asleep. Just great.

Lightning flashes—

There’s a shape on the balcony, a tall, dark silhouette reaching for the door. Light glints from its eyes, focused directly on Tim.

Adrenaline surges through Tim’s body. He scrambles away from the back of the couch, grabbing for the collapsible staff on the side table. His right ankle can’t take any weight, but he—

Oh. Wait.

Kon lets himself in silently, hovering an inch or so off the floor. He’s completely dry. The door slides shut with a hiss behind him, and the locks click back into place on their own.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re worse than Bruce,” Tim groans. The adrenaline fades as fast as it came, and his busted ankle sends a wave of nauseating pain up his leg as he sinks back down, wincing. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Still, his heart lifts. Kon’s been in space for two weeks; he said he’d probably be back in three, so this is a pleasant surprise. Tim’s missed him.

Kon drifts around the sofa, oddly quiet. Tim looks up at him and sees that Kon’s studying his ankle, then examining his ribs; the distant look in his eyes is a dead giveaway that he’s looking through Tim, X-ray vision and all. There’s an unnerving stillness to him, and Tim frowns.

Kon settles next to him. Leans in, cups his chin. Turns his face to the light. Tim almost winces again; the bruise on his jaw is still swollen, even though he’s been icing it. Kon’s hand, by contrast, is delightfully warm. He leans into his touch with a sigh, letting his tired eyes close.

“…Who hurt you?” Kon finally asks, his voice dangerously calm. Something in the set of his shoulders makes him look unnervingly like Superman.

Tim’s mood sours. He doesn’t want to think about his mistakes right now. “Some of Penguin’s goons,” he mutters, tugging his blanket around himself again. “It was my own fault. I got cocky. And before you try to go be all scary at them, Cass is already kicking their asses, so don’t bother.”

Kon’s quiet for a moment. Then he sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face, and all the tension in his body drains away. He doesn’t look like a terrifying alien juggernaut contemplating holy vengeance anymore; he just looks tired.

“I leave for two weeks—not even two weeks! Twelve days!—and come back to you in pieces,” he complains. His TTK wraps around Tim’s waist and hips, then down to his thighs, like a harness. He lifts Tim into his lap, keeping his leg stable, and gently wraps his arms around him. He presses his face into Tim’s neck, and Tim tucks his nose into his hair. He smells like the rain.

“I’m not in pieces,” Tim says belatedly, winding his arms around Kon’s neck. He’s missed this. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Your ankle is, to use the technical term, fuckenated, and you have two cracked ribs,” Kon says. His lips brush Tim’s collarbone.

“My ankle will be fine after a few weeks. And cracked doesn’t mean broken.” Tim slips his arms under Kon’s jacket, curls them into the fabric of his suit, warm from his body. It’s a lot easier to relax now, in Kon’s arms. “I’ll be fine.”

Kon blows out a breath. He presses a warm, tender kiss to the pulse point just below Tim’s ear, lingering. His lips are soft, Tim’s pulse fluttering under his skin, and a pleasant little shiver runs down Tim’s spine.

“I missed you,” Kon says quietly. I was worried about you, and it looks like I was right to be, he doesn’t say. I always worry when I leave you. Like you always worry when you leave me.

Tim tightens his fingers in the back of his suit. “I missed you, too.” He doesn’t need to say that he can handle himself, that he’s made of tough stuff, that he’s had worse and bounced back just fine. Kon knows. That’s why Kon didn’t say he was worried, even though they both know he was.

Besides, between the two of them, Tim’s not the one who’s gone off and died before, so there. That always puts an end to the conversation they aren’t having, in Tim’s mind. Lightning flashes outside; the thunderclap is loud enough that Tim winces, and poor Kon flinches in his arms.

“Must’ve been a long flight. You look exhausted,” Tim says, pressing a kiss into Kon’s hair.

“Yeah, and you should be asleep,” Kon murmurs, brushing his lips against Tim’s jaw. “It’s late.”

Tim shrugs halfheartedly. He should have gone to bed forever ago, yeah, but why do that when he could sit here, stare at the news, and seethe at the storm?

Bed doesn’t sound nearly as bad now that Kon’s back, though. He sighs, takes one hand from Kon’s back to twine his fingers into his curls. The shaved fuzz on the back of Kon’s head is soft under his palm.

“I was waiting for you to come home and carry me to bed,” he says. A tiny, wry half-smile tugs at his mouth. “Since, y’know, my ankle is fuckenated.”

Kon’s lips twitch against his neck. “Well, when you put it that way,” he says, and shifts Tim in his arms as he floats them both into the air. “Your carriage awaits.”

“Mm,” Tim agrees. It’s his turn to tuck his face into Kon’s neck. “…I’m glad you’re back.”

Kon lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah,” he agrees, leaning his cheek against Tim’s hair. “Me too.”

#rimi writes #astranova13 #timkon #maybe ill neaten this up tomorrow and do something more with it. for now................ sleeby #tim #kon

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tachimichishrine · 6 months

Text

"broken and fixed again"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

dazai osamu x fem! reader {hospital AU}

warnings: nsfw ; literally 1 fingering scene the rest is fluff ; mentions of suicide; not an actual au just a scenario ; fluff but it's just complaining abt your joints ; reader teases the living sh out of him bc flustered and soft dazai needs to be more mainstream ; makes him wear a nurse outfit with the power of words ; slight tw blood and pain i love seeing the silly in agony ; intended lowercase ; cursing ; so so so self indulgent i just got my second surgery in the span of 5 months dw im fine just dramatic as hell and my hospital neighbors are all gilfs

"haaaaaaah..."

dazai wasn't on any pain medications, so there was no way he was imagining that sound.

"haaaaaaaaaaahhhh..."

the day after being shot by fyodor, he wound up in the hospital due to his inability to be cured by yosano. it wasn't a big deal; he'd dealt with worse before, obviously. you don't spend as much time in the port mafia as he does and come out fully unscathed, after all.

"haaaa-"

then a slumping noise as if a body collapsed onto the ground. he was still on bed arrest, but he was growing restless being locked in the room all day with himself. the nurse who was tending to him seemed to be rather cold, but he knew that she'd turn to puddy for him shortly if he actually tried.

he groaned a little bit while getting up, fingertips grazing the paper thin clothing they were given at the spot where the bullet had pierced him. softly footsteps fell on the squeaky clean floor, and his head peaked outside his doorframe to look around for the source of the sound.

you were on the ground with a walker collapsed next to you.

pleasantly intrigued, he shot a quick glance at your facial expressions to check whether or not you were truly in agony, which you weren't. in fact, you seemed just as bored as he did. your arms spread out your sides like wings and your legs were tussled awkwardly as he guessed you were trying to keep the cheap clothing from revealing your butt-naked figure.

"oiii, psst psst," he called out, hand flattened next to his mouth as if he were whispering to you intimately in the empty hallway.

you tilted your head backwards, looking at him upside-down with what was an inarguably listless expression.

"heyyyyy," you seemed to be almost slurring your words, and he guessed you were hooked on enough meds to make a small fortune if sold on the streets. "wh-whooo... who are youuuu?"

a few steps forward and dazai was standing over you. he carefully lowered himself, his eyes scanned you again and a smirk played on his lips.

"that's quite the act," he snickered, which caused you to let out a groan.

truth is, you weren't on enough pain medication to get to that high. however, it had been a week since you were admitted, and you were losing your mind doing nothing all day. the operation went well, but there was always a high risk of infection or post-op complications and they'd insisted you stayed 10 days for observation. you tried chatting with the nurses, tried exploring the place, tried sleeping to recover faster but every solution tired out after a while.

they gave you a few tools to navigate your surroundings, one of which was the damn walker. you'd done crutches and mobility aids before, casts, splints and braces, but no one liked the walkers. they made you feel like you were a hundred years old, and your body might as well be.

so, you decided you'd collapse and see what happens, how long it takes someone to come find you, rescue you and make your day just a little less boring. you settled yourself onto the ground, threw the walker and got comfy on the floor.

the man who approached you seemed a bit concerned at first, but he appeared to see through your games annoyingly quickly and called you out on it without even pausing to indulge. you let out a puffy pout and crossed your arms. "mannn, no one here is any fun."

you caught a glimpse of bandages wrapped around nearly every one of his extremities, almost like a decoration more than anything else. you slowly turned yourself and shuffled your body so you were sitting down facing upwards to look at him.

"what're you in for?" you asked with a snicker, getting over the fact your plan hadn't worked because he seemed to be relatively normal and you sure could use a conversation right now. "armed robbery? assault and battery? tax evasion?"

"you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he mimicked your expression, piquing your intrigue with a sly grin. you couldn't help but notice he was incredibly pretty, and you quickly developed another hospital crush; you roamed the hallways enough to identify the regulars but not enough to actually speak to any of them, and having stupid crushes on just about everyone kept your mind mildly active.

"what, you got jumped by an elite ninja squadron or something?"

before he could retort, clicking of heels resonated from the end of the hallway. the pace picked up when the nurse saw two patients laying down on the floor with a toppled walker, calling for some kind of a code. you giggled mischievously even when she realized you were fine and helped you up. the man who's been with you for a few seconds also received a verbal beating while responding just like you did.

your hands went to the metal of the walker, and you rolled your eyes while deciding you'd try to come back this way and speak to him again at night when they were understaffed and no one was going to pester you. you were barely beginning your plans to escape yet again when something deep within your body that had been altered recently felt like it burst. it didn't, but the pain and the sight of the blood you were coughing violently onto the floor made you rack your brain over the long list of possible complications.

fuck.

you fell onto the ground again, but this time it was painfully real. wafting in and out of consciousness until you couldn't tell if you were fainting, having a seizure or if something else had happened. the nurse turned around too late to catch you, but quickly yelled out that code from before and instructed the man go and get help immediately.

your body felt so broken.

you were never more pissed off to see the damn white drapes, walls and the same old view out the window accompanying that damn beeping.

your finger was clamped in some device reading your heartbeat, and a bunch of sensors were hooked up all over your skin. your head was groggy, a stiff pulsation throbbing at the back like you'd given yourself a concussion.

"mmmmn..." a languid groan was all you could manage; your throat was dry and you felt like you could eat the ekg right now. you wavering in and out of a daze for a few minutes while you tried both to fight off the sleep and fight off the day.

a knock at your door roused your attention once more. your neck hurt too much to crane over and take a look, but you could definitely hear the door closing.

"oh, it's you," you said, the bandaged man making another appearance. "sorry about today. I didn't mean to fake it 'til I made it."

the laugh at your own joke hurt your chest and you tried not to cough.

"it's actually been a bit longer than you think," he mused while sitting at the foot of your bed.

you hastily cut off any word that he was thinking of saying. "don't tell me! I have 3 days left before getting discharged, and I'd rather it come earlier as a surprise than right on time."

you did not ask him why he was here, assuming he must be in the same exasperated position. instead, you asked him your question again from the other day.

"or at least your name," you added. "I gotta know to whom I owe the honour of a visit. the nurses must really like you to let you pull a stunt like this."

he chuckled, mostly to himself. "oh, you've got no idea."

despite his weird way of talking like everything was a riddle and he was a spy of some sorts, the man - whose name you learnt was dazai osamu - was not so bad. he lent you his phone (you had no idea how he had managed to get away with this kind of thing) for you to call some close friends, and listened patiently while you told him how you'd ended up in this hospital bed. he however did not explain what happened to him, nor why he had all those bandages all over himself.

he didn't say much at all, to be completely honest. you blabbered long enough for the daylight to cease seeping in from your curtains, and it was dark when you were both laying down side by side in the tiny bed looking up at the ceiling in silence.

"thanks for stopping by," you hummed, eyes closed but a slow smile on your lips. "didn't think I charmed you that much with my hospital charisma. you should see what I'm like at full power."

you didn't need to open your eyes to know he was smiling back. "anytime, darling."

another chuckle at his words and another long pause. you didn't like the soft humming of the machines around you, but it was different when you weren't alone. heavy eyelids combined with steady beeping led you to start slipping asleep when he spoke up again.

"you wanna know what landed me here?"

damn him for choosing now to tell you. you stirred uncomfortably, body smushed against his while you tried to lay down on your side to face him, but it was incredibly uncomfortable and you quickly retreated back to the hellish laying on your back. you actions spurred him to continue.

"I was shot," he admitted nonchalantly. he seemed to be examining his nails and yawning like he wanted to emphasize just how much he didn't care much for the words he said.

"so my ninja theory wasn't so far off, then," you chuckled for a lack of a better response. "what'd the bullet pierce?"

dazai would never admit that he was mildly impressed that you didn't ask about who had shot him, or why. "the doctor said I'm a 'lucky bastard', because it missed all my vitals."

you have taken note of where the wound was, and confirmed again when he said that because he must really be lucky to miss out on death and major complications if he got shot in the abdomen and it missed all the important things in there.

"your doc sounds like they wanted you to have some damage," you remarked, gaze back on his face. maybe you were particularly tired, but his eyes felt so dreamy when he smiled. you decided you'd ask him out once you got out of the hospital.

"oh, she definitely did," he agreed, "but she's an old friend and I think all my coworkers were hoping for something more serious."

"kinda sounds like you did too."

he considered what to say; his double-suicide jokes felt incredibly out of place in this environment full of people desperately trying to cling on to life. even if you seemed to pick up on the general direction of what he was implying, he shook his head and turned it towards you.

"are you implying that I'm a masochist?" said with a sly smirk.

"are you denying it?" you mimicked his tone.

he did not, in fact, deny it. you fell asleep shortly afterwards teasing him about it, and he just took it with a stupid grin on his face. your head fell limp onto the pillow, and he only began to be convinced you weren't just pretending again when your jaw slowly dropped down to slightly open your mouth ungracefully and let out a soft snore.

he could've gotten away with falling asleep beside you, but he didn't know how his nurse would feel about seeing him in bed with another woman.

two knocks at his open door signaled your presence.

"no walker," he said, showing you that he was impressed with an exaggerated nod of approval. "next thing I know, you'll be running marathons around the entire wing."

you huffed proudly, thinking about flopping onto his bed but your body wasn't quite ready to be thrown around just yet. "ahh, I wish. I've been told I need to stay an extra week because of my little incident. how's your timeline looking?"

he put up a four, indicating how many days until he abandoned you. faking a sorrowful sob, you wrapped your hands around his leg and hugged it like a child trying to get their parents to stay. "nuh uh, you're not! what happened to 'til death do us part'? was I the only one who said those vows?"

"apologies, my dear wife," he bowed apologetically, snickering. "I guess I'll just have to injure myself to come back to you~"

your frown was instantaneous and serious as you scooched up on the bed. "hey, don't joke about that kind of stuff. my old roommate was recovering from an attempt and she had it rough. I hate it when people joke about suicide just to sound funny."

oh.

dazai was lucky that all the members of the ada were too busy to come and visit him, because judging by your reaction, you would genuinely hate him if they heard kunikida call him a suicidal bastard or ranpo ask him why he's in the hospital if he wants to die. you may have been faking a crisis playfully the first time you met, but he felt a little ashamed lying in your presence with how truthful you were about your emotions. he admired it, but didn't know if he envied it too.

"anyways, I have something for you," you winked at him, then reached into the sleeve of your hospital gown and pulled out a simple flower. it was disheveled and barely alive, but some of the colour was still there and your smile was bright enough to compensate. "ta da!!"

"I thought flowers were not allowed in this hospital?" he raised a brow, a subtle pink dusting his cheeks at the action despite his typical unaffected demeanor and the fact that this gift was incredibly insignificant. his fingers held the stem delicately as you seemed proud that he liked it.

"they aren't!" you beamed with a giggle. "kai - the boy a few doors down from me - his girlfriend brought him some and that one really mean nurse threw them out. I was walking by the garbage and picked the best one for you."

he watched you shift closer when you finished speaking and laughed. "trash flowers."

"reminds me of you."

"ouch! I think I'm gonna need more pain meds from that sting!"

you called him a goof and continued to tell him about the rest of the hospital lore. he had been holding the flower for quite some time, and you asked what he was planning on doing with it. he asked you to fetch him one of those ridiculously tiny plastic cups at the drinking water stations and fill it up. the dying flower sunk into the water delicately while positioned on his bedside table.

responding to your remark that the nurses will have to throw it out if he let it out in the open, he reassured you that that won't be a problem. he still refused to reveal to you his methods, though.

day came and went; you finally asked him if he'd be interested in going out with you once you were both recovered; he did you one better and kissed you under the moonlight.

you didn't care that the walls of the hospital rooms were thin; it was good when you were collapsed and the dull thud could mean the difference between life and death.

however, it made what you were doing even riskier.

"fuck... fuuuck, osamu take... mmn take it easy," you murmured against his lips, thighs parted as his fingers reached deep enough to get you shaking.

he was laying on his side, supporting his weight on his forearm while he buried his other hand into you with slow, calculated movements. neither of you were fully recovered and as much as you wanted to slam him against something and grind on him until he was a babbling mess, you weren't in a state to try just yet.

instead, dazai was spending his last night in the hospital making your thighs twitch and chest heave. things progressed fast after the first kiss, especially since the two of you had nothing to do all day but speak to the other. he occasionally got calls on his phone where he had to excuse himself to take it, but other than that you didn't have much else on your minds except each other.

he took you on a date to the cafeteria and offered you a fine dining experience (junk food he beat out of the vending machines) complete with the most exquisite wine pairing (a pack of juice boxes).

you took him on the next, sneaking into rooms where you most definitely weren't supposed to be wandering and broke into the nurse's lounge. you both stole uniforms and changed, although you had to admit he pulled off the dress rather well. you got him to throw on the tightest size he could fit into, and he did a little catwalk in his formfitting outfit. none of the staff caught you making out in the supply closet.

and the third day was simply another moment of lounging in each other's rooms and talking about nothing. he accidentally dozed off and woke up an hour later to your fingers tenderly running through his hair. he gave you the side eye, receiving a kiss on his temple as a response. dazai retaliated with a kiss of his own, and suddenly you were carefully trying to lay down on him to kiss him deeper, better, but your groans were of pain and not pleasure and he offered to swap positions.

and fuck, was this man talented. you were happy just looking at him and muttering about how pretty you thought he was, but he was a lot more sensitive to your little teases and fingers exploring the outline of his body than he let on, and he had pushed up the bottom of your gown to get in between your thighs.

"nnng... ahh, do that again," you rasped out as his thumb rubbed your clit with slowly, languid motions. "is this your... mmmnnn... your way of feeling guilty for leaving me haaah... here all by myself?"

"sorry," he quipped, albeit not looking sorry at all with that lazy grin as he looked at you through low lashes. "I haven't even left yet and you miss me."

your hips buckled painfully as a jolt surged through your body and made you muffle a moan into the side of his neck. "hey, I said take it easy. can't have me extending my stay just 'cause you fucked me good."

he promised he'd do his best, but only thrust into you with harsher movements once he saw you purse your lips to keep from whimpering. you called him a little shit, but that just seemed to make him even more smug.

a nurse heard you cry out, rushing to check up on you; they didn't see dazai hidden on the other side of your hospital bed while you explained that you just had a nightmare and woke up suddenly, promising to keep it down. they just sighed, walking out with a frustrated shake of their head as dazai popped back up and giggled along with you. you leaned your head over the edge of the bed, holding his face in your hands so you could kiss him again.

"miss, please wake up. it's time for your medication, and you have a visitor."

you weren't sleeping. how could you, when it was your first night not crawling into dazai's bed to talk yourself to sleep? he was finally recovered enough to leave, and all you could do was ask him for his number so you could call him once you were out. 3 more days wasn't quite bad, but it was already piled on top of the countless ones that had passed. boredom was even more bitter once you'd tasted the sweetness of a friend.

reluctantly, pills dropped into your hand were thrown into your mouth and swallowed dry under the watchful gaze of the nurse. he didn't seem to particularly like you, but you supposed he had a right to when you kept breaking all the rules they had.

"what do I have to do to be next?" a smug voice resonated from the doorframe, lanky frame leaning against the wood as he watched you swallow.

you felt well enough to get up and give him a hug, but he beat you to it and leaned down to kiss your forehead. he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked your hair out of your face with the kind of shallow loving nature he seemed to have on by default. it took a few hours together for that to wear off and for his actions to begin feeling genuine again, but you never commented about it. you supposed everyone did that to a certain extent and you were just a little hyperaware of his giveaways.

"I didn't think you'd come back this soon," you admitted, trying to scooch on the bed so he could sit next to you as you used to. he seemed however to shake his head a little.

"I can't stay long, dear, duty calls," he said, but the look you gave him showed that you didn't believe that one bit. it didn't take much for him to give in and curl up by your side, clinging onto your body with a childish expression on his features. "this persuasive with nothing but your eyes, did I ever tell you how incredibly talented you are?"

"you did not, in fact. please do it more often," you chuckled, ruffling his hair and kissing him on the crown of his head twice before pulling him into your chest, his nose nuzzling in your neck right under your ear. you swept your hand across your body to hold him, but your iv was still in and it nearly got tangled in your limbs as well. "if you've gotta go, then why are you here, osamu?"

he gasped dramatically, turning towards the entrance. "nurse, nurse please get me something to fix my broken heart! my sweetheart doesn't want me here! on my surprise visit!"

the nurse seemed like he really was about to come in, but much more likely to be in order to remove your problematic visitor than hand him a first aid kit and fix his "broken heart". you shushed him, laughing hysterically as he got all of his melodramatic needs out of the way, asking you if you've considered giving him your house in your will, asking how long you wanted him to mourn you. refreshing, he was refreshing. a breath of fresh air after all these stuffy hours spent in the hospital.

"do you really need to go?" you asked, cradling his cheek with your palm and rubbing slow circles with your thumb. "have you just come to remind me what I can't have, osamu? how cruel of you. you may have been the one shot but I'm pretty sure you just twisted the knife in my back."

he enjoyed your playful banter, but this time a more serious look was on his face. you tilted your head to the side, watching him curiously, trying to analyze his movements and figure out why he was acting weird when suddenly, he grabbed the trashcan from next to him and coughed into it.

"oh my god— osamu, hey, oh fuck, that's blood..." you swore to yourself, calling out loudly for the nurse as well as pressing the emergency button you had on your bedside while you got to his side and held him softly, unsure what to do. he always seemed so above all of this, the treatment, the pain, the entire hospital even, that it felt shocking to watch him cough up more and more blood into the can, rasping without a single witty comment in between.

you combed your fingers through his hair, pulling all of it out of his face as if you'd both been hungover college girls waking from a rough night. the blood seemed to be easing up, but he was wincing and holding his hand to the spot where he said that he'd gotten shot.

"osamu, baby, try to breathe for me. in through your nose, as slow as you can manage. help is on its way, they're going to find out what happened and you're going to be okay, alright? you can't die, we spent all this time discussing my funeral plans and not yours, so I'm not ready," you joked, partly out of habit but mostly because you wanted him feeling reassured as you held him and waited for someone to come in and fix everything.

he seemed to try to say something, but you clicked your tongue and wiped the mixture of saliva and blood from the corner of his lips with your finger. "don't try to say anything. store every asshole remark you want to make in your head and tell it to me later, once everything has passed. 'cause it's going to pass, osamu, it always does. you're going to be fine."

you glanced down at his shirt, noticing the widening pool of crimson in his chest, and hoped that you were right.

you were discharged, but feeling more sick than ever. pacing back and forth in the waiting room, you resisted the urge to go to the receptionist and ask her about his condition again, only to be told that a, you aren't immediate family and therefore can't be informed, and b, she didn't have any information about his anyways.

dazai had been taken into surgery to fix what sounded like ruptured stitches (he was pushing himself too much and they burst, according to what you understood) and you refused to leave without knowing how he was doing.

the wait was long, agonizing and you contemplated faking a relapse of your illness just to get inside and see for yourself, but quickly convinced yourself that you're not that desperate. yet. a doctor walked out, spoke briefly to the receptionist who pointed at you with a look full of attitude. you sighed out of relief, figuring this meant you were finally getting an update.

"so, the doctor told me that your surgery went well and you'd be alright in a few days if you actually followed their words this time," you finished recounting, holding dazai's hand and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles in between sentences. "then you, my sleeping beauty, took two lovely hours just to wake up. I slept a little while waiting, so if you find some drool on your sheets... technically, that's your fault."

drowsy, half-conscious but still able to weakly chuckle at your words. his fingers twitched a little in your grasp, so you just continued to hold him tenderly while he let out drawn-out gasps as he adjusted to being awake.

"try to focus on my voice," you offered, knowing all too well the experience of waking up and wanting to slither out of your body. "don't think about the pain, don't try to convince yourself that you're stronger than it. just listen to me, okay?"

he whispered a soft "okay" to let you know that he was going to try, and you smiled against the back of his hand.

"tonight, I'm going to stay here with you," you begun reciting, almost like a fairy tale that should've started with once upon a time. "I'll sneak into the cafeteria, talk to my guy to get you the good stuff, y'know the green jell-o that everyone is jealous of? tomorrow, I'll put you on a wheelchair and we can go terrorize the nurses again. the day after, we can just stay in bed and I'll kiss you all better so that the following day, I can give you a ride home and we can finally get the hell out of this boring place."

his grip on your hand slightly tightened, and you watched his face flush a soft pink. you checked his temperature, wondering if he was spiking a fever already, but realized it was the rosiness of a blush. you giggled at him and his flusteredness, holding him near and continuing with more tales of ridiculously detailed date plans.

he fell asleep again once you'd gotten to your plans on day 43, but you kept going until you got told visiting hours were over and you had to leave. you kissed his sweaty forehead and swore you saw him smile faintly as you walked out.

you did everything you told him you'd do.

you got him the treats he wanted, noticing how he was especially shy around you when you started bringing him the little trinkets. you bought him real flowers, too, making sure you hid them as well as possible from the hospital staff, but you were already professionals at this point.

after his incident, you learned about a softer side to dazai, one that led him to blushing and losing his words when you complimented him instead of responding with his own. you would surprise him with a spontaneous fashion show featuring the hospital's limited assortment of clothing options, or wearing the nurse's uniform again as you pretended to be helping him take his meds and reminding him to take it easy.

and he did. dazai finally listened, allowing you to pamper him and actually voicing when his pain was getting bad. he mentioned briefly, on a single occasion, that his past job involved a lot of physical pain, but you sensed that you shouldn't bring it up any further. you just let him fall asleep, over and over again, in your arms and never rushed him. the best thing was that you could pretend at work that you were still gone on medical leave, so no one bothered you while you stayed with him.

"does it bother you that I'm always around?" you asked softly on one occasion, helping him to and from the bathroom after spending nearly 30 straight minutes joking about piss kinks. "I don't mean to be too much, constantly by your side. I know some people get kinda annoyed when you care too much, too soon."

dazai, walking with his arm over your shoulder so you could support some of his weight as he made his way back to the bed, seemed to have his legs give out suddenly. your reflexes were fast, and you swooped down to catch him, his body arched backwards as you looked down at him like you had been dancing the tango.

the sneaky bastard smiled at you.

"you're cute when you worry," he said simply, and you briefly considered dropping him out of spite. instead, you kissed him and slowly brought him onto the bed. even more cautiously, you sat down on his lap, little to no weight actually being placed on him as you supported yourself on your parted knees. "hm? what's this? what happened to being worried about being too much?"

you ignored his taunt and sat there for a few minutes, just holding him, kissing him and whispering everything that went through your mind. "surely you aren't complaining, are you, sweetheart? yeah, I didn't think so."

it was harder for him to sit still than it was to endure the pain; he slowly got weaned off the medication, but at the same time he was strictly forbidden from going out, using his phone or seeing many people.

on the day of his discharge, you begged him to let you drive him home. he said that it wasn't your responsibility, that he would manage, but the man he was calling sounded like he wanted dazai to rot away in the hospital for the rest of his life.

"all of that because you don't do your paperwork?" you asked with a chuckle, sitting by his side with his belonging in a bag on your lap, waiting for him to finish his call with his friend from work, if you could call that friendship. "really, I told you that I don't mind. let me drive you home, I'm sure this kuni... kunikida guy will appreciate it. what exactly is your problem with that?"

"I like to maximize my time spent annoying kunikida," he explained sensibly with a grin, groaning slightly as he got up and sat back down on the wheelchair. you placed the bag on his lap and began wheeling him towards the exit while he continued. "it's been too long since I've been a pain in his ass, sooooo..."

"is that an excuse 'cause you don't want me seeing your place?"

he gasped loudly, gathering the attention of all that you passed by. "dear, I swear that I'm a good liar. how do you see through me so quickly?!"

"the same way you see through me, I suppose," you laughed softly. "and if you don't feel ready to have me so much as see your home, I don't mind, I'm a patient woman. get it? patient. it's a hospital joke."

your understanding of nearly every curveball he threw at you was too much, and quite frankly he couldn't handle it. every time he tried to push you away, gain some distance because you were getting too comfortable with him emotionally, too close to the parts of him that he didn't keep guarded, you somehow managed to take a step back without hating him or demanding more. he'd always been the type to let women fall for him, that's true, but you weren't asking for anything in return and he just didn't get it.

that was the reason dazai couldn't let you take him home, not because he was ashamed of where he lived but because your relationship was confined within the walls of this hospital and he was afraid of what would happen if you continued outside of them.

it was also the reason he found himself crying once you finally brought him to the front entrance of the hospital, about to check one more time with him that he refused to get a ride with you when you noticed his tears. panicked, you looked at his chest for signs of blood, his face for signs of fever or pain, anything physical.

"osamu, is everythi— nmmf!"

he'd never kissed you like that before, grabbing your face while you crouched down to look at him and just feel you, all of you, on his tongue. desperate and needy, like he'd never touched you before or like you were some kind of lifesaving drug (which you must've been: he hadn't thought about suicide in weeks, hadn't joked about it, hadn't asked someone to a double-suicide. the prospect felt so foreign, ridiculous when he thought about never seeing you again). in the middle of the lobby, you were practically making out all of a sudden which was why you had to pull away temporarily and look at him, confused.

you didn't ask him why he did that. you just laughed (he loved the sound of your laugh) and called him impatient. yet somehow, both of your gazes met and there seemed to be some kind of mutual understanding of the feelings involved. you were so genuine about your emotions that he both psychologically and physically broke.

he was silent as you wheeled him to your car, helped him in and told him to wait as you returned the wheelchair. he sat down, looking at the mess, the faint chaotic smell that somehow matched you perfectly and relaxed into the passenger seat. when you came back, asking him for his address, he opened his mouth meekly to ask if he could stay with you for a few days since he knew he would slack off on the meds and eat junk food if he was living alone again. he almost looked embarrassed as he asked it, looking down at his hands instead of at you.

he wasn't wearing his bandages. in truth, they'd been cut off since he had that emergency surgery, but he never put them back on. dazai told himself that it was because he liked to feel your skin on his, but deep down he knew that it was much more than that.

too quickly. dazai osamu fell in love too quickly and he didn't know how to make it slow down.

"osaaaaaaamuuuuuu!" you called out, trying to wake him up at 6 in the morning. "time for your medicationnnnnn!"

he pretended to snore, and you pretended not to notice his tricks.

you stood there, hand on your hip, sweaty as you were just back from your morning exercise. trying to keep your health in the kind of shape that you wouldn't have to go back to the hospital was nice, but the early mornings took a while to get used to. luckily, it helped that you had your snoring boyfriend as a natural alarm clock.

"oh, he's sleeping? that sure is a shame," you dramatically pouted, setting the small cup with the pills down on the bedside in fake dejection and loudly walking over to your bathroom. "I guess I'll just have to shower all alone..."

on command, the covers were thrown in the air, osamu yelling "I'm awake!" and swallowing the pills dry in a panicked frenzy.

it works every time.

he giggled, holding your hand once he got up in order to make sure you weren't joking and truly drag you to the bathroom. you barely managed to murmur a "good morning" before he was all over you, slowing down only when you told him to take it easy with a laugh.

you'd both met each other when you were broken, but right now you've never felt so whole.

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