God Dynamite

I’m a Pisces ♓️ 20years old Part of the LGBTQIA+ community I’m Asexual

[oyasumiaikko]

the 4 times dennis hurt you and the one time he couldn’t look away from it anymore

dennis whitaker x fem! reader (one shot) | the pitt ★

wc 9.9k genre hurt to comfort warnings intended lowercase, established relationship, ‘baby’ used as a pet name, jealousy (coming both from dennis and the reader), talks of wanting to break up, arguments, suggestive, swearing, alcohol, reader doesn’t work at PTMC (she’s in college and works part-time as a barista in a coffee shop, major unspecified), whitaker lives with reader instead of santos

summary after treating a patient who later passes away, whitaker grows closer to amy, the man’s widow, a farm girl soon to become a mother. he decides to help her, and your relationship begins to change. you try to be understanding, but over time your unhappiness grows, and dennis continues to overlook it until it becomes impossible to ignore.

author’s note part of this fic is inspired by this fic written by @bitchinbarzal make sure to check it out !! i really liked the setting of that fic and wanted to add my own twist to it. : )

EDIT: part 2 of this fic is in the works, however since it was intended as a oneshot initially, you can still read this story on its own : )

after dennis came home from his first shift at the pittsburgh ER, he was devastated. you welcomed him with a tight hug and let him sink into you on your shared bed.

he had called you from the hospital, saying he’d have to stay longer because of the pittfest shooting, and the entire time you waited, you kept hoping he’d be okay, that the day wouldn’t break him completely.

by the time he finally walked through the door, his expression alone said more than a thousand words ever could. so that night, you simply held him, gently playing with his hair until he fell asleep in your arms. you let him process it all without asking questions. you were there if he needed to talk, but by now you knew him well enough to see when all he really needed was to be held.

the next morning, you woke up a little earlier and went to make him an omelette, his favorite, along with coffee. as you were still preparing everything, you felt two arms wrap around you from behind.

“morning, sleepyhead. you okay?” you murmured softly as he rested his head against your shoulder.

in response, he just nodded, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck, which made you let out a quiet giggle.

“just a few more minutes and you’ll get to eat. if you feel like it, you can tell me about… yesterday,” you whispered.

“i’d like that…” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before letting go and moving to sit at the table.

and then he told you everything. after resting and eating, his cheeks still full of food made with love, he opened up about the patient he lost, about how many times he had to change his scrubs, the rats running around the emergency room, how out of place he felt among all the confident, skilled doctors, and then the tragedy at the end of the day. you just listened, letting him get it all out.

it was also the first time he mentioned amy, though at the time you didn’t think much of it.

he said he was glad he could soothe her, even just a little, but that it was heartbreaking knowing she was carrying the child of someone who would never get to see their baby’s face.

still, it was one of the rare moments he felt truly helpful and useful during the shift, especially when he offered to help her at the farm and her entire demeanor seemed to calm down a little.

you nodded along, thinking it was just something he said in the moment to comfort someone, especially a grieving woman, but as the months passed, you slowly realized that his promise to amy had never been empty at all.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the first time you were left feeling hurt by your sweet dennis was during a weekend.

a lot of time had passed since his first shift, and dennis had changed in a lot of ways. he had grown a mullet, picked up a bit of sass from his colleague trinity santos, who you got along with pretty well whenever you visited dennis at the hospital to drop off lunch or something he had forgotten that day, and overall, it seemed like he had finally found his place in emergency medicine, but with that came more responsibility and less time for the two of you.

if it wasn’t him who was busy, it was you, juggling college classes, assignments, and your part time job all at once. so your dates with denny usually ended up indoors, curled up watching a movie that faded into the background as you either fell asleep or, on better nights, got distracted by each other. dennis always seemed far more interested in your lips and the soft warmth of your body than whatever storyline was playing on the tv anyways.

but this weekend was supposed to be different. for once, both of you were mostly free, and he had promised to take you somewhere fancy. you deserved it, he said. you deserved to be taken care of for once, after all the days you spent taking care of him.

“doll yourself up and leave everything to me. i have to stop by somewhere in the morning, but by four i’ll come get you and we’ll spend a lovely day together, okay?” he had said earlier, while you looked at him with a sleepy smile. he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, lingering just for a second as he admired you, beautiful even like this, soft and unguarded in the morning light, before heading out.

that was hours ago.

now it was already thirty minutes past four. you were sitting in your shared bedroom, your makeup done, your hair styled, dressed in one of your prettiest dresses. it hugged your figure perfectly, always earning you that soft, stunned “wow” from dennis, even though he had seen you wear it countless times. it was his favorite.

but he was nowhere to be seen.

you had called and texted him, but every call went straight to voicemail, and your messages stayed on delivered.

when you thought about it more, a quiet unease settled in your chest. denny hadn’t even told you where he was going. the thought made your stomach twist. did something happen to him?

the longer you waited, the worse it felt. the dress, that made you feel pretty just a little while ago, now felt too tight, pressing against your ribs as your anxiety crept in. your makeup started to feel heavy on your skin, suffocating, and your perfectly styled hair pulled at your scalp until it began to ache.

when you glanced at the clock again, it was already almost six.

and just as you were about to call trinity, ready to fully freak out, you heard the door softly open. you hurried over, only to see dennis by the door, calmly taking off his shoes like nothing had happened.

“hey… sorry i’m late,” he said quietly, his voice a little uneven. then he finally looked up at you.

you just stared at him, trying to process it. this wasn’t like him. he had been late before, sure, but he used to be the one to panic, rushing in, apologizing over and over like the world was ending. now he just stood there.

“you look really pretty,” he added after a second, quieter than usual. no soft “wow” no hint of that familiar warmth. he just sounded kind of tired.

“i’ll take a quick shower and we can still go somewhere. i’ll find a place, i’m sure something’s open…”

“dennis,” you cut in, your voice tighter than you meant it to be. “where were you?”

he paused, clearly not expecting that.

“i told you, i’m sorry. i just got held up—”

“you didn’t respond to me. not once,” you said, stepping closer. “i called you like five times. i had no idea where you were or if something happened. do you get that?”

he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know, i know. i should’ve texted. it just… got busy.”

“busy where?”

there was a small pause before he answered. “at the farm. with amy.”

you blinked, thrown off. “amy?”

“yeah. she needed help. i thought i’d just stop by for a bit, do something small, but…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “her baby’s only a few weeks old and she was really overwhelmed. i didn’t feel right just leaving her there like that.”he said it like it was obvious, like it made perfect sense.

“so you stayed. for hours,” you said slowly.

he didn’t answer right away, which was answer enough.

“are you serious right now?” your voice rose before you could stop it. “you stood me up, didn’t pick up your phone, and you’re telling me it’s because you didn’t want to leave another woman alone? and not just a woman, but the widow of your deceased patient? do you hear yourself?”

“hey, i said i’m sorry,” he replied, a bit sharper now. “what was i supposed to do? just walk out when she’s clearly struggling?”

“you could’ve texted me,” you shot back. “you could’ve told me anything. i’ve been sitting here for almost two hours thinking something happened to you.”

he sighed, like the whole thing was exhausting. “okay, yeah. i should’ve texted. i get it.”

“no, you don’t get it,” you said, shaking your head. “this wasn’t just ‘you forgot to text.’ you made plans. you promised.”

he looked at you for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “i mean… it’s not like you’re dealing with a newborn right now, unlike her.”

the second the words left his mouth, the air shifted.

you just stared at him in disbelief. “wow. okay.”

he ran a hand through his hair, stepping closer. “that’s not what i meant. i just… look, i miss nebraska sometimes, okay? being out there, helping like that… it feels familiar. it feels like i’m actually doing something that matters.”

“and this doesn’t?” you asked quietly.

he hesitated. “that’s not what i said.”

he let out a breath, softer now. “i’m sorry. really. i should’ve handled it better. it won’t happen again.”

you looked at him for a moment before averting your eyes, taking a slow breath, then another, trying to blink the tears away before they could fall. this just… didn’t feel right. just this morning, dennis had looked at you with so much love. it would be unfair not to accept his words now, wouldn’t it?

but it still hurt. it really did.

you had tried so hard to look pretty for him, and now all you felt was stupid. stupid for wasting your time, stupid for sitting there for hours, stupid for feeling like you had turned into something he had to squeeze in after spending his day somewhere else. like you were just another thing waiting for him at the end of it.

you didn’t want to be jealous. not of her. she had lost someone she loved, had a newborn to take care of and a whole farm. you kept telling yourself dennis was just being kind, that he had always been too kind for his own good.

he wouldn’t… cheat on you with a grieving woman.

right?

it must have shown on your face, because before you could fully spiral, before the tears could slip past your control, dennis stepped closer and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.

“hey,” he said softly. “look at me.”

you hesitated, but slowly did.

“i said i’m sorry. you told me what was wrong, and we talked it out. everything’s fine, okay?” his voice was calm, almost too calm. “you don’t need to cry.”

you were already too overwhelmed to argue. you just nodded, swallowing hard.

“just… touch up your makeup, yeah? give me a minute. i’m here.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before stepping away and heading towards the shower.

you went back to your shared bedroom and sat in front of the vanity mirror. your eyes were red at the edges, still glossy from tears that hadn’t fully fallen, mascara slightly smudged under your lower lashes. as you carefully fixed it, you kept replaying what had just happened in your head.

this was… so not like your denny.

he didn’t usually brush things off like that. he didn’t usually decide that “you talked it out” and then move on like nothing happened, especially not when you were still clearly upset.

but maybe you were overthinking it. you had to be. one bad moment with your otherwise caring boyfriend didn’t suddenly rewrite your entire relationship, right?

still, your chest felt tight as you stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to smooth out the expression on your face like that could fix what you were feeling inside.

in the shower, dennis just stood under the running water, unmoving for a while. he couldn’t tell if he was trying to wash off the sweat from a long day outside in the sun, or something heavier he didn’t want to name.

guilt, maybe.

not even fully guilt, just… that uneasy feeling sitting under his ribs that he hadn’t handled things the way he normally would have.

he didn’t really understand why he had spoken to you like that. usually, he was the one over-apologizing, even when you weren’t asking for it. but lately, something had shifted in him. a new kind of confidence, or maybe just a different way of justifying things to himself.

he didn’t think he needed to feel bad about amy. not really.

he was helping her. he was doing the right thing.

that was what he kept telling himself as the water ran over his face, louder than the thoughts he didn’t want to fully face.

and somewhere in the background of it all, without him really saying it out loud, your sadness became something he pushed aside to make room for that belief.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the second time happened a few weeks after that. by then, you were already a little worn down.

you didn’t work in the ER, but your job as a barista still drained you in its own way. you weren’t saving lives, but some customers surely did act like you were actively ruining theirs if their latte wasn’t perfect, even when the issue had nothing to do with you.

and lately, it had been one difficult shift after another.

you couldn’t tell if it was the summer heat making everyone more irritable, but it didn’t help your mood either. especially when you kept checking your phone for any notifications from dennis and there was either nothing at all, or messages like:

behind on charting, won’t be able to pick you up :(

there was an accident on the road and it’s all coming to us, sorry love, don’t wait for me for dinner

you’re working, right? amy will pick me up after my shift, she needs help with building some furniture for the nursery, don’t know when i’ll get home yet. good luck!

any time amy’s name appeared, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. you wanted to be understanding, you really did, but did she not have anyone else? no friends, no family, anyone at all?

it started to feel ridiculous.

and by now, you knew you weren’t the only one who thought so.

once, when you mentioned it to trinity, she had scoffed and called it weird, saying it wasn’t professional at all, that if anyone else at the hospital behaved like that, they’d be reprimanded immediately.

you didn’t really disagree.

but at the same time, you felt almost silly bringing it up again when you and dennis had already “talked” about it before. sort of.

you leaned against the cash register, exhaustion settling into your bones as another shift dragged on. your eyes drifted over to the pastry display, where an apple pie sat neatly behind the glass.

dennis really liked apple pie.

he always said it reminded him of home, how his grandma used to bake the sweetest ones.

you smiled a little at the memory and made a quiet mental note to bake him one soon.

it seemed like your relationship was lacking something sweet these days, and you didn’t want it to turn sour. after all, aside from the amy situation, everything else still felt like it was working. when you were doing your assignments, he would still kiss your temple on his way out, leaving a bowl of fruit on your desk so you’d have “something in your system.” he still held you close when you fell asleep, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you just needed to focus on the good things a little more.

as soon as you clocked out, you went grocery shopping, feeling inspired to make the best apple pie in the world.

when dennis came home later that day, the sun already long gone, he found you waiting for him.

“surprise!” you said brightly, bouncing slightly on your toes, apron dusted with flour still tied around your waist. the whole apartment smelled warm and sweet, like baked apples and cinnamon.

he paused in the doorway for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “what is this?”

you grabbed his hand immediately, pulling him towards the kitchen. “just come see.”

his eyes landed on the pie sitting on the counter. “woah,” he murmured, more genuine now. “baby, you didn’t have to do all this. weren’t you working today?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling as you watched his reaction, “but i don’t know. i just wanted to. i know how much you like it.”

that softened him. he turned to you right away, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your lips, then another to your cheek like he couldn’t decide where to land.

“you’re sweet,” he said quietly.

you smiled into him, letting yourself lean into the moment.

“let me wash my hands first,” he said after a second, already loosening his grip. “and then i’m going to absolutely destroy that pie. can’t have your effort going to waste.”

he laughed as he said it, a bit lighter now, and before you could respond, he spun you around once in his arms.

it was new. a little unexpected. stronger than before. now that you thought about it, ever since he started going to the farm more often, he did gain some muscle that he didn’t have before.

you let out a small laugh, steadying yourself against him. “okay, okay.”

while dennis was getting changed into his comfortable home clothes, you cut the pie and made him a cup of tea with two sugar cubes. he liked everything sweet.

when he came back, he kissed your cheek again and immediately dug in.

you watched him closely, waiting for his reaction.

“mhmm.” he let out a satisfied hum with his mouth full, which made you laugh, a small spark of pride warming your chest. “it’s so sweet, baby. thank you, i love it.”

he reached for his tea, still chewing. “though it would be nice if you used whipped cream too. amy did it when i was at hers and it tasted like a dream.”

he said it casually, like it didn’t mean anything at all, like it was just a passing thought he decided to share.

but your expression shifted immediately. happiness dropped into something tighter, disbelief and hurt mixing in your chest.

“are you comparing me to her?” you frowned.

dennis paused, eyebrows pulling together like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.

“no? i just said it’s a tip for next time. don’t take it so personally.” he gave you a small smile, already moving on, like it was nothing.

then he continued talking about something from his shift, completely slipping back into his day, like the moment had already passed.

but you hadn’t.

you stayed still for a second too long, trying to figure out if he really didn’t see it or if he just didn’t care enough to. neither option felt good.

“i’m tired. i’m going to bed.” you said quietly, cutting through his sentence as you took off your apron.

he blinked. “oh. okay. night, baby.”

and then he went right back to eating.

you walked into the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it run loudly so it could cover the sound of your sobs. you just sat on the cold floor, knees pulled in, tears slipping down your cheeks faster than you could stop them.

so much so for wanting to do something sweet for your boyfriend.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the third time dennis hurt you came pretty quickly after that. by then, it didn’t even take much to make you feel sad.

over time, as dennis kept shining brighter, his job clearly fulfilling him, combined with all the farm visits and the confidence he had grown into, something else started happening too.

you wanted to be happy for him. you really did.

but the more he seemed to step into the light, the more you felt like you were being left somewhere behind in the dark.

at first, it showed in small things. forgetting to turn in your assignments. being late to your shifts at the café. then it got worse. you couldn’t sleep properly anymore.

the only times dennis was home, he was usually exhausted, barely able to do more than kiss you hello before collapsing into bed. your movie nights disappeared. your time together shrank into almost nothing. and somehow, the quiet moments became the hardest.

when he was asleep beside you, snoring softly, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist, that was the only time you still felt like you belonged in his world. like you still had a place there.

and even then, it didn’t last.

because the second you tried to fall asleep, a thought would creep in, heavy and persistent.

what if you let go for too long and he just… drifted away?

so you stayed awake.

and then there was the faucet.

it started dripping one night, a steady, uneven sound echoing through the apartment. and if your thoughts weren’t enough to keep you up, that quiet, repetitive tap of water hitting the sink made sure you wouldn’t rest at all.

by morning, you felt completely drained.

when dennis was getting ready for his shift, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his socks, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back.

“baby…” you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. “the faucet’s dripping. can you fix it? i can’t sleep because of it…”the dark circles under your eyes had only gotten worse over the past few days.

“oh,” he said lightly, like it hadn’t even crossed his mind before. “i didn’t notice.” he turned slightly towards you, gently taking one of your hands off his waist and pressing a quick kiss to your palm.

“yeah, of course. i’ll take care of it when i get home. you’re not dating a farm boy for nothing.” he gave you a small smile, easy and reassuring, before standing up to finish getting ready for his shift.

as dennis left for work, you were left alone in the apartment with that… sound. the quiet space only made it worse, the steady dripping echoing through the rooms like it was filling every corner.

but it was okay. denny said he was going to fix it.

you took a deep breath and made yourself a light breakfast, then sat down to study and work on your assignments. you tried to focus, really, but the grating sound of the faucet kept pulling you out of it. over and over again.

at some point, you weren’t even sure if it was the sound itself that was driving you mad, or if it was everything else piling up inside you, finally starting to crack.

you texted dennis around the time his shift was supposed to end, but once again, you were left on delivered. you rolled your eyes, already knowing what that meant.

but it was okay. maybe amy just needed help with groceries or something small, and he’d be home soon. after all, he promised he’d fix the faucet for you.

and still, nothing.

by midnight, dennis still hadn’t shown up. his dinner sat untouched on the table, wrapped in foil, long gone cold. you didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. you just sat there, staring at the sink, at the constant drip, your chest tight as your thoughts spiraled.

you couldn’t live like this.

2am passed. still nothing.

eventually, you went to the bedroom and lay down, staring at the ceiling, waiting. and waiting.

dennis finally came home at 5am. he moved quietly through the apartment, like he didn’t want to wake you. or maybe like he didn’t want to deal with you being awake.

unfortunately for both of you, you hadn’t slept at all.

“where the hell were you?” you said the moment you saw him, your voice flat from pure exhaustion.

he paused for a second before answering. “i’m so sorry, baby. i swear i wasn’t ignoring you. i left my phone at work by accident, and by the time i realized, i was already at amy’s. the storms this week caused a lot of damage on the farm, so i had to stay and help. and then it got late, and she didn’t want me driving back when i was that tired. but… i’m here now.”

you let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“yeah. to get clean clothes. you’re not here for me.”

he frowned slightly, like that wasn’t fair.

“you promised you’d fix the faucet, dennis. i haven’t slept in days. why are her problems always more important than mine?”

he stepped closer, gently holding your face in his hands like that would calm you down.

“it’s not like that, baby. i promise i’ll fix it today, okay? actually promise. it just slipped my mind.”

he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. you didn’t kiss him back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

he glanced at the time right after.

“after work, okay? i’m already late and robby’s gonna be on my ass if i don’t show up. bye. love you.”

and just like that, he was already moving again, grabbing his things and heading out, leaving you standing there in the same apartment, with the same dripping sound still echoing in the background.

you took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself, but it got harder the moment you realized your own shift started in three hours.

great.

you could barely handle customers on a full night of sleep, let alone like this, after nights of barely resting at all. you already felt it in your body, the heaviness behind your eyes, the way everything seemed just a little harder.

you groaned quietly, frustration bubbling up. at yourself, at amy, but most of all at your boyfriend. all the apologies, all the promises that never really seemed to reach you anymore. it felt like those only meant something when they were directed at her.

you pushed yourself up anyway.

slowly, you got ready, moving through everything on autopilot. you made yourself the strongest cup of coffee you could manage and forced it down before heading out.

to say the shift dragged would’ve been an understatement.

everything felt off. you kept making small mistakes, ringing up hot drinks instead of iced ones, spilling milk on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you poured coffee. even the simplest things felt like too much.

you were just so tired.

during a quieter moment, when the line finally died down, your coworker approached you. mark. you didn’t know him that well, just small talk here and there, but enough to know he was a year older, also in college, and had really nice hair.

“hey… you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle, careful. “you don’t seem like yourself today.”

you let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. “you can say it. i look like shit.”

he gave you a small, almost amused smile, but didn’t argue.

“thanks for asking though,” you added, shrugging lightly. “i just… couldn’t sleep. there’s this faucet in my apartment that won’t stop dripping, and i can’t fall asleep with it. and i don’t even know how to fix it myself, so…”

mark nodded, listening. then, after a second, “are you free after your shift?”

you looked at him, a bit confused.

“i mean,” he continued, leaning slightly against the counter, arms loosely crossed, “i’m pretty handy. i could take a look at it for you. probably fix it pretty quickly.”

for the first time in what felt like weeks, something in you lifted. just a little.

“really?” you blinked. “that… that would actually mean a lot. are you sure you don’t mind?”

he smiled easily. “i wouldn’t offer if i did.”

then, a little softer, a little more playful, “besides, i’ve been meaning to get to know you better anyway.” he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “don’t tell anyone, but you’re kind of my favorite here.”

you couldn’t help it, you giggled, the sound feeling unfamiliar but nice.

he winked, then straightened up again as another customer walked in, already slipping back into work like nothing happened.

after that, the rest of your shift felt a little easier. anytime you got dazed or lost, mark would quietly slide in and take over for you, telling you to take five and go easy on yourself.

it felt… nice. being seen, being taken care of, even in such a small way. even if a part of you kept insisting it was probably just politeness, nothing more.

when you got back to your apartment with mark, you actually got to know him a bit better. he told you he was majoring in sculpting at one of the fancy art colleges in pittsburgh, joking that being handy was probably the only reason he got accepted. he talked about playing basketball, about his two younger sisters, and somewhere along the way, the conversation just… flowed.

you found yourself laughing more than you expected. it was nice, talking about things that had nothing to do with dennis for once.

you liked trinity, you really did, but she always circled back to him. and right now, you just couldn’t handle thinking about any of it.

you ended up making a quick pasta as a small thank you, insisting he stay for at least a few bites before leaving. after that, you walked him to the door, exchanging a quick, easy goodbye.

once the apartment fell quiet again, it didn’t feel as heavy as before. not as suffocating. and the second your back hit the couch, exhaustion took over. you fell asleep almost instantly, finally getting the rest your body had been begging for.

dennis came home hours later.

you only stirred when you heard dennis’ keys, your body too tired to fully wake up.

he stepped into the living room, his voice low. “hey…”

you barely responded, just a small nod before turning onto your side, your back facing him. you didn’t have the energy to talk to him. not now.

he sighed quietly and went to change, but then paused.

something felt… off.

the apartment was too quiet.

he walked towards the kitchen, glancing at the sink, and froze for a second. the faucet wasn’t dripping anymore. but there were two plates sitting there, neither of them his.

he stood there for a moment before speaking.

“hey… what happened to the faucet?” he asked, his voice careful, though there was something tense underneath it.

you stirred slightly, pushing yourself up just enough to look at him.

“oh. yeah. that,” you mumbled, still half asleep. “my coworker fixed it. i was a mess at work, didn’t sleep, so he offered…”

you stretched a little, not thinking much of it.

dennis, however, did.

his expression tightened just slightly, a strained kind of smile settling on his face as he stepped closer.

“your coworker?” he repeated. “like… a guy?”

you frowned, confusion mixing with irritation as you sat up more properly.

“yeah. why? does it matter?”you pushed yourself off the couch, already exhausted again. “whatever. i’m going to bed. i need sleep.”

you tried to walk past him, but he caught your arm, stopping you.

“i don’t like you inviting other guys into our place to fix things,” he said, his tone firmer now. “that’s what you have a boyfriend for.”

for a second, you just stared at him.

“do i?” you said, your voice sharp despite how tired you felt.

you pulled your arm out of his grip.

“because i haven’t seen him in a while.”

his jaw tightened, but you didn’t stop.

“i asked you to fix it first. you brushed me off for amy. you don’t get to play house at a farm with some other woman and then get mad at me for accepting help from someone else. that’s not fair, dennis.”

dennis looked at you for a moment, clearly deciding what to do next. if it had been the dennis you first fell in love with, he probably would’ve dropped his gaze, stumbled over his words, and started muttering multiple apologies, though the dennis you started dating wouldn’t have let things get this bad with you in the first place.

but now he wanted to use his newfound confidence. to show you he had become better, not just for himself and his coworkers, but for you too.

so instead of backing down, he closed the distance between you and kissed you.

it was sudden, passionate, catching you completely off guard. your eyes widened, and before you could react properly, he pressed you back against the nearest wall, his lips moving down to your neck, slowly sucking at your sensitive spot.

your breath got caught in your throat, your body reacting before your mind could catch up, hands instinctively wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

for a brief moment, it felt like everything else faded. like things were normal again.

dennis pulled back just enough to look at you, something almost smug flickering across his face.

“you don’t need other guys for this,” he said quietly, as his hand slowly slipped into your pants, his lips returning to your neck. “could that coworker of yours do this to you, huh?”

and for a moment, you did feel it. the warmth, the closeness, the pull. and it would’ve been a lie to say you didn’t get wet from his touches, because you did. however it was his fault you were this needy in the first place. months of distance, of being tired, of him barely being there or only half present when he was. you don’t even remember the last time the two of you got intimate.

and just like that, something in you snapped back. because as quickly as your body responded, your mind caught up as well.

the missed calls. the empty apartment. the nights you spent staring at the ceiling. the sound of the faucet. amy. always amy.

your hands pushed against his chest.

“stop. stop!” you raised your voice.

dennis stepped back immediately, actual fear in his eyes. he had never forced himself on you, and this was the first time you had ever fully rejected him like that.

you stood there, breathing uneven, and then it all came out at once.

“you can’t do that. you can’t leave me hanging for months, walking away from me when i need you, choosing some other woman who should be relying on literally anyone else but you, and then come back and act like this fixes it.”

your voice shook, but you didn’t stop.

“waltzing back in here to try to do some jealous power play on me? saying how you can make me feel things that my coworker can’t? when’s the last time you even did anything like that for me, dennis?”

a bitter, exhausted laugh slipped out of you as you ran a hand through your hair.

“i love you, dennis,” you said more quietly now, voice breaking a little at the edges. “i still do. but i deserve better than this.”

you looked at him for a second longer, then turned away.

“i’m going to bed.” you walked past him, heading to the bedroom, leaving him standing there in silence. he couldn’t react in any way, because deep down he knew you were right. he just didn’t want to accept it.

didn’t want to admit that everything he thought was making him better, stronger, someone you could be proud of, was slowly pushing you away instead.

that night, he stayed on the couch.

he didn’t dare come into the bedroom. not after everything.

and as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering on the couch pillows from your nap, he realized how far away you suddenly felt.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

the fourth time dennis hurt you came the next morning.

you woke up with a headache worse than any hangover you’d ever had, and instead of feeling well rested after finally getting the sleep your body desperately craved, you just felt awful.

you didn’t even want to get up, knowing you’d have to face dennis again, face that difficult and weird situation he put you into.

you just wanted to stay in bed. sleep the whole day away, maybe even the next one too, but unfortunately, you couldn’t.

you glanced at the empty side of the bed, the one dennis usually slept on, the cold bedsheets showing that he didn’t sleep there at all.

with a heavy sight you got up from the bed and carefully navigated your way through the hallway into the living room. you took a deep breath before you opened the door and then carefully stepped inside, bracing yourself for what was yet to come.

dennis was still there, which by now, was rather unusual. he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes tired, but they lit up a little when he saw you in the doorway.

you two just looked at each other for a moment, awkward silence filling the room. after another beat of silence, dennis opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his phone started ringing.

he glanced at it, hesitating for a second, clearly unsure if he should pick up.

“amy?” you asked, your voice flat, already knowing the answer.

“y-yeah, but uh let me just take this, it’ll be quick, and then we can finish our conversation from yesterday, okay?” his voice wavered slightly.

you let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“bold of you to assume i want to finish that conversation,” you said, your tone tired more than anything. “i said everything i needed to, so go ahead. pick up. wouldn’t want to leave poor amy hanging, right?” you rolled your eyes and turned away, walking out of the living room.

you meant to go back to your bedroom, to get dressed and leave, just get out of the apartment for a while.

but you didn’t go far.

you stopped just behind the door in the hallway, your chest tight, your curiosity and anxiety keeping you there.

you needed to hear it. needed to know how he talked to her. what he sounded like speaking to other woman than you.

you heard him click his tongue before picking up the call, the tension in him slipping out in that small sound.

“uh, hi amy. what’s up?” he said, his voice a little gentler now, like he didn’t want her to hear that he was stressed.

“oh, theo’s teething? is that what’s making him act up? i’m sorry to hear that.” after a pause, probably listening to what else she had to say, he responded with a light laugh in his voice. “you’d like me to come on sunday?” he repeated, glancing at the calendar hanging in your living room.

sunday was marked as your anniversary date. officially three years together. dana had once joked that even some marriages don’t last that long.

you tensed at the mention of that, waiting for his answer just as much as amy.

“y-yeah, i don’t know…” he started, clearly aware he was busy. with you. he was supposed to be busy with you.

but he didn’t finish, as amy probably started insisting. at least that’s what you assumed.

dennis ran a hand over his face before responding. “okay, sure. i’ll come. probably in the morning, because—”

and the moment you heard his defeated “okay” you didn’t even for him to finish the rest of his sentence. you had already heard enough.

you rushed to your bedroom and shut the door behind you, louder than necessary, making sure it made a sound.

you didn’t even know what came over you in that moment. probably all the pent up sadness, the anger, the constant feeling of being pushed aside finally spilling over. the more you thought about it, the more worse you felt.

you did everything for this man. you were there when he had nothing, when he was struggling financially, when he didn’t even have a place to stay. you welcomed him into your home and made it a home for both of you. you supported his decisions, tried your best to build up his confidence, to make him feel like he was enough.

and now he was using the widow of his dead patient, which was insane in itself, to boost his ego?

for what?

were you never enough?

was it because you were a city girl, while amy could give him that quiet life he always talked about? the white fence, the baby, the farm?

you couldn’t do this anymore. you just couldn’t.

so with shaking hands, you pulled out a suitcase and started packing. quickly, carelessly, not even looking at what you were grabbing, just throwing clothes in, one after another.

the moment dennis heard the loud thud from the bedroom, he ended the call with amy almost immediately and rushed in.

he froze for a second when he saw you.

“what are you doing?” he asked, frowning, already stepping forward.

then he moved closer, panic kicking in as he started pulling your clothes back out of the suitcase.

“what are you doing?” he repeated, more urgent now.

“what are you doing, dennis?” you snapped back, your voice rising as you yanked your sweater out of his hands.

“i’m tired of this. i’m tired of feeling like the other woman in my own relationship.”

your chest was heaving now, emotions spilling out faster than you could control.

“you’re going to her place even on our anniversary? seriously? grow a backbone. why couldn’t you say no to her for once, the same way you keep saying no to me?”

the words came out sharp, unfiltered, driven by everything you had been holding in.

and something in dennis… snapped.

he didn’t mean it. not really.

he was just angry. mostly at himself, honestly.

but it all came out wrong.

“yeah?” he shot back, his voice tight. “you know what? i always thought you were a good person, but now it just feels like you simply liked me better when i was at my lowest.”

you froze.

“yeah,” he continued, words spilling out faster now. “when i was that broke, clumsy med student with nothing. no money, no place, nothing. and you got something out of that.”

your heart dropped.

“you used it. you used me to feel better about yourself. and now that i’m not beneath you anymore, now that people actually see something in me, even another woman… you just can’t handle it.”

the room fell silent after that.

you just stared at him, like you didn’t even recognize the person standing in front of you anymore.

“if that’s what you really think,” you said quietly, your voice shaking but steady enough, “then i don’t understand why you’re even here.”

you swallowed, forcing the next words out.

“it’s over, dennis. i want you to leave. right now. and if you won’t, i will.”

your eyes were glossy, but your tone stayed stern.

for a moment, he just stood there, blinking, like he didn’t fully realize what he had just done. then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

the door closed behind him.

and suddenly, it was quiet again.

you sank down onto the floor of your bedroom, the suitcase still half full, clothes scattered everywhere around you.

little pieces of your life together, now just painful reminders you didn’t know what to do with.

꒰𐔌 ★ 🩺

time moved on, but neither did you and dennis. it had been almost a week since he left the apartment, and unfortunately for both of you, today was that fateful sunday.

you decided to stay in, considering all the plans you once had for that day were long gone. you bought yourself a big tub of ice cream, a bottle of wine, and planned to spend the entire day inside, rewatching your favorite show, not even bothering to open the blinds.

dennis, on the other hand, picked up a shift. it was a convenient excuse not to go to amy’s, and at the same time, he needed something to distract himself. he figured if he focused on his patients, maybe he wouldn’t have to think about everything else.

unfortunately for him, his coworkers had other plans.

the first one to bring it up, as expected, was trinity. he had been staying at her place for the past few days. at first, she gave him space, knowing when to leave things alone, but patience had never really been her strength, and she had clearly had enough.

“so, when are you planning on fixing your fuck up, huckleberry?” she said bluntly, her tone sharp as they both sat down to do charting.

“what fuck up?” he replied, not even looking up, like he didn’t know exactly what she meant.

“oh, don’t play dumb,” she scoffed. “just a few days ago you were going on and on about how you were gonna treat your ‘queen’ on sunday, and now you’re here instead. and don’t think i didn’t notice the fifteen cans of beer in my fridge. if you drink all of that and throw up in my apartment, i swear…”

he exhaled, rubbing his face, clearly not being in the mood for this conversation.

trinity just shook her head. “to think you threw it all away for that farm girl…” she muttered.

that was enough to set him off.

“look, i really don’t want you bringing that up, especially here, okay?” he said, his voice lower now, but tense.

trinity raised her eyebrows, her tone immediately turning more biting.

“wow. look at that. acting like a victim,” she said, a sarcastic smile creeping onto her face. “as if i haven’t told you multiple times how weird this whole thing is. you kept telling me how your girlfriend is this perfect, understanding angel, and i kept thinking, who in their right mind would actually be okay with that? now look at that, she wasn’t okay with that.”

he stayed quiet.

“for fuck’s sake, amy was picking you up from work more often than your own girlfriend at this point. everyone saw it. and you didn’t seem to mind back then,” she added, her voice sharper now, as she she stood up, grabbing her things.

“i’m saying this because i actually care, huckleberry. fix it today, or you’re going to regret it.” and with that, she walked off.

dennis sat there for a moment, then dropped his face into his hands.

after a second, dana leaned slightly towards him.

“she’s right, kid. harsh, but right.”

“you too, dana… don’t even start.” he muttered, already ready to get up and grab another case just to avoid the conversation, but she stopped him.

“look, i know it’s not my business,” she said more gently, “but that girl of yours… she seemed really sweet. and she loved you. that was obvious.”

he didn’t respond.

“people mess up. trust me, i’ve had my fair share with my husband. but if the love is real, it’s worth fighting for.”

then she leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice.

“and it’s definitely not worth losing over… whatever this is with a patient’s family.”

she gave him a look before going back to her work.

dennis stayed there, shoulders slumping as he processed everything that was said to him just now, because well, they were right.

all of them.

and you… you had been right from the start.

he had seen it, even if he didn’t want to admit it. the way you held onto him a little tighter in the mornings, the way your smile slowly faded over time.

somewhere along the way, he had lost the balance between taking care of himself… and forgetting to take care of you.

before dennis could dwell on it any longer, a trauma was called in and he was needed immediately.

dennis quickly pulled on protective eyewear and a sterile gown, falling into the routine as he joined the rest of the team rushing to receive the patient. it was serious enough to require a trauma surgeon and immediate transfer to the OR, which meant everything had to move fast.

garcia was the one called in, and at that, dennis couldn’t help but roll his eyes. she had never really spared him when it came to snarky remarks, and now, knowing trinity, she probably knew everything already.

“oh, if it isn’t the funky music,” she said when she spotted him, her tone light despite the situation. “i know you’ve been going around breaking hearts, but don’t break this one too, okay?” she shot him a teasing look before turning back to the patient.

dennis huffed quietly under his breath but didn’t respond, focusing on what needed to be done as the team worked to stabilize the patient.

unfortunately for him, robby had been there the whole time too.

once things finally settled and the patient was stable, robby motioned for dennis to step aside, leading him towards the ambulance bay doors.

“you alright?” robby asked, arms crossed, studying him for a moment.

dennis frowned slightly. “yeah. why?”

robby raised a brow. “because you’ve been off all day. tired, distracted. not like you.”

dennis exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m fine. just didn’t sleep much.”

robby didn’t seem convinced. he leaned back slightly against the wall, still watching him.

“that all?”

there was a pause.

dennis hesitated, glancing away for a second like he was debating whether to say anything at all.

“it’s just… stuff at home,” he admitted finally, quieter now.

robby didn’t interrupt.

“i messed up,” dennis added after a moment, his voice low. “with my girlfriend. like… really messed up.”

he let out a short breath, shaking his head slightly.

“i don’t even know how it got this bad.”

robby hummed quietly, not surprised. “that explains the mood.”

dennis let out a tired laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“yeah.”

there was a short silence before robby spoke again.

“you gonna fix it?”

dennis didn’t answer right away.

he just stood there for a second, the question settling heavier than he expected.

“…i don’t know if i can,” he admitted.

robby shrugged slightly. “then figure it out. because whatever’s going on, it’s clearly getting to you.”

he pushed himself off the wall, giving dennis a small nod.

“get your head back in the game. we still got a shift to finish.”

and just like that, robby walked off, leaving dennis standing there with his thoughts again, only now he couldn’t ignore them as easily.

the end of the shift couldn’t come soon enough. dennis rushed through handoffs with the night shift, barely listening as perlah and princess exchanged knowing looks, whispering to each other in a language he didn’t understand, but he could guess exactly what it was about. at this point, it felt like the whole hospital knew about his fuck up.

he didn’t even bother changing out of his scrubs. he just grabbed his things and hurried out, stopping by the nearest flower shop and spending almost all the money he had left, which wasn’t much, considering he had only just started getting paychecks, on the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers.

then he drove to your place.

he still had the key.

dennis stood outside for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before unlocking the door and quietly stepping inside.

the apartment was dark, except for the soft glow coming from the living room, along with the familiar soundtrack of your favorite show. one he had gotten to know pretty well over time. he remembered you rewatching it during breakfasts back when he was still in med school. he used to tease you about how you could probably recite every line by heart, and you never denied it. he had grown to love it too. mostly because it reminded him of you.

he swallowed and slowly made his way towards the living room.

when he stepped in, he saw you curled up under a blanket on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine next to you. your eyes were puffy and tired, like you had been crying for hours.

his chest tightened at the sight. he hated himself for letting it get this far. for being the reason you looked like this.

“hey…” he whispered softly.

you looked at him, taking a second to fully register his presence, before a small sniffle escaped you.

“get out,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your voice shook. “i don’t want to see you.” you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your face completely.

dennis stepped closer, careful and hesitant.

“darling… baby, please just hear me out,” he started, his voice already shaky. “i know you said everything you needed to that day, but i didn’t, and i… i’m sorry. okay? i didn’t mean any of the things i said at that moment.”

he swallowed hard, his voice threatening to break.

“you are a good person. you always have been. and i should’ve been grateful that you stayed with me when i had nothing, when i was… pretty useless, honestly. and then i go and treat you like this…” he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i’m a fool. i know i am.”

his voice cracked despite his effort to keep it together.

“you’re the best thing in my life, and i don’t want to lose that. i don’t want to lose you.”

he took another small step closer, still not touching you.

“i’ll cut amy off. completely. i swear i never thought of her in a romantic way, not once, but i should’ve realized how it looked, how it felt for you. but i didn’t. i messed up. badly.”

he ran a hand through his hair, his words coming out more rushed now.

“i just… i felt good for once. at the farm, i know what i’m doing. i feel useful there. like i actually stand out. in the hospital, there are so many people who are better, stronger, more confident and then there’s you…” he let out a small, almost breathless laugh. “you’re the strongest, most amazing, most beautiful person i’ve ever met. and i think i just… lost myself trying to prove i could be something too.”

his voice softened again.

“and in the process, i pushed away the most important person in my life.”

there was a pause.

“i regret it. more than anything.”

he finally stepped closer to the couch, slowly lowering himself down in front of you, but still keeping a small distance, giving you space.

“can you… just give me a chance to fix this?”

after a few seconds, you pulled the blanket down, your face still tear-streaked, your eyes red. you had listened to everything. every word.

but you didn’t know what to say.

you loved him.

you really did.

but was that enough?

was it right to let him back in after everything?

as if he could read the doubt in your expression, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“you don’t have to forgive me. not now… maybe not ever,” he admitted. “but if there’s even a chance… let me earn it. let me prove to you that i can be better. that i can be the man you deserve.”

he swallowed, then carefully got down on his knees in front of you, placing the bouquet beside you before gently reaching for your hands. this time, he waited, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to.

“i, dennis whitaker, promise that i’ll take care of you,” he said softly. “i’ll fix every stupid faucet, anything that bothers you. i’ll take you anywhere you want to go. i’ll do all those dumb things like putting my coat over puddles just so you don’t get your shoes wet.”

a faint, sad smile tugged at his lips.

“i’ll rub your neck when you’re studying, and in return i just… want to be the one who gets to wake up next to you. the one who gets to eat your pies and whatever you bake until i’m old and annoying.”

his grip on your hands tightened just slightly.

“please. just one more chance. you’re the only one for me.”

there was a beat of silence, as if you were still weighing everything he had said, still deciding what to do with it.

then you let out a small sniffle.

“if i ever hear about amy again,” you started, your voice shaky but holding onto that familiar edge, “or if you ever dare to say my pies aren’t perfect, i’ll sell your clothes on ebay and come to the hospital to show everyone your donald duck boxers.”

a quiet, broken giggle slipped out of you.

dennis let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, a soft, relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“yeah… that’s fair,” he murmured. “that’s definitely what i deserve.”

he smiled softly before looking at you properly again, his expression warmer now, but still careful.

“thank you. for letting me try again. i love you.”

you sniffled once more, your lips pressing into a small, tired smile.

“you’re lucky i love you too.”

“i really am.” he whispered.

that night was finally the first one in a while where you actually slept a little peacefully.

dennis took the bottle of wine away from you, putting it back into the kitchen cabinet and making you tea instead before gently tucking you into bed.

for a moment, he hesitated.

he wasn’t sure if he deserved to lie next to you yet. part of him thought he should just take the couch again, give you space, not assume anything.

but then you reached out for him. your hand searching for his without even opening your eyes.

that was enough to convince him. he slipped into bed beside you, and the moment you settled, resting your head against his chest, something in him softened completely.

he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting carefully against your back as he felt you slowly drift off to sleep.

he stayed like that for a while, just holding you. making sure you were really resting.

and once your breathing evened out, he carefully reached for his phone.

he stared at the screen for a moment before typing out a message to amy, that he was going to focus on building his own family now. with you. and that if things got too overwhelming, she should reach out to the hospital psychologist, but that he couldn’t be there for her anymore, because he was needed somewhere else.

he sent it, then turned his phone off completely.

when he looked back at you, you were still curled up against him, your chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

his expression softened, but his eyes stung. a few quiet tears slipped down his cheeks as he brushed his thumb gently against your arm.

“i’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this to you again. promise.”

fin.

general masterlist 🩺 the pitt masterlist

🏷️ tag list @flowersandsuch111 @mrsbellastyles @m-maxie-ie @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @interdimensionalzoomcall @4ria790 @harrysmatcha @lotusapple-xia-main @celestiallworld @uwuuuuooo @ninihrs @oliviajhene @hateusernames @meowtastick @coffeelmao @jcks29 @sugaryapplez @druidofstars @husbandb3at3r @beths-shoelaces @jace2582 @archxve @maviscone @sincerellie @carriemill

[oh-dear-moon-give-me-a-kiss]

Oh my dear Lord

[chibi-tokki]

mr big scary let me ask my wife firelord who always has to run things by you not because you’re controlling or demanding but because he wants you to know what he’s doing, wants you to be included and wants you to approve of his decisions because when you’re happy, he’s happy.

“ fire lord zuko, the earth emissary would like to have a dinner. when is suitable for you?”

“let me ask my wife and i’ll get back to you.”

“lord zuko, the festival of fire is coming up, will you be in attendance?”

“not sure. let me ask my wife.”

“sir. the avatar has requested your help. will you be going to lend aid?”

“if my wife grants me permission, yes.”

“my wife said we need more opportunities for women in government. lets look into that.”

“i cannot attend that meeting. i have lunch plans with my wife.”

even when doing the most mundane and tedious things like new gowns or new stationery for royal decrees, you’re there to give your opinion.

“does my wife like it?”

“what does the firelady think?”

“ask my wife, she has the final say. whatever she wants, goes.”

big scary i worship the ground my wife walks on fire lord

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Let me take care of you || Jack Abbot ||

A/n: Jack Abbot smut anyone 😏.

Jack rarely complained about pain.

He’d limp.

He’d groan under his breath.

He’d rub the place where flesh met metal and insist he was “fine.”

But tonight?

He wasn’t fine.

He sat on the edge of the bed with his prosthetic set aside, muscles tight, stump aching, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. His top was half off, exposing bruising down his ribs from where a patient had panicked and shoved him into a metal rail.

He looked up when you entered the room.And tried, stupidly to smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m good. Just need a minute to—”

You climbed into his lap before he could finish, your hands cupping his cheeks, your forehead brushing his.

“Jack,” you whispered, “you’re hurt. Let me take care of you.”

His breath faltered. “Sweetheart, I don’t…I can’t. I’m not exactly in shape to—”

You kissed him.

Soft, slow.

Just enough to make his shoulders drop as his hands found your hips.

Then you slid your hands down his chest, pushing the rest of his shirt off as your fingers gently glided across the bruise on his chest.

“Let me ride you,” you murmured against his lips. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lie back.”

Jack inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering half shut as a deep rumble escaped his chest. “Jesus… you’ll kill me saying things like that.”

You guided him back against the pillows.

Carefully.

Gently.

His body relaxed in a way it never did on its own, his hand sliding up your thigh almost without thought as he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, watching you with a look that was half worship, half desperation, “you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you whispered, easing his pants and briefs down. "Let me make you feel good.”

His cock sprang free, already hard, already flushed, already leaking from just the sight of you climbing over him.

Jack swallowed hard. "....fuck.”

You straddled his thighs, still in your panties, running your fingertips lightly along the thick length of him.

His eyes rolled back.A low groan rumbled in his chest.

“That’s it,” you murmured, stroking him slowly, “just relax....you work to hard."

“Relax,” he scoffed breathlessly, hips twitching into your hand, “while you’re sitting there looking like that, yeah...sure, super easy—”

You slid your panties to the side and lifted your hips.

Jack’s hands flew to your waist, not to stop you but because he needed to hold something.“Sweetheart—wait your legs, my balance—”

You sank down onto him.

Slow.

Deep.

Taking him inch by inch until he filled you completely, your pussy stretching around his cock in a way that made both of you moan.

Jack’s head fell back against the pillow. “Oh god—fuck, sweetheart—” His fingers dug into your hips, trembling. “You’re, warm, Jesus....I can’t—”

You braced your hands on his chest and started to move. Letting him feel every tight, slick slide of your pussy around him.

Jack looked wrecked.

His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his hands wandering up your sides like he couldn’t believe you were real, his gaze fixed where your body swallowed his cock.

“You’re!! shit.....you’re riding me so good—” he groaned, voice cracking, “sweetheart, you feel incredible—”

You leaned forward, your breasts brushing his chest, and kissed him.

He whimpered, nails digging into your hips.

“Does it hurt?” you whispered.

“No,” he gasped, thrusting up shallowly without meaning to. “God no, it feels...it feels so good, don’t stop—”

You rolled your hips, deeper this time, your pussy tightening around him exactly the way you knew made him lose control.

Jack’s hands slid up to your waist and stayed there, gripping but not guiding, letting you choose the pace.

“I love it,” you breathed against his mouth, your tongue gliding over his, “when you let me take care of you.”

Jack groaned, eyes squeezing shut, his cock twitching inside you at your words. “Keep talking like that and I’m shit, I’m not gonna last—”

You rode him harder, your pace steady but deep, your pussy clenching around him with each rise and fall of your hips.

Jack’s breathing turned ragged.His fingers dug into your waist as his orgasm crept up too fast for him to fight it.

“S-sweetheart! slow down....if you keep, ah—fuck—”

His hips jerked, his muscles tensing under your hands.

“Gonna come....I’m gonna—”

You lowered yourself fully onto him, grinding down, your pussy squeezing the base of his cock as Jack groaned out your name, head pressing back into the pillow as he came hard, his cock pulsing deep inside you with hot, shuddering waves.

His hands slid to your thighs, gripping gently as you rocked through it, helping him ride the trembling aftershocks.

When he finally sagged back into the bed, breathless and dazed, his thumb stroked your hip softly.

“You’re…”He swallowed, voice raw“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You bent down and kissed him.“No,” you murmured. “I’m your reason to live.”

Jack pulled you into his chest, still inside you, holding you close like the world was quiet for the first time in days.

“…Round two,” he mumbled into your neck, already half-asleep, “when my leg stops hurting.”

You smiled.“Whenever you’re ready.”

[chilling-seavey]

Baby (gr63)

↳ A/N George's very entertaining radios from this weekend's Mexico GP inspired me greatly. Of course. This quick thing came of it! (Thank you to @oztri for helping me pick some pretty aesthic pictures for the header x)

↳ Summary: During the race, George acts like an entitled baby on the radio. He should have anticipated that you'd want to correct that behaviour.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.8k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, sub!George, punishments, humiliation, degradation, minor foot play if you squint, handjob, edging, crying, slight restraining, he lets a 'mommy' slip once—, coming untouched.

“Marcus, I’ve got a fucking car in my ass, okay? A car much quicker than ours.”

“I’ve got so much more pace here, guys. We’re just compromising both our races.”

“Fuck it, make a change! Noted is not good enough.”

It had been a while since you had heard George that sharp and aggressive on the radio, snapping back to his engineer at seemingly every turn. His words bled desperation, a fight for something more than what he was facing, sure, but falling upon deaf ears. As enjoyable as it was to listen to from an outsider perspective, you also had the added joy of listening to it as his partner. And, frankly, it was a little embarrassing. 

You knew that George needed space after a race that didn’t go as well as he had hoped. He went through the motions of media duties and post-race team debrief with a scowl…and you knew he’d be spit back out into your lap after debrief where he felt like everyone on the team was against him. Toto would have been all stiff and passive aggressive…Marcus would have had that almost condescending gentleness about his explanations…and Kimi would have just looked at him with this face that was all feigned innocence that always rubbed George the wrong way when he was in one of his moods. 

All you could do was watch as George stomped around his driver’s room to collect his belongings in preparation to head back to the hotel, eyes trailing him back and forth from your spot atop the massage bed. He was muttering to himself as he shoved things in his bag as if you weren’t even there. Every time you tried to speak, he completely ignored you or cut you off with some other utterance you couldn’t pick up. Some dig about the team orders, the tire degradation, how the entire race was a waste of his time.

Then, suddenly, he turned to you, bag slung over his shoulder, voice clipped like he was bossing around a child, “Let’s go.”

With a quirk of your brow, you stood, drifting past him and out the door with a simple, “Watch your tone with me.”

George kept his mouth shut. And he did for the entire drive back to the hotel, merely staring out the window with a scowl. 

But up in the room, in the private space for just the two of you, away from the team or fans or cameras, he let himself go. His backpack hit the floor by the dresser with a thud and his shoes were kicked off and followed—thunk, thunk—as he traipsed farther into the room. 

“I’m not hungry so you can just order food yourself,” he said without even looking at you, focusing on taking his phone out of his pocket and he gave the notifications a skim. 

You scoffed and set your purse on the dresser with a sarcastic, “Nice.”

“I’m really not in the mood,” George warned, finally looking at you, as if he could sense your impatience. 

“Yeah, I’m not either.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

George set his phone down and turned to you, holding out a hand as if he were explaining something horribly complex that you couldn’t have fathomed on your own, “I’ve had a pretty exhausting and shit day, frankly. I couldn’t even catch a fucking Haas. P-fucking-7 because no one fucking listens to me. No one listens to me! In the car, in debrief, media…you…fucking whatever! No one listens!” 

His outburst hardly made you flinch and you stayed firmly in place, arms still crossed over your chest, simply staring. And then, your reply came, simple and taunting, “You wanna try that again?”

The tone of your voice seemed to halt him right then and there, almost snapping him back to reality for a moment. You could see the anger on his face waver just slightly, the cracks in his tough exterior showing just a fraction more. 

“Come here,” you demanded. 

George took the three strides across the carpet to stand in front of you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Say it again. Who doesn’t listen to you?”

George struggled to keep your unwavering eye contact, his voice having lost most of its aggressive edge as he replied, “The team.”

“Yeah?” You reached up to grab his face in one hand, making sure he couldn’t look away from you as you continued condescendingly, “You think they want to listen to a whiny bitch? Huh? Marcus isn’t going to take orders from a whiny little baby. The well-established Mercedes AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team is not going to bow at the knees and roll over for a whiny little fucking baby, are they?”

George swallowed thickly before croaking out a tepid, “No.”

“What’s that?” You leaned in closer just to spite him. 

“No, ma’am,” George repeated a little louder. 

Your hand let go of his face and took a step back, “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

He hesitated for a second, as if he were about to argue, at war with himself over what he should or shouldn’t do. There had been too many strategy decisions swirling through his mind all day. He didn’t need another one. So, he relented and went for the button on his slacks. 

You watched him, wordlessly, as he undressed in front of you, removing everything from his t-shirt to his socks, leaving them all in a heap on the floor. He was still mostly soft but you knew that wouldn’t last for long. You had a few tricks up your sleeve; a few demands that you knew worked wonders on him like he was a gold-star Pavlov experiment. 

So, before he could turn for the plush king size bed, you stopped him with a scolding, “Ah, ah.”

George turned back to you. 

You snapped your fingers towards the floor where his pile of clothes lay, “Is there someone here you expect to clean up after you? Put them away.”

George bent over to grab them but you set a hand on his shoulder and forced him down farther until he was on his knees, hitting the carpet of the hotel room a little harder than he might have normally liked. Wincing, George then fell forward onto his hands so he was on all fours in front of you, staring down at his pile of clothes. 

“You wanted to be a fucking baby so bad today, didn’t you? Whining like one on the radio?” you taunted down to him, “Babies crawl. So crawl.”

He wasn’t looking up at you but you could hear him let out a little huff of air at the intensity behind your words. There was no margin for misinterpretation. And so George gathered his bunched up clothes in his hands—socks, underwear, slacks, t-shirt—and crawled on his hands and knees across the floor to drop them in his open suitcase on the far side of the hotel suite. You stayed rooted in place, hands on your hips, watching him carefully as he shuffled across the carpet, scuffing his bare knees, his perfectly round ass and shapely thighs on proud display. 

When he returned to you, he stayed on all fours for a moment before settling back on his haunches with his hands poised politely on his thighs. He looked up at you beneath long lashes, his cheeks already kissed with the flush of humiliation. Between his legs, his cock twitched. He was getting hard. From simply being forced to crawl across the room and back. You shouldn’t have been surprised—you knew the ins and outs of him better than anyone else—but you still caught yourself smirking with pride. 

“That’s better,” you tutted and lifted one of your socked feet to graze over the shape of his cock and balls, the slight friction of the fabric against his sensitive skin making him flinch slightly. You could feel him stiffening up a bit more under your sole and you kept rubbing, just enough to rile him up, teasing him just enough. “You had so much to say earlier…now you’re so quiet. What’s happened, hm?”

George’s eyes shut momentarily, as if he were trying to compose himself, before opening them again and peering up at you, “Please…”

“Please what?” you taunted, “Please touch you? You think you deserve that after how you acted today?” 

Without a response to offer in reply, George hung his head to look down at your foot rubbing against his cock, how it was now properly hard, arousal already pulsing through his veins. But your foot was gone before he could shamefully get too into the feeling of the pressure it offered and then you were grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull his head up, forcing him to look at you. He groaned lightly. 

“Answer me,” you ordered. 

“No, I don’t deserve it,” George rushed out in a single breath. 

You gave his cheek a smack, “Get on the bed. On your back.”

Even though you didn’t ask him to, George still crawled across the floor until he reached the side of the bed and then he climbed up onto it and laid back against the neatly arranged pillows. You trailed after him, stripping out of your clothes on the way until you were only left in your bra and panties, and then you knelt up on the mattress and moved in towards him like you were stalking your prey. George, naked and outstretched, didn’t tear his eyes away from you until you were positioned over his thighs, sitting yourself down pretty right there. He exhaled. 

“That’s better,” you hummed.

George’s hands were folded over his abdomen like he were in a proper business meeting, wide eyes blinking up at you, almost manic with anticipation. His cock twitched against his pelvis and a thin string of precum broke from the tip, leaving a dot of a slight shimmer on his skin. He made a small noise. 

You smeared the tip of your finger through the dribble of precum before trailing down the length of the underside of his cock, slowly, taunting, “You’re so much prettier when you’re quiet and obedient.”

“Yes…” he agreed absentmindedly in a breath, eyelashes fluttering as he stared up at you. 

“Yeah?” you smirked, setting your palm flat on his cock to slide back up to the tip, “You agree that you’re prettier when you’re quiet?”

George’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip and he nodded, just as you finally wrapped your hand around him properly. The soft gasp that choked itself out of his throat only spurred you on and you gave him a slow, torturous, stroke as you watched how his expression withered. A little dribble of precum slipped out of the slit at the tip and the pad of your index finger swiped it away and dragged it back down the length of him with another slow tug.

Almost instinctively, needily, his hands reached downwards towards you, as if to silently help you along, to give him more, but you nudged them away. Then, you warned him with a firm, “No touching. Do you want me to tie you up?”

George shook his head, exhaling strongly, “No…sorry.”

Instead, he raised his hands to rest beside him on the pillow, fingers twisting into the linens of the pillowcase to hold himself back while his eyes flickered between your face and your hand. You let a thick string of spit fall from your lips onto his cock, easily smearing it in with your hand in a few more strokes, gradually getting a little firmer, a little faster.

George arched his head back with a strangled groan. 

“That’s what you want, hm?” you spoke down to him.

You were now properly jerking him off in your hand, slicked up in your spit and his precum, sliding easily with the glide of his foreskin that pulled back just enough to reveal that pretty pink tip on every downstroke. You gave him a little tease of the pad of your thumb just under the head every time too, right in that most sensitive spot that had his fingers tightening on the pillowcase with a groan. 

“You just want everyone to give you whatever you want, is that it?” you continued without faltering your pace, speaking through the slick sound of your hand on him. 

George squirmed a little underneath you but his body was trapped by your weight resting on his thighs, holding him in place, “Ah—!”

You barely acknowledged his reactions, still talking down to him while your hand stroked him a little faster, “Demanding your team to swap the cars like that? Thinking you were better but couldn’t show it? Couldn’t pass the tiny teenager in equal machinery on your own? Whining like a baby; ‘Waa, Marcus, I can’t overtake him. Waa, make him let me pass. Waa, I just like the sound of my own voice.’”

“Please…” George moaned shakily, squirming some more, eyes locking on yours and he already looked so lost and needy as he pleaded his case, “I was playing the team game…with Kimi…trying to get us more points.”

Your response was immediate, “No, you were being a selfish bitch.”

George whimpered and dropped his head back and you could feel his cock throb in your hand as you kept pumping.

“Say it. What were you?” you taunted.

“Selfish,” he rasped. 

“Ah?”

George thrashed just a little underneath you, choking back a sound that almost passed as a sob and his hands flew down to grab your wrists. You shoved them away. You knew he was just trying to get what he wanted, yet again. Tough luck for him that you were always dead set on proving a point. 

And so you immediately halted your movements, stilling your fist firmly around the base of his cock, “Try again. What were you?”

George thudded his fists against the mattress and his head tossed back against the pillow with a shaky cry, “A selfish bitch…I-I was a selfish bitch!” 

“Yeah?”

“Please—”

“‘Please’?” you mocked, “Oh, now you remember how to ask nicely?”

Before he could open his mouth again, you resumed the quick pumps of your hand around him, firm and fast. He cried out almost too loudly and your free hand rested against his abs, trying to hold him in place despite the way his body desperately tried to writhe away from you. With a bite to your bottom lip, you just stared at him proudly. 

Precum was slicking your hand up more, leaking from him pathetically so now, encouraging you on in all the ways that drove him mad but that he equally loved. He knew the safe word. He just never needed to use it. Some pathetic, desperate part of him got off on you treating him like this, talking down to him, as if it were finally a space for him to break away from the tough, calculated, in-control persona he put on for the world. 

And so you jerked him off in a tight fist in cruel tugs and twists, fast enough that you knew he was getting close. He didn’t even have to say a word and you knew. 

So you stopped again. Suddenly. Leaving your hand wrapped around the thick base of his cock. 

“No!” George all but sobbed, heels digging into the mattress. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes with a shaky wet whine, his body tensing beneath you as if he were trying to buck up into your hand for more, to get you going again. “Please!”

You hummed, “I don’t think you deserve to get what you want tonight. I don’t want to reward your poor behaviour.”

“I know,” George panted, dropping his hands down to grab your wrists pleadingly, hardly flinching as you shoved them away again. His shimmering eyes were on your face, a pout on his lips, swollen red from how he had been biting it, “I know, I know, I know…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, I won’t do it again.”

“You won’t?” you challenged, using your free hand to teasingly swirl the pads of your fingers across the tip of his cock, gathering up a bit of the sticky precum that almost poured out of him.

George gasped, long and high and sensitive, staring at you. Just staring. His eyelashes fluttered as if he were lucid dreaming. 

You pulled your fingers back and reached forward to smear them over his lips as you taunted, “You’ll be a good boy and do as you’re told?”

He nodded, and kept nodding, like his mouth couldn’t catch up with his brain, before finally, he choked out a meek, “Yeah”, against your fingertips.

You slowly started to pick up the pace around his cock again, watching how his expression changed with every passing stroke, how his body reacted to you, how his hands splayed stupidly in the air between you as he struggled to stop himself from reaching out. The hotel room was slick with the sounds of your hand on him, lewd. George’s hands fell heavily against the mattress as his head arched back against the pillow with a pitchy moan, thick neck on display for your hungry eyes, and his fingers gripped the duvet so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

There was something about him like this that thrilled you; maybe it was the erotic nature of it or maybe it was obvious trust between you that it all represented. Even still, you just wanted to see how far you could push. 

But, fuck, George was a mess. He was barely able to catch his breath, heaving for relief, moaning and whining and making a whole scene. Honestly, it took a bit of effort on your end to keep steady and upright on his thighs, to hold him down—it was no secret he was stronger than you. Except, really, in moments like this, when he seemed to give it all up no matter how much you edged him, how much you teased him. 

His head thrashed from side to side against the pillows, pitchy whines tumbling from his lips amidst a messy string of a useless, “Please, please, please—”

“Do not come,” you ordered, in case your silence on the matter had left any room for misunderstanding.

“Please—” George sobbed, his lips wet with spit and cheeks streaked in tears as if he couldn’t control himself anymore, absolutely out of his mind enough to cry out a pathetic, “Please, mommy.”

You knew you had him in the palm of your hand then, when his filter disappeared into absolutely nothing, when the words he said in a fit of desperation sent a filthy thrill right through you. Your hand kept going, you just kept pumping, even as he was so clearly struggling to hold back. You needed him as close as you could get him.

“Look at you crying like a baby too,” you spoke down to him, having to be a little louder so he could hear you over the way he sobbed and moaned and the way the bed creaked under his strangled movements, pinned by your thighs on either side of his. “Baby doesn’t get what he wants and he’s gonna cry all over himself, hm? Poor baby. Poor fucking baby has to learn he can’t always get what he wants.”

And then you took your hand off him entirely and sat back, letting his achingly hard cock flop against his pelvis, twitching and leaking and desperate. George groaned as if he were in agony, face turning into the down-filled pillows he was still cradled on while his body shuddered under your weight, desperate to move…to do something to get release. An almost embarrassingly large dribble of precum spilled out across his flushed skin, leaking from the swollen tip of his cock. 

“You wanna come?” you finally spoke, “Do it yourself.”

George seemed to be moving on autopilot as he reached his right hand down towards his aching dick but, before he could touch himself, you grabbed both of his wrists.

“No. No hands.”

“Fucks sake…” George whimpered, eyes screwed shut and body squirming beneath you.

You still had him trapped down against the hotel room bed but he had just enough movement to kind of be able to buck his hips up into nothing. Keeping a firm grip on his wrists, you watched as he tried to fuck up into the sticky air of the hotel room, panting and whining and his handsome face screwed up in pleasured and agonizing frustration. 

“All by yourself,” you cooed down to him as he writhed against the bed, flexing his hips up the best he could, making his cock jump against his pelvis. You stroked your thumbs over his wrists with a sickeningly sweet, “Good boy. That’s it.”

“Please, can I…?” George choked out.

“Can you what?”

His hands bunched into fists where you held them, his words pitchy, “Can I come?” 

“Can you come like this, baby? Untouched?”

George nodded, eyes still screwed shut, hips still gyrating and tensing and bucking ever so slightly, using every inch of the limited space you were allowing him to move. Oh he was a vision. A pathetic, wondrous vision.

You intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hands a squeeze, with your attention focused on his twitching cock and the needy squirms of his hips, and you said sweetly, “Show me then. Show me that you’re a big boy and can do it all by yourself.”

Shame on you for thinking he wouldn’t be able to do it, honestly. Because in only a few more seconds, you were subject to his ruined, weak, untouched orgasm that he cried out through and flexed up into as if searching to get more out of nothing.George’s hands were like iron in yours, gripping onto you through it, his jaw clenched and body coiled tight as he chased more that wouldn’t come. And his cock twitched and pulsed against his pelvis and spurted creamy white across his flushed skin and matted in the trimmed hair just below. 

Wordlessly, you let go of his hands and leaned down, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath his navel before working your way downwards until you could lick up his mess from his skin and leave him with a soft kiss to his softening cock. George withered, melting into the mattress, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. 

“Jesus…” he exhaled. 

You sat up again and caressed his waist, “Feeling better?”

A little embarrassed, a little shamed, his hands fell to your thighs and he nodded, “Yeah. I’m sorry…I was a fucking twat.”

“I know. It’s okay,” you purred with a smile, leaning down to let your breath ghost over the shell of his ear, “baby.”

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[lukovsnirvana]

PALM OF HIS HAND ⋆˚࿔ epilogue

what is grief if not love persevering?

jack abbot x reader smau MASTERLIST

summary [jack’s pov] six years after that six month leave, a glimpse into the future, on your 35th birthday.

warnings proof jack abbot has a heart ™, grief and loss, jack’s late wife, jack is a girl dad, implied suicide, brief postpartum depression discussion, mention of postpartum and religious psychosis, widowed jack abbot, morbid humor, robby the wise man, hucklerobby, kingdon, walshellis (if you squint) first three photos (gerbil’s ig, her text, and her tweet) happen a year before the other photos!

a/n took a while to address abbot being a widow but here it is! i was always intentional in some of the texts and her nicknames (gerbil and angel) were always meant to foreshadow the ending. i didn’t want the ending to be something of shock value, i do genuinely believe it was warranted. just because everything gets better physically doesn’t indicate anything getting better mentally. i don’t think time heals all wounds. i hope you guys have enjoyed this smau, i never planned for it to go on this long. i think this is the best ending for her, we can agree to disagree if you think otherwise 💌 also finished this just in time for me to start locking in for finals 🫶🏽🫶🏽 have a great finals season everyone !!

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🏷️ FINAL TAGLIST: @ihyperfixatetoomuch @hhusbuds @momdancingtomcr @gf4lwt @duchesz @theariespov @brnesblogposts @mariiibash @gennywennypenny @abstabz @chezburgaaa @cosmosnkaz @mothericraveviolence57 @localsams @peachyfckingkeen @harringtonsbowgirl @titiverse @niyizh @xreader1989 @caterppillar @jaiuneamesolitaiire @helenaslost @santoslovebot @aangelonearth @clementinebutnottheorange @ladycaramelswirl @thehopeofltall @baelorandmaekarinparis @perksofbeingatrex @menolderthan39 @strangegirl26sff @taygrls @ubiquitous-corvids @bsenpai @cherryybombbthoughts @jinglesmells1337 @psclcain @grxnde-dwt @tpwklizzie @bigeyedbaby @arialikestea @julllliiiii86 @stinkyweezerpoo @swimgoodglory @virgoalert123 @livsunst @nicelittletriptotheforest @yiiiikesmish @pagesaftermidnight @youusunshineyoutemptress

[entitled-fangirl]

Heart's desire. P2.

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader

Summary: Jace is alive and finds his way to you.

Based on the One Wish Willow from the movie Obsession!

SPOILERS FOR S3

Masterlist

Part 1

.......................................................

There was a slight problem.

Jace didn't know who you were or where to find you. He knew your face (most of it at least) and he knew when things felt familiar. 

And he had a symbol on his clothes. A three headed dragon. 

He managed to get up. He swayed on his feet and fell a few times before being able to walk. 

He had reached up and snapped each arrow. He didn't have the strength to pull them out, but he could at least make it easier on himself. 

He searched the bodies around him. None of them had this three headed dragon. None of them wore the same dark clothes. It didn't make sense.

Was he a captive in this war? Did he fight for his own side alone? 

His mind scrambled and nothing came to the surface. 

So he began walking. 

Nothing here was helping. 

And he didn't see his wife here, which meant she was alive somewhere. He hid when others were near. He didn't know what side he was on, and throwing himself out like this would only keep him from you.

Men with a seahorse on their clothes were moving down to the shore to recover bodies. He would make sure he was not one of them.

He was going to find you. 

Your voice, dim in his mind, still called him home… wherever that was.

A roar made him jump as a dragon swooped down over the water. 

Its rider was looking for something in the aftermath. Or someone. 

He traced the Targaryen sigil with his fingers. A dragon. Perhaps a clue for him.

He watched for a few hours before the rider gave up and began to fly off. 

And he decided to go in that direction.

…

"It's alright, milady." Your handmaiden tried to comfort you. "Witches are fickle creatures. Perhaps she just wanted to play with your mind."

"You don't understand," you weeped. "I wanted it to work. I prayed to the Seven that it would. I… Is my hope not enough?"

She reached down and picked up the sticks at your bedside. "I can take this out if you'd like."

"No!" You grabbed them from her hands. "No, no. What if I need it? What if Jace knows where this is and is following it? What—"

"Milady, please. Please, stop doing this to yourself."

"Get out."

She frowned. "Milady?"

"Get. Out."

You don't watch her go. Your attention is focused on the broken stick in your hands. You cling to it like a lifeline now. Your Jace has to be alive. It was your heart's desire.

Your guard puts his hand on the door handle but decides against interfering. He knew how heartbroken you were and he was not a man with a comforting tongue.

So instead, you continued to dwindle ever so slowly.

…

It was two weeks later that a guard nearly busted down your door. You clung to your robe, eyes wide.

"Princess… it's him. It… he's not himself but…"

You began to cry and let him lead you out. He was not moving fast enough for your liking but you knew it was for your own sake. 

You heard growling and yells, as well as the sound of scuffling. In other circumstances, you would have thought a fight was happening. 

But when you turned the corner, he was there.

Jacaerys Velaryon stood with a man on each arm to hold him back. He fought and struggled. He cried out incoherent words.

"My prince?" You whisper.

His head snapped to you and he froze.

You were real. You were real and alive and he didn't make you up. 

And you knew Jace would be worse for wear but you didn't expect this.

His eyes were a bit bloodshot. His skin was a sick grey. And he seemed more violent, more desperate. If he fought this hard against his own mother's queens guard, did he even want to be here?

"Oh, Jace." The tears roll again down your cheeks. When you run towards him, you ignore the warnings from the guards. 

You cup his cheeks and study his expression. His plush lips are parted, his eyes focused on you as if you're the only thing keeping him alive. You are.

"My Jacaerys." You brush over his cheekbones. He goes somewhat slack in the guards' hold. "I thought I lost you. But you're here. You're here with me."

It's far from proper, but you're kissing him. You kiss his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, and finally his lips. He's utterly still as he tried to remember how this makes him feel. 

"Please, let him go. He…" You smile softly at him. "You're home."

"Princess, he had refused to come with us to the castle. He doesn't seem himself. We're doing it for your protection—"

"Jace would not hurt me. Let him go."

When he's freed, he pauses for a moment. Then, as if remembering he had the ability to, he wrapped his arms around you and moved to kiss you back. 

But as he pulls you in, something pokes at your ribs. You whimper and pull away. 

That arrow is still lodged in his stomach. Your attention now goes to the dry blood on him. And the arrow that's still in his neck too. 

Oh, gods. He should be dead with injuries like this. 

You made a terrible mistake. 

"Call for a maester, please!" You grab at his face again. "Does it hurt? Are you… how…?"

He had to work up to speaking, thinking of every word and how to make his lips say it. "Your voice," he croaks. "I heard it."

"What? You heard me…? Jace, you're not making sense. The battle, how… tell me what happened."

He stares for a long time. Instead of answering, his hand comes up to brush your hair over your shoulder. "Forget the battle. You still have me."

And as you kiss him again, something feels wrong. Very wrong. 

"Jace," you murmur against his lips as he chases yours. "Tell me what you said the night you married me. I need to hear it again."

He tries to distract you with fervent kissing, but you're not so easily swayed now. 

"Please, please, I need to hear it."

"You're beautiful," he smiles. It doesn't fit right on his face, not like it used to. 

"No, no that's not what you said." You begin to pull away but he grabs your wrists tightly in panic.

"My beautiful wife, my mind is gone but… but I remember you. Just… you. Please do not hold this against me." As he speaks, his eyes widen, making him look crazed. "I thought of you. You were my beacon home. And I have you now. And you have me."

"Jace, your wounds—"

"They are nothing," he smiles again. "I feel nothing from them. In fact, I just feel… alive."

Your heart's desire is now laid before you. It has the same dark curls and brown eyes, but it's far from the Prince Jacaerys.

And you should be much more worried. You keep trying to tell yourself that. 

But when he leans in again, your mind only remembers how well his soft lips felt against yours.

.................................................................

[serqphites]

cregan stark with twins… walk with me.

────────────────────────────

you wake at the hour of the wolf to the sound of a deep voice humming a tune you can’t quite place, the dim candlelight allowing you to see your lord husband in the corner of your bedchamber. there he sits (i need to point out he’s wearing brown sleep pants and a loose frill shirt, my astarion girlies get it) in his rocking chair tucked away in the corner, a babe in each arm. the creaking of the chair must’ve sent your daughter straight to sleep, her chubby cheek pressed against his large shoulder, a tiny stream of drool pooling into the fabric of his sleep shirt. cregan’s whole hand is the size of her 6 month old body.

then there’s your sweet son, sitting wide awake and completely upright with cregan’s other hand holding him by his stomach. he beams the moment he sees you, tiny arms stretching out as he attempts to free himself from his fathers grasp. cregan chuckles lowly, “leave your mother be, boy. she deserves her rest after putting up with the pair of you day in and day out.”

for a moment, you and cregan lock eyes. despite the bags that seep into his eye sockets, he still wears a smile full of pure love and adoration. he simply nods at you, silently urging you to just go back to sleep, he’s got this. so that’s exactly what you do, because you can sleep peacefully knowing your babies will always be safe as long as cregan is around.

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[entitled-fangirl]

Heart's desire.

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader

Summary: After the Battle of the Gullet, you're left heartbroken. But a witch with a promise to fulfill one wish makes you believe that perhaps not all is lost.

Based on the One Wish Willow from the movie Obsession!

SPOILERS FOR S3

Masterlist

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Your Jace is dead.

Even thinking it in that dark part of your mind made you feel as if you were betraying the mere memory of him.

He's dead.

Your bedchamber is cold. The vial of oil you'd run through his hair most nights laid on your vanity untouched. The dress that you wore that made his eyes widen was so far deep in your wardrobe that you didn't care to try to find it ever again. 

Every Targaryen sigil you saw— the three headed dragon— made you think of the three arrows you were told found their way to his body. The red of the fabric's stitching made you think of his blood mixing into the water at the Gullet.

And you think often of how fearful he must have been.

You haven't left your room in days. The devastation had left you without energy or care.

"I'll speak to her," you tried to comfort your husband. You'd laid a hand on his chest, over that sigil you were willing to give your life for.

Your eyes met his, deep and knowing, and you had smiled.

He had smiled back, if only for a fleeting moment. You'd later recognize that as a smile of guilt.

And when the door shut behind you, you were unaware that Jace would order for it to be locked to keep both you and his mother, the two most important women to him, safe.

That's what he told himself at least. In all honestly, he didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes if he told you he was going into battle.

So instead, he rested his forehead upon the door for a moment before you could realize what was going on.

He was gone before Rhaenyra had began to bang on it frantically.

She had given up once she knew it was a pointless task.

But you, the poor girl whose husband was out fighting a battle with an unseasoned dragon, was going into hysterics. 

You rattled the door and beat it with your fists. You screamed and cried. You even clawed at it until the pain became too much.

You were full of life with a heart so full of love.

You were numb now.

You were willing to give your life for this war, but you weren't willing to give his.

Your throat ached from crying so often. You didn't eat much. You didn't take care of yourself.

Baela had tried visiting to cheer you up, but you could not even look her in the eyes without thinking of him.

And Rhaenys felt too guilty to visit you at all. 

The maester had tried everything he could to help you. He kept a small smile on to convince you everything was alright.

But he had diagnosed you with a broken heart. And for that, there was no cure.

The dreams started not long after that. 

They started out sweet at first. His face, his eyes, his toothy grin when he would tease you. Then scenes of the two of you together, memories you had of him. Your wedding, your trips to the shoreline, sunbathing at Dragonstone, introducing you to Vermax.

Then they shifted.

The sweet dreams would shift to something horrid. He would be smiling at you perhaps, then his face would fall. Suddenly there's chaos. There's water. And blood. So much blood. And he's there with three arrows in his body. It ends with you swimming after his sinking body until you drown.

You knew Vermax did everything he could, but nothing will ever make you forgive every person and animal that let this happen.

And the dreams were beginning to make you go mad.

It made you do something horrid.

You knew of witches and spells that could do things no others could. 

And after waking from another horrid dream of losing him, you decided to give in.

You didn't tell anyone of this but the handmaiden and guard that saw it done.

You couldn't take another day like this.

…

It took a few days, but a woman was soon discreetly brought to your room.

She was older, perhaps in her 40s. Her hair was beginning to grey and she looked wise. You trust her immediately. 

You talked to her in ways you hadn't spoken to anyone since your Jace. You confided in her. You told her everything about your prince, your life, and how you wished to join him in death.

She cooed and comforted and listened until you were malleable in her hands. 

"I've seen many women come to me with similar thoughts," she hummed. "But it does not good to die alongside them. Who remembers them when you're gone?"

You sniffle and frown. "There are plenty to remember him—"

"But not like you remember him." She grabbed her bag and began to dig through it. "What is your heart's greatest desire?"

"My…?" You had tried to avoid doing deep dives in your mind as of late. "I don't know."

"Think then," she huffed. "What do you want most in this world?"

"I suppose… I want Jace. I want him back so badly. I would do anything. I would kill to have him with me again."

She grinned widely— so widely, it looked unnatural. But she gave you no time to contemplate, for she pulled out a cloth and handed it to you. 

You take it and realize it's wrapped around something.

And you unveil and mere stick.

"Before you scoff, this is a special thing here. It's been blessed, you see. It will grant one singular wish from the one who breaks it. It cannot be undone, so ensure it is what you want most."

You look at the stick this way and that. "But it's a stick."

"Believe what you want, but you will see." She tilts her head. "Did you not say you wanted to see your prince again?"

The mere thought, a hope, that you would see him again made your breath catch. "This would… bring him to me?"

She shrugged and stood, gathering her things. "As I said, a singular wish. Do it carefully."

You thank her over and over, making the growing hope in you obvious. She smiles and pats your cheek before leaving.

The moment she's gone, you sit on the bed and pull your legs up. 

You pick up the stick carefully and look it over again. It looks like an ordinary stick. There's no special paint, no glow, nothing to indicate that she spoke any truth.

But your hope outweighs doubt.

"I wish my husband was alive."

Snap.

You don't feel a change in the air. No knocking at the door. The room is just as cold as before.

You feel like the broken stick in your hands is mocking you, and you throw it to the ground.

You flip the blankets up and cry yourself to sleep like you do most nights.

…

Jace coughs.

Everything burned inside. His lungs felt on fire and the water within them did nothing to extinguish it. He coughed up liters of water into the sand and still felt as if it'd done nothing.

He's covered in wet sand and soaked from head to foot. His hair clings to his forehead.

But the most obvious things that caught his attention were the three large arrows still stuck in his body.

He still struggled to move, but each bodily function was slowly coming back to him. 

He'd have to pull these out if he even wanted to roll over, much less get up.

His mind was scattered and empty. He felt loss in his heart, but he wasn't sure why. Some part of him was dead, he was sure of that, but was unaware of what it was.

He looks out to the wreckage of ships still out in the waters. Much had washed up onto the shore. Wood and metal and bodies alike filled the beach and he was one of them.

It must have been a vicious battle.

But he only can think of one memory— one thing to cling to.

There was a day, on a beach much like this one, that he spent with someone.

He remembers a picnic. And laughter that was soft and bright. A white fabric that made his mouth water. And he remembered swimming.

Each flash of the memory becomes clearly as he goes on until he had a face to the person he's remembering.

"Jace!" The person laughed as he slung them over his shoulder and went into the water. "Jace! I'm only in my shift!" Her giggle was contagious. 

And he fell into the water with her.

But when he resurfaced in this memory, he expected to see burning sails and dragons. Or feel the piercing in his back and neck.

Instead, he saw you.

Your face was clearer now, though some details were still a bit fuzzy. What color were your eyes? Is that the right shade of your hair?

You brushed that hair from your face and wiped the water from your eyes. And you smiled widely. It was so bright, Jace almost closed his eyes, then remembered it was a memory in his head and nothing he could truly see.

"Such a cruel monster to your wife!" You giggled so hard you clenched your stomach. 

Wife.

It rang in his head over and over.

Wife.

My wife.

Where is my wife?

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[starspenxcie]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

fluff - baby!yuji trying to eat dad!nanami's tie

you’re half-asleep on the couch.

it’s 6:08am. the sun isn’t even fully up yet. and baby yuji is already in full goblin mode - sockless, giggling and currently trying to climb nanami’s leg like a tree trunk.

nanami is in his work clothes with his blonde hair neat and styled. dress shirt crisp. tie halfway done.

“he wants your tie,” you mumble.

nanami glances down. yuji is clinging to his knee, making grabby hands.

“you can’t have papa’s tie,” nanami says, crouching down. “you’ll chew on it again.”

yuji immediately tries to bite it.

nanami sighs.

“see?”

you snort into your mug.

eventually, nanami picks him up - effortlessly, with one hand under his bottom and the other steadying his back. yuji squeals, clings to his dress shirt like a koala.

and nanami just… lets him. presses a kiss to his chubby cheek. holds him like he’s the most fragile and precious thing in the universe.

“you should leave soon,” you murmur. “you’ll miss your train.”

nanami looks at you.

then at the clock.

then back at you.

and then he sits down beside you with a baby on his chest and a tie still undone.

“they can wait,” he says softly.

you smile so hard it hurts.

you shift closer, curling into his side. baby yuji hums softly, chewing on his own fingers now instead of the tie. your head rests on nanami’s shoulder. his arm wraps around your waist without even thinking.

he’s still in his dress shirt. still in his slacks. the most put-together man in tokyo at this hour, probably. and yet here he is, willingly trapped under a sleepy baby and a sleepier spouse, forehead resting lightly against yours like this is all he’s ever needed.

and maybe it is.

he presses a kiss to your temple.

“love you,” he mumbles.

“even when i let your son chew on your expensive italian tie?”

he sighs. “especially then.”

based on this request

[paxyfica]

Babe? No! I'm Mom!

The sun is streaming through the kitchen windows, the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes is filling the air, and you are currently standing at the stove, flipping a slightly burnt blueberry pancake.

Sukuna is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, his damp pink hair falling into his eyes. He’s scrolling through his phone, sipping his black coffee, completely relaxed.

“Hey,” you say, not looking away from the frying pan. “Can you grab the syrup from the pantry?”

“Yeah, I got it babe.” Sukuna rumbles. He stands up, his massive frame easily reaching the top shelf of the pantry. He sets the bottle on the counter next to you, leaning in to press a lingering, warm kiss to your bare shoulder. “Smells good.”

“Thanks, babe,” you smile, leaning into his touch.

It’s a normal morning. A perfectly domestic, quiet morning. And then, the patter of tiny, bare feet echoes down the hallway.

Yuji waddles into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, his spiky pink hair sticking up in every possible direction. He’s clutching an empty plastic sippy cup in one chubby hand, looking incredibly serious for a toddler who just woke up.

He stops in the middle of the kitchen floor. He looks at you. He looks at Sukuna.

Then, he takes a deep breath, puffs out his little chest, and yells, “Babe!”

You freeze. The spatula in your hand halts mid-air. Sukuna stops mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes blinking in confusion.

“Did he just…” you whisper, slowly turning your head to look at your husband.

“There’s no way,” Sukuna mutters, his brow furrowing. He looks down at the two-year-old. “What did you say, little man?”

Yuji marches over to Sukuna. He stops right at his father’s bare feet, tilts his head all the way back to look up at the towering 6’4” wall of muscle, and holds up his empty sippy cup.

“Babe,” Yuji says, his voice completely clear and demanding. “Juice. Pwease.”

Sukuna’s jaw drops.

You slap a hand over your mouth, your eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”

“Did you…” Sukuna stammers, looking from Yuji to you, completely bewildered. “Did he just call me babe?”

“He definitely just called you babe,” you wheeze, a laugh bubbling up in your throat.

Yuji, growing impatient with the lack of service, turns his attention to you. He waddles over to the stove, tugging on the hem of your pajama shorts.

“Babe,” Yuji insists, pointing a chubby finger at the frying pan. “Pancake.”

A loud, booming bark of laughter erupts from your husbands chest. He throws his head back, his massive shoulders shaking as he braces his hands on the kitchen island. “Holy shit,” he wheezes.

“It’s not funny!” you scold, though you are biting your lip so hard to keep from laughing that it actually hurts. “He’s going to go to daycare and call his teachers babe!”

“The kid’s got swagger, what can I say?” Sukuna laughs, wiping his eyes. He crouches down, bringing himself to Yuji’s eye level. “Hey. Buddy. Who am I?”

Yuji looks at him like it’s the stupidest question in the world. He reaches out, patting Sukuna’s tattooed cheek with a sticky hand. “Babe.”

Sukuna bites his fist, his face turning red from the effort of holding in another hysterical laugh. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Stop swearing!” you hiss, swatting Sukuna’s shoulder with the spatula. You kneel down next to him, putting on your most serious, gentle mom-face. “Yuji, sweetie, look at me.”

Yuji blinks his big, golden eyes at you. “Yeah?”

You let out a long groan, dropping your head into your hands. Sukuna is practically vibrating next to you, completely useless.

“No, baby,” you say, looking back up. You point to yourself. “I am Mama. Ma-ma.”

Yuji stares at you.

You point to Sukuna, who is currently trying to compose his face into something resembling a responsible parent. “And he is Dada. Da-da. Not babe.”

Yuji looks at Sukuna. He looks at you. His little eyebrows furrow in deep toddler concentration. He’s processing the information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Mama,” Yuji says slowly, pointing at you.

“Yes!” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Good boy!”

Yuji then points at Sukuna. “Dada.”

“Exactly,” Sukuna nods, looking incredibly proud. “Nailed it, little man.”

Yuji smiles, a massive, gummy grin that lights up his entire face. He looks thrilled with himself. He holds up his sippy cup again, looking right at Sukuna.

“Dada babe! Juice!”

“I give up,” you sigh, standing back up and walking over to the fridge to get the apple juice. “We’re raising a tiny frat boy. This is entirely your fault.”

“My fault?!” Sukuna gasps from the floor, trying to catch his breath. “How is this my fault?!”

“Because you call me babe every five seconds!” you argue, pouring juice into the plastic cup. “You never use my actual name! You never call me mama! He literally thinks ‘babe’ is a universal pronoun!”

“You call me babe too!” Sukuna defends himself, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. He looks entirely too amused by the situation. “I haven’t heard you call me ‘dada’ unless we’re in the bedroom, and even then—”

“RYOMEN SUKUNA!” you shriek, your face flushing a shade of red as you shove the sippy cup into his chest. “Not in front of the child!”

“What? He doesn’t know what that means,” Sukuna smirks, standing up and effortlessly pulling you by the waist until your back is flush against his chest. He rests his chin on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.

Yuji happily takes his juice, taking a long sip before waddling over to the living room to watch his cartoons, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis he just caused.

“We have to actively start calling each other Mama and Dada around him. Seriously. I am not having my two-year-old walk around the grocery store yelling ‘babe’ at me.”

“Alright, alright,” Sukuna chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. He presses a soft kiss to your hair. “We’ll be better. Strictly Mama and Dada from now on.”

“Promise?” you ask, turning your head to look up at him.

“Yes, mommy..” he laughs, kissing your cheek. You groan, elbowing him hard in the ribs. “I hate you.”

an: i'm laughing my ass out with the tiktoks of toddler calling their parents babe! please let me marey Sukuna :c art by: umeka ryomen on pinterest here! the dividers and GIF i got from pinterest! please let ne know who the owners are if u know!

[yutaerina]

Baby!Yuji realizing his resemblance to dad!Sukuna.

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​You noticed that six-year-old Yuji had been looking in the mirror a lot lately. He was constantly studying his face and playing with his hair. As he did the exact same thing right now, a fond smile touched your lips. You walked up behind him, resting your hands gently on his small shoulders.

"Looks like someone really loves looking in the mirror."

He turned to you and smiled.

"Mommy! I look like Daddy!" he said.

"Ah, so that's why. You were discovering how much you look like your dad."

"Look, my eyes and my hair... just like his!"

His excitement made you giggle. You ruffled his hair and kissed his rosy cheeks.

"Yes, baby. You're a mini version of your dad."

​Lately, everyone who saw him kept saying how much he looked like his father. The boy had heard it so many times that he actually started to notice the resemblance himself.

​When Sukuna walked into the room, Yuji shared his discovery with him too.

"Daddy, look at me!"

He widened his tiny eyes as if to prove it and pointed at his pink hair.

"Look, we're exactly the same!"

A small, smug smile appeared on Sukuna’s face.

"You're your father's son, kid."

Hearing his dad's words, Yuji's face lit up. But then, a sudden thought about you seemed to cross his little mind.

"I don’t look like Mama."

You pouted slightly.

"You didn’t have to say that right to my face, Yuji."

Sukuna let out a short chuckle, a lazy, playful smirk on his lips.

"Sorry about that," he murmured. "My genes are just a bit too stubborn."

You rolled your eyes.

Encouraged by his dad's laughter, the little boy turned back to the mirror with a proud grin.

"My lips, my nose... all Daddy!"

You let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah... You really do look like your dad."

"I didn’t know you loved your father quite this much," Sukuna teased, a hint of deep amusement in his voice.

Yuji hugged Sukuna's legs tightly and looked up at him.

"I love my daddy sooo much!"

Sukuna ran his hand through Yuji's pink hair, ruffling it gently.

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[yutaerina]

Baby!Yuji wants to be just like dad!Sukuna.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support on my last story. ♡ Here's another Baby Yuji and Papa Sukuna fic for you all! ♡

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"Baby, please stop being so stubborn..."

​You said tiredly.

Yuji was so stubborn... he always made you give in, but this time you were determined not to let him win. It was his aunt's wedding, and he had to wear a suit.

​When he pushed your hand away, you continued your efforts to persuade him.

​"We have to wear these kinds of clothes to a wedding. Look, I put on a dress, too."

​The boy didn't care at all.

​You sighed.

​"Don't you want to be the most handsome boy at your aunt's wedding?"

​"I do."

​You smiled hopefully, but it was in vain.

​"But I don't want to wear it."

​"Why don't you want to wear it? You're making your mommy sad." You pouted, trying to look cute.

​"Because I want to be like my daddy!"

​You looked at him in surprise.

​"What do you mean?"

​"He's wearing a t-shirt. I want to wear a t-shirt like him, too."

​So, it was all your husband's fault.

​He was the reason for all this begging.

​The same husband you had spent the morning begging to put on a suit.

​And now, you were begging your son for the exact same reason. Because of him.

​"Sukuna!" you yelled.

​When he walked into Yuji's room and saw the glare you were giving him, the man immediately started wondering what crime he had committed.

​"Take that t-shirt off right now."

​He furrowed his brows.

​"Why?"

​"Because our son wants to be like you, so he wants to wear a t-shirt instead of a suit. I've tried everything to convince him, and the only option left is for you to put on a suit too."

​His eyes widened in shock.

​"What? I told you I wasn't going to wear one. I hate them. You know your husband—"

​"I said take it off!"

​"But—"

​"I want my son to wear a suit."

​He turned to little Yuji.

​"Brat, why aren't you wearing that awesome suit your mom bought you? You'll look even cooler than your dad when you put it on."

​Sukuna tried, but his son was even more stubborn than he was.

​"No! I don't like the suit. I want to wear a t-shirt and be like you!"

​Sukuna was secretly proud, but he didn't let it show.

​Right now, his furious wife was ordering him to put on a suit, and he desperately needed to find a way out of it.

​"But if you wear the suit..." Sukuna scrambled to come up with something. "I'll buy you that toy you really wanted the other day."

​Yuji thought for a moment, but he wasn't one to fall for cheap tricks.

​"No."

​What a brat.

​Yuji quickly took off the dress pants you had practically forced onto him.

"Yuji. Please, honey."

​The little boy pouted, and you turned back to your husband.

​"Sukuna..."

​He knew that look all too well.

​He had no choice but to give in.

​"Alright..."

​You smiled brightly.

​You had won.

​Finally, you convinced them.

​And you attended the wedding with two handsome boys in suits.

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[mayhemi]

premature ejaculation | jason todd x gn!reader

content.ᐟ 18+, p in v, pathetic!jason, crying, praise, premature ejaculation, pet names (baby, angel, honey)

"baby... s'okay" you coo at him, trying to speed up the process a bit.

he's on top of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the sensation of you wrapped around his length, taking all of him. he's trying his absolute hardest not to bust right here, especially because he just bottomed out.

"i- i cant-" he takes strangled breaths, shaking his head and letting it fall down to rest on your bare chest. your hand instinctively comes up to meet him, running your fingers through his inky black hair. he leans into the contact.

"jay, im sure you won't cum if you just move a little" you try to bargain with him, the feeling of him just sitting inside you instead of pistoning in and out of you is becoming increasingly frustrating.

he wasn't even gone that long! maybe a month at most. some mission he was dragged away on. not a day went by that he didn't call or text you, going on and on about how much he missed you! how he wished it was your hand instead of his fucking his dick raw every night.

"y-you don't get it, baby..." he licks his lips, looking down at where the two of you are connected, then back up at your impatient face. "i jus- jus missed you so fucking much" he complains, leaning his head down to press soft, gentle kisses to your forehead, your eyelid, the tip of your nose, your cheek, and anywhere else he could reach.

you have to take your bottom lip in between your teeth in order to hold back a smirk. you've never seen him this pathetic.

you experimentally roll your hips against his. he lets out a loud groan, "fuck!" he reaches a hand down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, his other hand staying at its position on the bed beside your head. "don't fucking- mfph!" he tries not to focus on just how tight and warm and wet you are compared to his hand.

you wince at his iron clutch on your hip. "jason!" you whine, "just move baby, please" you pout, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

he meets your gaze, "angel-" he whimpers, his head falling back down. you don't miss the feeling of wetness against your bare skin. is he seriously crying?

"honey..." you purr, "it's okay, i know you missed me" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, making his breath hitch. "you've been so neglected, huh?" you ask patronizingly. he nods.

your sweet, soothing words are enough to make his balls tighten, sending him over the edge. who knew all it took was just a few words to make jason todd cum?

he lets out a soft, muffled moan against your skin as his hips buck into you, spilling warm sticky release deeeep inside of you.

"f-fuck!" he whimpers. he feels overwhelming embarrassment, lifting his head to look at you, tears still falling down his flushed cheeks. "m'sorry honey, m'so sorry" he shakes his head, hand traveling to the back of your head to bring it to rest in his palm.

you can't help but huff a laugh, "don't be sorry..." you speak gently. "we can go again, yeah?"

© mayhemi | all rights reserved.

[hirukochan]

and they say (how the good die young)

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & daughter!reader

It was just a normal morning. An overworked, emotionally exhausted single father snapping at his daughter. A stubborn, defensive teenage daughter snapping back. Three words that should have never gone unsaid remaining unspoken. Just a normal morning - until a boy brought a rifle to school.

Part 1 | Part 2

Words: 13,2k

Content: School shooting, Hurt/Comfort, Gun violence, injury, single dad!Robby, Reader!daughter, No major character death

No use of Y/N

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

A/N: Heavy angst incoming :D

I got guns in my head and they won′t go Spirits in my head and they won't

I've been lookin′ at the stars tonight And I think, oh, how I miss that bright sun I′ll be a dreamer 'til the day I die And they say, oh, how the good die young?

But we′re all strange And maybe we don't want to change

- Spirits by The Strumbellas

“Morning.” Jack chirped, far too cheerful for it being seven a.m. and him having just worked a twelve-hour shift on - presumably, but also most probably - three hours of sleep.

Robby merely grunted in response as she stripped off his jacket and reached for his thermos.

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

Determined to drink his coffee while it was still hot, Robby took a large sip, just to scrunch up his nose and almost choke. He forced the scorching hot coffee that’d been desecrated by the violet coffee syrup you used for the cold brewed teas you made at home down, fighting his own gag reflex.

“Ah.” Jack said with a smirk he didn’t even bother to conceal. “Robby jr.”

“Nah, she lost the right to my name.” Robby scowled at the thermos but not without a healthy dose of heartbroken yearning.

There went his only shot at good coffee for the next twelve hours.

Jack took a sniff of it and chuckled. “Coffee-based warfare. She must be pissed, brother. What happened?”

“When,” Robby said after a longsuffering sigh and braced his underarms against the counter, peering up at Jack with tired eyes. “Did it somehow become acceptable to go to school with one’s entire midriff out? Not to mention that it’s against dress code and I can’t be driving up to her school in the middle of the day to pick her up because she earned yet another violation!”

“Urgh, I hate that I can’t find any shirts that aren’t cropped anymore.” Javadi sighed. Mel next to her nodded along eagerly. Jack and Robby turned at the same time, staring the unsuspecting med student down. She looked up, realised she had said that out loud, blushed and scurried away. Mel followed closely behind.

At least those two had enough shame to run and hide when caught eavesdropping, the same could not be said about one Trinity Santos.

“Honestly, power to her. School dress codes are dumb.”

Robby blinked, slowly, like a frog on sedatives as he tried to process Santos’ audacity he might never get used to.

“Be that as it may, I expect my seventeen-year-old daughter to wear more than what’s basically a glorified sports bra to school. Shouldn’t you be finding Cruz and Ellis for handovers? And when did this become a public conversation anyway?”

“Gee, sore spot I guess.” Santos muttered and sauntered off. She had barely even looked up from her tablet the whole time.

Had Robby lost his bite?

Jack watched her leave for a moment before turning back to Robby. “So, I’m guessing you told Robby jr in your usual soft and understanding way to change, and she blew up for no reason?”

“May not have been very soft or understanding.” Robby grunted and pressed his fingers into his temples to ease the whisper of a headache sneaking up on him. That was the last thing he needed today.

“Mhm.” Jack sounded as if he had already expected that answer.

Robby grunted again. He sighed and folded his arms against the counter to hide his face against them. “Nobody warned me a teenager would be worse than the defiant phase of toddlerhood. You didn’t know her then, Jack, but fuck, I wanted to throw the whole kid away and start over.”

“Amen.” Dana murmured with a quiet chuckle. “Raised three of ‘em and still don’t know how I survived it.” She peered at Robby over the brim of her glasses. “And I didn’t have to do it alone.”

Robby bristled. As much as he talked about you, fawning over you and how proud he was of you every damn chance he got, he didn’t speak about that part.

Dana and Jack knew he was a single parent. The rest assumed he and your mum were separated, but not that the sole responsibility of raising you rested on him.

Only Jack knew all the details of your mother walking out on both of you when you were just five. He’d been at work, unaware that his whole life was about to change. Unaware of the irreparable damage being done to you that he would spend the next twelve years scrambling to somehow fix. He was at work, back when Dr Adamson was still with them, before he became department chair, when he wasn’t yet drowning in work and paperwork as he was now. He was still working a lot, too much, but not the way he was now.

Robby went home after a long, gruelling shift, excited to see his family. His chest was lighter then, even when he lost patients, even when everything went to shit. Coming home to you and your mother was the best he had ever experienced, and after growing up without his parents, with only his grandma trying her best, he swore to himself you would not go through that.

He swore to himself you would have a real family, stability - everything he didn’t get. And in the end he could give you none of it.

He unlocked the door and found you, five years old and so small, so young and innocent, but no longer bright-eyed, curled up by the front door with your blanky, sobbing so miserably he was afraid you couldn’t breathe.

He found your mother’s note on the kitchen counter while you sniffled into his shoulder, tiny hands clinging to his filthy scrubs.

I’m sorry, Michael. I just can’t do this anymore.

Robby knew she wasn’t happy. Not exactly. He was trying. He was a good partner! For her, he had been a good partner. Getting groceries after work, cleaning, laundry, taking you to parks and playgrounds and the doctors. He knew what size you wore and what food you liked that week and your vaccination status. He was a good father, a great father, and a good partner, back when he still knew how, but it hadn’t been enough.

Your mother didn’t want children. You weren’t planned, and even though Robby left the decision up to her, and even though she chose to keep you, she never grew into her role as mother.

She regretted not getting out of the car outside the clinic Robby had driven her to the whole five years of your existence.

And then she left. She didn't reach out. She didn't talk to him. She pretended everything was fine until one day she just... disappeared from both of your lives.

She locked the door so you wouldn’t wander away and just walked away, leaving you home alone for nine hours while Robby was at work. The thought of all the things that could have happened to you still made him wake in a cold sweat at night all these years later. What if there had been a fire? You would have been trapped. What if you fell and hit your head?

He would almost call it lucky that all you’d done was cry for hours on end, waiting for your mother to return, terrified and lonely. The show your mother put on before leaving was not nearly enough to keep a five-year-old from realising she was home alone, all alone…

And just like that, Robby had become a single parent without a fucking clue how to navigate any of it.

Not for the first time, Robby wondered whether things would be… easier if you still had a mum. How was he supposed to relate to the daily hurdles, big and small, of being a teenager frighteningly fast on her way to being a young woman?

This felt so much worse than the period disaster…

Jack braced his hands against the counter and leaned forward, chasing eye contact with Robby in that infuriating way of his. He had the habit of stripping him off his defences just by looking at him, and Robby really didn’t need that to happen in the middle of the goddamn ER.

“It’ll be fine, man. You both are stubborn as mules, but no matter how much you clash, it never lasts long, does it? You’ll be out of each other’s hair for the coming twelve hours, that’ll give everyone time to cool down. You’ll see. Pick up some KFC on the way home, and all will be forgiven. This-” He gestured towards the thermos and the ruined coffee within. “-tells me it’ll be okay. Robby jr doesn’t do shit like that to people who pissed her off so bad she doesn’t care about them anymore. She doesn’t waste her energy on them. She did this so you’d think of her every time you take a sip. Remember the time she put neon pink hair dye into my shampoo and curl cream because I ruffled her hair in front of the boy she had a crush on, right before sending her into school?”

“You had pink hair for weeks.”

Jack was grinning, looking as if it was one of the fondest memories he had.

"And I rocked that shit!"

He always loved your mischievous side, ever since he met you when you were just five years old, shy and frightened and shut off in a way you had never been before. Jack somehow managed to get you out of your shell, a little bit more every time you met. Robby had already gotten on well with him then, new to the team and still a little bruised and battered from war, but seeing the way you responded to him was the true kickstart to their friendship.

“No girl wants to be told what to wear by her dad. We’re boring, brother. We’re embarrassing and lame. And she has an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex because she’s a teenager and can’t gauge the full scope of her decisions yet, so lame af Dad sometimes has to step in. She knows this, even if her nervous system in the moment didn’t let her see it. You’ll see, come tonight you’re both sitting on the couch watching one of her shows together - like always.”

Jack slapped Robby on the shoulder and, probably deeming this conversation a job well done, walked away to help an intern who looked like he was about to cry.

Robby did not deem the conversation a job well done.

He fiddled with his phone, staring down at the dark screen between his fingers - his nails filed, oiled, and cuticles trimmed thanks to your inability to watch a show without occupying your hands (manicures were better than those black peel-off face masks that felt like they were skinning him alive at least) - and tried to figure out why the heavy, gnawing pit in his stomach remained.

Jack was right. Your coffee warfare, past fights, and just the overall good relationship you two had (a far better relationship than he’d ever have expected from a father and his teenager daughter, if Robby was being honest - perhaps he had done some things right after all, judging by the late nights you spent huddled together on the sofa, discussing gossip from the Pitt and school with whatever mocktail creation you came up with that day) all pointed towards this just being a fight.

A stupid fight between a daughter who was getting ready to leave the nest, discovering herself, testing boundaries and a father who, perhaps, was a little too willfully ignorant of that impending change, but also saw too much shit every day to not be at least a little overprotective of the one good thing in his life.

And you were.

You were everything.

You were the reason Robby sat on the couch with you after a shift so gut-wrenching, so brutal it left him feeling raw for days to come instead of taking that step off the roof.

You were his greatest joy, his biggest pride, his treasure, his whole world.

Perhaps it was the lesson his grandmother instilled in him, and Robby in turn instilled in you. ‘Never go to bed angry.’ which Robby turned into ‘Never part ways angry’ since he often didn't get to tuck you in at night, and eventually ‘Your parting words may be the last you ever say' because Robby had seen too many parents, spouses, friends - you name it - part ways while angry and wound up reuniting here in the Viewing Room.

No matter how furious Robby was, he never left without saying that he loved you.

Not when you set fire to your curtains with a scented candle and called him at work, all panicked instead of using the fire extinguisher that’s been in the kitchen since you were six! Not when you lied to Jack that Robby allowed you to go dirt biking with him and ended up needing stitches on your chin. Or when you incited Jake to start a secret, rigged betting ring at your middle school with you.

When he had to leave for work, it was always with a ‘I am so angry right now, but I love you, and I will always love you’ as his parting words.

Always.

For seventeen years.

He didn’t say it today.

Robby couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t said it. He went over the morning in his head over and over, but he couldn’t make sense of it. Perhaps it was the exhaustion that still sat deep in his bones after his last shift, exhaustion of a thousand shifts over the years piling higher and higher. Maybe the fact he’d been sleeping worse and worse for weeks now. Stubbornness and pride because you were in the wrong, and maybe, just maybe, after fighting to keep the peace at work for twelve hours every day, he didn’t want to be the one keeping the peace at home too!

You wanted to act and walk around like a grown-up, then perhaps it was fucking time for you to start acting like one too. Maybe if you did, Robby wouldn’t have to be on your ass all the time!

Robby ran his hand over his face and down his beard and unlocked his phone. He was greeted by the wallpaper you’d set up, a picture of you and Robby making faces at the camera during one of the rare occasions he had taken time off work to take you on a trip. Robby opened your chat and pulled up the keyboard, thumb hovering over the screen-

“Dr Robinavitch?”

“Yeah.” Robby locked his screen and shoved the phone into his pocket as he turned around to the expectant R3 waiting for his help.

He was swallowed by the ER after that. Without his coffee, he was in a foul mood, but not yet desperate enough to surrender to the fate of breakroom coffee.

He was getting there though.

Jack stuck around, for one reason or another, Robby wasn’t entirely sure. Jack just… pulled a double sometimes for no reason. He didn't use to while his was still alive.

He wasn’t going to complain, not when the department was already a mess, Gloria hounding him for some paperwork he’d entirely forgotten about and he… well, he missed working with his friend. Was that a crime? With Jack banishing himself to the nightshift, Robby barely got to see him anymore. It had its good sides, sure. You and Jack were spending a lot more time together now, and Robby was glad to know you weren’t hanging out at the apartment all alone all day, or god knows where with your friend, even if he sometimes envied Jack when you sent pictures of the two of you out and about, at your weekly laser tag date or just grabbing lunch after school.

It was doing Jack good too.

About three hours into his shift, Robby’s feet found their way into the break room after all. He poured himself a cup of shitty coffee and slumped down on the sofa, out of view of the little window in the door to catch a moment of quiet and peace - just a moment. He wasn’t asking for much! But at the first sip of coffee he took, coffee that was not brewed from his favourite coffee beans, you were back. A ghost in his mind, or more like a pesky little mosquito.

His mind dragged him back to the drive that morning. How you sat next to him in the passenger seat, stiff and refusing to take your eyes off the road, arms crossed in front of your chest. You’d put on a different shirt under your hoodie - his hoodie, actually - but you were making your displeasure known by refusing to talk.

Driving you to school was never so quiet. It felt… eerie. Wrong. You were always talking, telling him about this and that while Robby understood approximately one out of five words that left your mouth - what was a red flag, and why was your best friend’s boyfriend saying she and you were spending too much time together one? - or you were giving running commentary to some podcast you put on. Or ranting about politics. Robby couldn’t remember being so political at your age. A lot was going to shit around him, but seeing the way you and your peers rose amidst all the shittyness was nothing short of inspiring.

You wore a whistle around your neck. You had ever since ICE made more and more appearances on the streets. Your whole friend group spent an entire weekend handing them out at the mall alongside laminated cards educating people on their rights in different languages. 

He and Jack had been in Jack’s truck in the parking lot keeping watch over you the entire time, just in case some asshole wanted to start some shit - he never told you. You never saw him.

Robby’s hands had been curled tightly around the steering wheel the entire drive, anger and exasperation running hot in his veins. It was a reasonable request, Robby still thought so, to tell you to mind the school’s dress code. It wasn’t even that Robby policed what you wore. If you wanted to wear that skimpy half-shirt when you met your friends, knock yourself out! But you had to learn there was an appropriate and not-appropriate way to conduct yourself at school, and later college, and after that work. School wasn’t a goddamn fashion show!

And he knew pressure on young women was different in this time than it had been when he was young. And he knew some boys at your school were huge assholes. And he knew the manosphere podcast bullshit was doing damage - both to boys and the psyche of girls.

But Robby thought he raised you to be above that kind of shit!

Before Robby knew what he was doing, he had his phone in his hand again, your chat open, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

It was simple.

Two words. Seven letters. One apostrophe.

It should be simple.

I’m sorry.

He could have handled things better, he was sure of it because lately… lately he could be handling everything better. His grandmother spent his whole life trying to teach him to be the bigger person. That it took less effort to be kind than it did to be an asshole. To own up to his mistakes, and you were his daughter. If Robby couldn’t even get over his pride and apologise to you, how were you ever supposed to learn to be the kind of person who can put their pride aside and say I’m sorry. Would you end up learning to accept this behaviour as normal from a future spouse? Was Robby messing you up the same way he was messed up?

You were stubborn and prideful and infuriating sometimes, but really, who was to blame for that?

The speakers calling out a code blue tore him from his ruminating thoughts. His coffee was forgotten instantly. His phone locked and back in his pocket - the words he never typed, never sent still tingling at the tips of his fingers.

The gnawing pit in his stomach remained.

Robby was just leaving the trauma room an hour later when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Faster than usual, and not without Dana noticing the hurried gesture, Robby pulled it out to check the message.

I’m sorry.

Robby slumped against the counter, staring at the phone in his hands, brows furrowing.

He watched the three dots dance under the bubble with your text, and dance- and stop.

The pit in his stomach grew to the size of a fucking boulder.

“Brother?”

Robby hadn’t noticed Jack looking up, nor that he’d been watching Robby stand still and silently stare at his phone for several minutes.

Robby didn’t react. Jack quickly put his tablet back into the charging port and rounded the counter, coming up next to Robby.

“What’s the matter?”

Robby tilted the phone towards him.

“That’s… I mean, that’s good, right?”

Jack didn’t sound convinced. Jack knew you almost as well as Robby. You would not apologise in a text. Not like this.

Something was wrong.

Robby felt physically sick. He barely heard the red telephone ringing. He stared at the screen of his phone and waited for the dancing dots to come back. For you to send the message you’d been typing.

“She’s at school.” Jack murmured next to him. “She probably- she probably just doesn’t have time to- to do her big voice message thing.” He shifted uncomfortably next to Robby. “She’s not even supposed to have her phone, isn’t she? Maybe a teacher-”

“Yeah.” Robby whispered, unconvinced.

“Oh god-”

Both men looked up at the same time, meeting Dana’s horror-stricken, pale face. Her hand trembled when she hung up the red phone. She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice again, something that he, in all his years working with Dana, had never seen.

Robby felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

His grip tightened around his phone.

The feeling of impending doom that had been following him all day crashed into him with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

I didn’t tell her that I love her.

“We- There’s a school shooting. We don’t know how many injuries to expect but- but we should prepare for the worst.”

“Which school?”

Robby’s voice was tiny compared to the shocked, distraught murmur cutting through the ER, momentarily silencing all background noise.

Dana was still calling out orders, preparing her nursing staff for the expected influx of patients the same way Robby should be doing with his doctors, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t-

He stared down at his phone, at your message in its blue bubble right beneath the meme you sent him last night. He knocked on your door because he didn’t understand it. You were sitting in your bed already, reading the book you picked up from the library earlier when Robby and you went out to buy new gym shoes for you because you had gym class today and of course you forgot to tell him you needed new shoes. You always did-

“Dana.”

The charge nurse did not turn around.

“Dana!” Robby slammed his hand down on the counter. “What school?!”

Dana’s shoulders sank, and Robby knew the answer.

He knew the answer before she opened her mouth.

A picture of you flashed through his mind. You slamming the door of his car and taking a step towards your school. You hesitating, turning around, looking at him through the rolled-down window, waiting.

Waiting for him to say it.

Robby had only gripped the steering wheel tighter, lips pressed into a thin line beneath his beard, and stared at the road ahead of him. Your shoulder sank, just like Dana’s had a moment ago. Sadness flashed across your face for a split-second just to instantly be replaced by renewed rage. You turned on the spot and marched away.

Robby watched you go.

Robby watched you go, knowing he’d made a mistake, but not doing anything to rectify it.

And he drove away. Just like that, he drove away.

I didn’t tell her that I love her.

Robby shook his head. It wasn’t true. If he didn’t accept it then- then it wouldn’t come true-

“Hers.”

The sound that left his lips was that of a wounded animal, raw and bleeding, wrenched from the very depths of his being. His knees gave out under him, and if it weren't for Jack next to him, he would have collapsed on the ground like a puppet whose string had been cut.

Jack barked orders that Robby didn’t hear over the buzzing in his ears. People around him moved, gathering supplies, moving patients, calling in support, and all Robby could do was clutch his phone to his chest, the taste of bile on his tongue and slowly slip to the ground with his back to the nurses’ station.

You almost missed the first shot.

You’d been buried deep in your own thoughts, the hallway pass - a ridiculously big rubber ducky your history teacher found hilarious (he was right, it was iconic, not that you’d admit it) - tucked under your arm as you leaned against the sinks in the girls’ bathroom.

It didn’t sit right with you how you and your dad parted ways that morning. 

Why didn’t he say it?

He always said it!

Had you finally gone too far? Pushed too hard?

You didn’t even really want to wear the stupid shirt! Mira wanted you all to match, including the guys in your group, to make a statement against the stupid, sexist dress code. Robby was going off on you before you had any chance to explain and then… well fuck him. What happened to sorting out your issues like adults? Which he talked about just last week. What about innocent until proven guilty? He made you feel like a stupid little girl who couldn’t be trusted to dress herself, and you- you just closed up. Like a clam deciding this shit wasn’t worth her time.

You got defensive and bitchy and then froze him out, refusing to talk or even look at him. A part of you was pissed because you told him how difficult it was to find a shirt that wasn’t cropped lately. Even sweatshirts! Who wanted a cropped sweatshirt?

What right did you have to feel upset now because he didn’t say I love you after you acted like a bitch?

You hated that you’d have to sit with this pit in your stomach until this evening. You even contemplated visiting him at work after school, but that would probably not go over well, not with how angry he must be if he didn’t even tell you that he loved you.

He always did.

You of course knew that Gloria had been hounding Robby more than usual and budget cuts were affecting the staffing of the ER, which led to him doing more overtime. He’d been barely sleeping since PittFest too, not that he’d ever admit as much to you, but you could hear the TV in his room at night, and you overheard Jack trying to convince your dad to go to therapy more than once.

You knew he was struggling, and you understood it when he was more exhausted or a little less patient than usual with you - but to not say I love you? Over a stupid shirt?

The shot tore through your thoughts.

You flinched and almost dropped your phone you’d pulled out of your pocket as you considered just texting your dad, just clear all this shit up instead of carrying it with you for the rest of the day. It wasn’t worth it. This stupid argument wasn’t worth any of the stomach ache it had given you.

The door to the bathroom was pushed open, and a frantic, harried-looking Mira stumbled in.

“What’s going on?”

Mira flinched so violently at the sound of your voice that you knew, you just knew something terrible had happened. Mira rushed towards you without explaining, hands trembling- was that blood?!

“Shh-” Mira hushed you, one hand pressed to your mouth and dragged you towards the stalls.

“Mira-”

“He’s got a rifle. A fucking rifle!” She hissed through her teeth. Tears were running down her cheeks in thick rivulets, spreading her mascara over her skin.

The words sent a chill down your back. You grabbed Mira’s wrist and got her to climb up on the toilet seat with you.

“We have to lock- lock the-”

“No.” You whispered and shook your head. “We lock it and he knows we’re in here. Just be- just be quiet.”

With trembling hands, you tapped your code into your phone. Your fingers were too sweaty for the sensor to recognise your fingerprint. It always did that in summer, but your father refused to get a newer model for you while this one was still working.

You barely saw the chat with your father through the tears clouding your vision.

I’m sorry.

You’d been so stupid. So silly. You didn’t even want to wear the damn shirt. It was just Mira’s idea to make a point against the dress code, which you knew wouldn’t even work. It would just get you in trouble, and your dad couldn’t come pick you up from school in the middle of the day. And the guys chickened out anyway.

I love you.

The bathroom door hit the wall hard from the force with which it was thrown open. You pressed your hand to Mira’s mouth and forced yourself to be quiet. You pressed your forehead to Mira’s, her trembling arms slung around your shivering body, clutching you as tight as she could. Tears burnt in your eyes. You missed the send button by a hairbreadth, but you didn’t know that. You thought you sent it.

Steps sounded heavy against the tiles, the noise amplified by the tiled room. You heard the mechanical click of the assault rifle. You knew that sound. You knew that kind of weapon. Your godfather Jack took you to a shooting range a few times, something your father didn’t know.

It felt like hours passed, hours of standing there, mere inches away from death, from some person who decided to bring a fucking gun to school and shoot up the place. And not even some stranger, you thought bitterly. It was never a stranger, was it? Or rarely. Too rarely to matter in this moment as you stared at the closed stall door and wondered which of your fellow students had been planning to run fucking amok in your school.

Your school wasn’t the greatest. It was a school. It had shitty lunch and a shitty dress code and some of the teachers acted as if they hated kids but- but it wasn’t awful.

You couldn’t make sense of this.

This couldn’t be real- couldn’t be happening.

The door opened again. Closed again. Silence. Stretching long like taffy, suffocating, drowning. Then - gunshots in the distance.

“Oh my god.” Mira whispered after peeling your hand away from her mouth. “Oh my god!”

“Calm down.” You muttered, panicking yourself but already unlocking your phone again. You closed the chat with your father without looking at it, your brain running on autopilot. 

You dialled 911.

“Fucking reception!” You hissed and, tentatively, fearing an attack despite knowing the attacker had moved on, pushed the door of the stall open. Nothing. The room was empty, aside from the bloody boot prints on the ancient tiles.

You ignored them.

Forced yourself to ignore them.

“Give me a lift.”

Mira, and you really had to hand it to her because she didn’t have a lowkey crazy uncle who liked to use your weekly laser tag date as active shooter drills (he thought you didn’t notice, but you did), managed to gather herself quickly and rushed over to you. With her help, you managed to pull yourself up on the narrow ledge beneath the small window. You cracked it open, back bent at a painful angle to accommodate the ceiling right above you and tried again.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Oh thank god.” You exhaled through your teeth. “My reception is crap, but- fuck, there’s an active shooter at my school. He- he has a rifle- Mira!” You looked down. “What did he wear?”

“What?”

“What did he wear!?”

You passed along Mira’s description to the 911 operator. Jack always said that precise information was the most useful thing a witness could contribute. Anything could become important, and often people held back important details because they thought they were unimportant.

“It was Jeremy.”

“What?”

You stared down at Mira, stunned.

You knew Jeremy.

You caught yourself when the operator said your name, asking whether you were still there.

“Jeremy Connors. The shooter is a boy called Jeremy Connors. But I don’t know whether he is alone.” You gave them his address. You didn’t remember the exact house number since you’d never been at his place, but you figured it was better than nothing, though you weren’t sure how it would be helpful.

“Can- my dad works at PTMC. Dr Robinavitch, and- and my godfather, Jack Abbot, he works there too, but he’s a SWAT medic as well. Can- can someone-” tell them I’m alright, was what you were going to say, before you realised that by the time any message would reach them you might, with increasing probability, not be okay. How many students were killed at the school shooting in Arkansas last week? Three? With ten mortally wounded? How many people were injured during PittFest?

“These things get recorded, right?” You sniffled. “Because- because I had a big fight with my dad this morning and I- I just want to tell him I love him.” You bit back a sob that threatened to choke you off. “I love you, Dad. I love you, Jack- fuck- I’m sorry I was being such a bitch, daddy. I’m not mad at you. I’d never really be mad at you. I love you-”

The line beeped. You wiped away your tears to glance at your phone.

No reception.

“Fuck.”

You jumped down onto the ground and shoved your phone into your pocket before pulling it out again to turn it on silent. Mira did the same.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not mine.” She whispered, sounding hoarse. “Should we- stay here?”

“I- don’t know.”

“He shot Dwayne.” Mira sniffled. “He just- he came out of nowhere and shot him. I ran as fast as I could, but- how could I just leave him there?”

You shook your head. “You did the right thing.”

“He’s probably still lying there! And I left.”

“We-” You licked your lips. Your chest tightened with the thought. It wasn’t wise. You probably shouldn’t. Jack would want you to find a place to hide and wait for the police to arrive. You called 911, now it was time to hide, but you couldn’t.

The thought of Dwayne lying somewhere out there, wounded, maybe already dead-

“I have a- I have a med kit in my locker.” You whispered. You had one in your bag too, but that was still in the history classroom because your teacher didn’t let anyone take it to the bathroom. “Come.” You took Mira’s hand into yours, and together you crept out of the bathroom. The bloody boot prints led away from the bathroom and in the opposite direction of your locker.

“He’s heading deeper into the school.” You whispered to nobody in particular. “Probably the cafeteria.”

Anything the shooter drills the school did every once in a while tried to teach you was gone, evaporated from your brain the second you realised what Mira’s terrified expression meant. You weren’t supposed to be running around in the hallway, you thought, very distantly and not for very long, not when there was someone bleeding out and needing medical attention.

Were you medical attention? Barely, but you watched all seasons of Grey’s Anatomy, Scrubs and ER, your father and godfather were emergency physicians, and you practically grew up at PTMC after your mother abandoned you.

You knew how to stop some bleeding.

In theory. 

You thought you could stop some bleeding, in theory.

You miraculously reached your locker and peeled the med kit out from under your books. You closed the door of your locker as quietly as you could and turned-

“That’s Jeremy’s locker, isn’t it?”

Mira followed your gaze.

“I think.”

You bit your bottom lip, contemplating for a moment.

“Give me a bobby pin.” You were already on the way towards the locker in question. Mira, the true ride-or-die that she was, handed you the pin without asking questions. You picked Jeremy’s lock with relative ease - thanks to Jack - and inhaled a sharp breath when you opened the door.

“Knew it.”

“Is that-”

“Ammunition.” You nodded. “Help me get that shit out. We’ll- fuck it, we’ll put it in my locker. Just- just away from him. Let him run out, right?” You glanced at Mira, hoping for an answer that would put your own anxiety at ease.

“He probably has more on him.” She whispered. “He always wears those hoodies with the big pockets.”

“Yeah, but- we can’t leave this here?”

As quickly and as silently as you could, you gathered the boxes of ammunition and brought them over to your locker. It felt illegal to put so much ammunition into your (however technical) possession, no matter how good your intentions were.

“Is that a gun?”

Mira whisper-called from Jemery’s locker. You joined her.

“Yep.” You picked up the handgun and checked the magazine. “Probably a back-up or something.” You put on the safety and shoved it into the waistband of your trousers.

Mira hissed your name. “Are you insane?”

“No. But my godfather is.” You closed Jeremy’s locker. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You can’t take that!”

“Why not? Why should he be the only one who gets to shoot at us?!”

Mira looked like she wanted to argue, but you were already making your way down the hall, following the bloody trail, med kit clutched in your hand. She ran to catch up with you.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?”

“Yep.” You let the p pop. “Told you Uncle Jack is lowkey insane.”

“Does your dad know?”

You emitted a nervous chuckle. “God, if my dad knew everything I do, I’d already be grounded until I’m sixty.”

Despite your casual conversation, both you and Mira were hypervigilant of your surroundings. Mira used her handmirror to peer around corners ("What? Saw that in a movie"), and your hand never strayed far from the handgun digging into the small of your back. You weren’t sure whether you’d actually be capable of shooting at another person, but that gnawing pit in your stomach was at least slightly eased by its presence.

“Dwayne!” Mira hissed through her teeth and, forgetting all previous caution, ran towards the closed door a thick trail of blood led to.

“It’s us.” You said, knocking softly against the door. The curtain covering the window in the door was pulled back, revealing Oliver’s terrified, pale face. You waved. The faint click of the door echoed through the silent hallway, and you were ushered inside.

While Mira and Oliver worked to block the door again, you rushed towards Dwayne, who sat in a corner of the room, pallid, trembling, so very weak.

Your eyes roamed over him quickly, assessing his state as best as you could. Your head felt as though wrapped in cotton. It was difficult to reach through the fog and find the information you needed, but you knew it was there. Pounded into you by your father and Jack and growing up in the ER. 

You knew your first aid.

“Okay.” You murmured and wiped the back of your hand across your forehead. “Come on, Jack doesn’t call you Robby jr for nothing. Come on…” You grabbed your med kit and quickly slipped on gloves before searching the depths of the once-organised kit for some gauze. Hemostatic gauze specifically.

Dwayne’s lips and fingertips were already turning blue, you realised with increasing panic. His breathing was shallow and strained. His skin was cold and clammy, and he was barely conscious at this point.

“He’s in shock, I think-”

“You think?” Mira squeaked.

“I’m not a paramedic!” You hissed back. “Here, put this in his mouth.” You gestured towards a thick wooden ruler. “Oliver, hold him down. His shoulders aren’t injured, dunce! Hold him down. This’ll hurt like a motherfucker.”

You loosened Dwayne’s belts and any other tight clothing before grabbing a pair of safety shears from the kit to cut open the hole the bullet tore through his pant leg. Beneath lay the gunshot wound, deceptively small but bleeding continuously.

“The bullet is still in, but I can’t do anything about that.” You whispered, more to yourself than your friends. You knew you had to keep a clear head now or Dwayne would not make it to the hospital. Who knew when police would arrive. How much time had passed since you made your call? What was the response time for these things? You thought to remember reading once that it was 20 minutes, but was that applicable to downtown Pittsburgh too?

You ripped open the gauze package and started pushing the gauze bit by bit deep into the gushing wound with your fingers. Mira wrinkled her nose and looked away.

“Shouldn’t we- I don’t know, put his belt around his thigh or something?”

“A tourniquet?” You muttered. “Do you know how to safely use a tourniquet? Because I sure as fuck don’t, and I think this is way too far up anyway. This gauze is hemostatic, don’t ask me what that means, but it helps with clotting or something.”

Dwayne groaned softly and tried to move away from what you imagined must be excruciating pain, having someone shove gauze into an open gunshot wound without any meds, but Oliver did as you had told him and kept his hands firmly on Dwayne’s shoulders, keeping him from twisting out of your grasp.

“There.” You wrapped a bandage around his thigh, over his pants and over the packed wound, before pressing your palms down on the now covered wound to wait for the clotting agents to - hopefully - do their job. “Can you get the sharpie from my kit, please? Don’t worry, I think Dwayne is unconscious.”

“Is that bad?”

You shrugged. “He can’t feel the pain now?” You took the pen and wrote down how much gauze you used. You pressed your fingers into his neck and stared at the watch by the door while counting his heartbeats. You wrote his heart rate down on his leg as well, next to the current time.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Mira whimpered.

“It’s difficult to estimate liquids on the ground. It’s probably not as much as we’re thinking.” You didn’t even convince yourself with that one. “Fuck.”

“Jeremy blocked the doors.” Oliver said. “I was hiding in here after he hit Dwayne. Saw him do it.”

“What did he use?”

Oliver shrugged. “Mostly zipties, I think. And bike locks.”

“One with numbers? Or a key?”

“Key, I think.”

You and Mira exchanged a look.

“You’re crazy. We’re never gonna make it!”

“We have no idea how long it’ll take the police to start their sweep! If Jeremy locked all entrances or if he’s taken hostages, it could be hours, you do realise that, right?”

“This isn’t happening-” Oliver muttered, burying his face in his hands and smearing blood onto his cheek in doing so. “You were hanging out with him, why didn’t you realise this-”

“Oh, it’s my fault he’s shooting up the fucking place?” You hissed. “I barely hung out with him! I- fuck, I took pity on him, okay? He’s always alone and kinda weird, I figured- jesus, I figured he was autistic or something and people just couldn’t handle it. I was just being nice! And no! I didn’t realise he was going to do this. He barely even fucking talked to me.”

You thought you were extending a helping hand to some loner, some bullied kid the whole school had already forgotten about. You didn’t like seeing him sit all by himself every lunch and recess. He looked sad. So you- you just started sitting next to him. You tried talking to him, not that he ever replied much. He didn’t leave either, or told you to fuck off, so you figured he didn’t mind? Dwayne, Oliver and Mira eventually started to join you because they were tired of you always missing from their conversations.

You never thought being nice to the weird kid would end with this…

“Dwayne can’t wait for help.” You decided as you fumbled with the packaging of an emergency blanket. 

“I’ll go check if the coast is clear.”

You left, instructing Mira to lock the door behind you. You crept along the deserted hallway, blood pounding in your ear, Dwayne’s blood sticky against your bare legs.

You found the closest door. Oliver had been right, though the bicycle lock was one of those cheap ones and easy enough to pick. You cut the zip ties with your emergency shears.

Time acted strange, warping and shifting around you. The way to the doors had felt like it stretched on forever, but the way back was over within the blink of an eye.

Dwayne wrapped in the thin, silvery film of the emergency blanket, you and Dwayne all but carried him to the door. You heard sirens in the distance, and relief washed over you.

One foot already out of the door, you stopped.

Oliver whispered your name. His panicked eyes flicked from you to the dark hallway behind you. “Come on!”

“I-” Your mouth felt dry. Shots and screams echoed behind you, had for the whole time it took to scout the hallway and then bring Dwayne here.

It was how you knew Jeremy wasn’t anywhere near you.

“I can’t.” Your voice came out small and pained. You winced at your own words, even as you felt them reverberate through your chest and heart.

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t?!” Oliver snarled. “There’s a fucking shooter in there! He isn’t going to care that you offered him some chips during lunch!”

“Who knows how long it’ll take them to go in? What if- what if more people are hurt?”

“And what- you are the only one who can save them? Are you shitting me?”

You licked your lips and gave a small shrug. “Who else is there? Look- you go. Take Dwayne, get him help, but- but I can’t leave.”

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah.” You sighed, because he was right. Common sense was screaming at you to run, to save yourself and never look back, but you’d watched your whole life as the two most important adults in your life threw themselves into madness over and over to save lives.

How could you walk away now?

“If you’re staying, so am I.” Mira stepped forward. She interlaced her fingers with yours and did her best to put on a brave face.

Oliver shook his head slowly. “I don’t know whether you guys are dumb or hella fucking brave.”

You shrugged again, grip tightening around Mira’s hand. “Depends on whether we survive this, I guess.”

The chaos of the Pitt was different today.

A collectively held breath pressing in on all sides. Tensed, as if waiting for the first punch to land but not knowing when or how hard it would.

Nobody knew how many patients to expect. One or two? Or another PittFest? How many shooters were in the school? The school was on lockdown and surrounded by police forces, but information was scarce.

Robby could not take his eyes off the TV playing the new broadcast. A helicopter shot footage from above. There was no audio, but his head supplied the gunshots all on its own. Somewhere in there were you. Somewhere in that building he drove you to for years, you were fighting for your life.

And Robby wasn’t there.

He couldn’t do anything. He felt like the greatest fucking failure. Wasn’t a father supposed to protect his child? Not that Robby knew much about fathers…

He thought he knew how to be your father. He thought he had done a decent job at it, for the most part. You were the only thing besides his work here that still mattered in his life. The only good thing. The only thing Robby ever even left the hospital, because he knew you’d be waiting for him at home, eager to tell him the latest school gossip or internet drama.

But, he supposed, he was always bound to mess it up.

Everything he touched caught fire sooner or later, and Robby had never had a woman in his life who wasn’t worse off after having the misfortune of being important to him.

His mother, his grandmother, your mother, Janey, Heather… even Mohan he had managed to fuck over…

“My SWAT commander just called me.” Jack said softly, stepping up next to Robby. “Robby jr called 911.”

Robby inhaled a sharp breath.

“Shortly after texting you. She was in the bathroom at the time the shooting started.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard. White spots danced before his closed lids. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t right. She should be in a classroom that could be locked down. She should be in a school that was safe! She should never have had to partake in a goddamn active shooter drill just to get her education, much less be dragged into an actual shooting!

“He told me she was with a friend. She- Robby she left a message. She said she loves you, and that she’s not mad. That she’s sorry.” 

Tears crept past Robby’s hands and rolled down his cheeks, disappearing in his beard. You used to find it hilarious to pull and tug on it when you were little… He felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to shave it off. To be rid of every reminder of your affection, remove you before the world could take you because if he had some semblance of control over the decision, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

“She gave a description of the shooter and even his home address. She did really well.”

“Don’t you dare.” Robby hissed through his teeth.

“She is a smart girl, brother. She’ll-”

“What?!” Robby snapped, swirling around to stare at his best friend he could not recognise at this moment. Was he truly standing there and telling him you would be fine?! “Last I checked, bullets don’t give a rat’s ass about how smart someone is! This is going to scar her, Jack! Even if she miraculously makes it out physically perfectly fine, she’ll be scarred for life!”

“Losing ourselves in worst-case scenarios isn’t going to help her.” Jack said with infuriating calmness. It pissed Robby off all the more. His daughter, his little girl, was trapped in a building with a monster who wanted to maim and kill as many as he could before cowardly ending his own life - optimism felt like a fucking slap in the face.

“Easy to say about another man’s child, isn’t it?” Venom dripped off every word. That finally cut through Jack’s iron composure that had once been forged in desert dust, IED explosions and bullet rainstorms.

“She’s my goddaughter. You made her my goddaughter, Robby. She isn’t mine, but I love her as if she were. Don’t stand there and pretend that isn’t true. That this isn’t tearing me apart just like it does you.”

Robby knew he’d gone too far, just like this morning, but he couldn’t stop.

“What the fuck are you even still doing here?!” His voice boomed through the department. It enraged Robby how much everyone was moving like this was just another day, just another fire waiting to be put out. How they were tiptoing past him like he was a loose canon they were afraid of setting off and not a father experiencing the worst pain he’d ever felt. 

“If you insist on being a fucking self-martyr with your goddamn SWAT hobby, at least make yourself fucking useful and save my daughter!”

“I am leaving.” Jack said softly. “As soon as Al-Hashimi is here.”

Robby scoffed. “You think I can’t take care of my department without a babysitter?”

“Not right now, you can’t. You shouldn’t be here, Robby.”

"Where else am I going to be?” Robby whispered, rage and hurt and terror deflating, leaving behind an empty shell, exhaustion and deep, gut-wrenching fear. “My baby is out there-” His voice broke.

“I know.” Jack put his hand on Robby’s shoulder and ducked to catch his gaze. “And we’ll get her back, brother. We will. Losing faith now solves nothing.”

“I told her-” Robby inhaled a trembling breath. It stung in his throat, burning with the aftershock of the words he hurled at you this morning with such unjustified anger. It was just a shirt. 

Just a stupid fucking shirt! 

Robby grasped at Jack’s arm as if that would stop him drowning. As if anything could right now while those words played in his head on a loop, followed by the expression on your face. The anger, the disgust, the pain.

“I told her she’s just like her mother.”

Robby tilted forward precariously, colliding with Jack who stood firm and unmoving, even as Robby’s arms curled around him, hands grasping helplessly at his scrub top. He sobbed, suffocated, broken wails filling up his throat until he couldn’t breathe.

“The last thing I said to her- I don’t why I said it- I didn’t even fucking mean it.”

“She knows that.” Jack soothed, holding Robby. “She said she’s not mad. She loves you, Robby. She’ll be fine. Come on, brother. Your kid is one tough nut.”

“GSW to the upper thigh, two minutes out.” Dana called over to them. 

Robby bristled. How many gunshot wounds had he treated in his career? More than he could ever begin to recall, though every single one treated in the Pitt during PittFest would be forever seared into his brain.

This was worse.

“Do we know-?” 

Dana didn’t need him to finish.

“Male, seventeen. That’s all I know.”

He nodded weakly. He felt awful for even having asked. As if a patient that was not his daughter was any less of a fucking tragedy. He kept thinking about Jake and his girlfriend. Kept thinking how he couldn’t save her and the almost debilitating fear he felt knowing Jake was at PittFest all alone, when Robby had been supposed to be there with him.

Why was this worse?

It shouldn’t be.

Was he a horrible man? That the threat to the life of his daughter terrified him more than the threat to his quasi-son had?

He raised Jake for several years and stayed a fixture in his life even after the breakup with Janey. Robby just never managed to commit to a woman the way he’d committed to your mother again; Janey came closest to it though. You and Jake were as close as siblings. He used to come over every Sunday for basketball well after the separation, while you usually went out with friends or planned something with Jack. 

Robby had been afraid you could be jealous to share your dad with another kid, but you just shrugged it off.

Janey would do the same for you in a heartbeat, and Jake would ‘share’ his mother with you just the same, without hesitation or jealousy, but you just never managed to trust another female caregiver figure again. 

In school, you’d always been wary of female teachers, especially the passionate, devoted kind every other kid adored. It had taken years for you to be at ease around Dana again, and perhaps you only managed that because you’d known her before. Before your mother left.

Whenever you came into the Pitt to do your homework in the break room or drop off some baked goods when you were experimenting with recipes again, you did your best to avoid Baran. You were cordial with Perlah and Princess, but you’d never be more. You didn’t get along with Santos at all. Whenever you two were in a room together for too long, it ended in disaster. 

Something about her personality and your trauma just didn’t mix.

Out of all the residents, you got along best with Mel. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising. Everyone got along with Mel.

“You should be sitting this one out, brother.” Jack muttered as he fiddled with his safety goggles. “Nobody would think less of you.”

Robby sniffed, arm tightly crossed in front of his chest, swaying restlessly on the spot. “I have to do something. I can’t- I’ll lose my damn mind if I just sit around.”

The ambulance bay doors opened. The brief moment of silence crumbled under the calls of the EMTs and the stench of blood and panic.

“Male, seventeen, GSW to the right upper thigh. Reported signs of beginning shock, but his condition has been stable since he’s been with us. First aid was administered on scene by another student.”

“Oliver?” Robby had noticed the blood-stained boy trailing behind the EMTs.

“It’s Dwayne.” He sniffled. “Jeremy just fucking started shooting at him out of nowhere. And- and- she- she patched him up and picked a lock so we’d get out-”

“Where is she?” Robby craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the ambulance bay, waiting for you to stumble in and crack one of your jokes you always used as a shield against all the heavy shit of the world. 

But you didn’t come.

Maybe you never would again…

Oliver swayed precariously, and Robby reached out to hold the trembling boy by the shoulders to steady him. The shock of the day clung to him like a thick, heavy cloak.

A weight far too heavy for such a young man to carry.

He knew Oliver. He knew him well. Robby knew his parents and his pizza order. He could recognise his shoes when they were blocking his door when Robby came home after a long shift just to find you, Oliver, Dwayne and Mira lounging on his sofa, your homework long forgotten. He was a good friend. The kind of friend a father would want for his daughter. He picked you up at the door when the whole group went out and made sure handsy guys stayed away from you. Once you’d gotten shitfaced at a house party and Oliver called Robby. He stayed with you by the curb and didn’t leave your side until you were strapped into the seat next to Robby.

“I told her to come with us!”

Jack reappeared at Robby’s side. Robby barely noticed.

“But- but she said she couldn’t.” Oliver wiped his snotty nose with the back of his hand. “That she had to stay and help the others who got shot. There were so many shots. Just- the entire time. In the background. Bang bang bang- and screaming- she- she stopped the bleeding. Said she used something- hemo-something and just shoved it in.”

“Hemostatic? Did she use hemostatic gauze?” Jack asked.

Oliver nodded weakly. “Said it would help clotting. Will Dwayne be okay?”

“We gave him blood, and now he’s going straight up to the OR. He’s in good hands.”

Jack gestured for Perlah, who swooped in with a warmed blanket she put around Oliver’s shoulders before gently pulling him away to get checked over by Whitaker.

“She could have left…” Robby murmured, hands trembling again now that there was no patient to focus on. “She could have gotten out, but she went back in.”

“I call her Robby jr for a reason.” Jack replied dryly, earning a glare from Robby. Jack shrugged. “You’re not known for turning your back on people who need help, brother.”

“I am not one to run towards bullets!”

“Yeah.” Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and shot Robby an apologetic look. “I might not set the best example there.”

“Stupid.” Robby hissed under his breath and crossed his arms again. “Stupid, brave- wonderful girl. Fuck! Why- why can’t she just have some common sense?”

“She has plenty of that, brother. But she also has your heart.”

“I wish she didn’t.” Robby whispered, because when had his stupid, ever-bleeding heart ever not brought him pain?

Yes, you were just like him, and most days… most days Robby tried to figure out how he could ever ask your forgiveness for that, because Robby could not think of a worse fate than to be Robby jr.

Jack never told you that the worst part wasn't the bullets or the screams.

It was the silence.

Silence so consuming it felt like it was a living, breathing thing. A creature born of terror and darkness that knew nothing but to feed to stay alive. Feed on your resolve, your hope, the very essence of your person.

It was deafening, stretching on and on and on until you thought it was finally over, just to be interrupted by a new wave of bullets and screams.

Mira was clutching your hand as tightly as you were hers. The cuffs of her blouse were stained pink from blood, the same blood that coated the bare skin of your legs. You wished you had put on a pair of jeans instead of these shorts, just so you would have to feel it.

The situation seemed to grow more bleak by the second. You could hear the sirens outside and helicopters whirring above. Occasionally the light of the police cars and spotlights fell through the windows, but it felt distant and cold.

You’d patched up four more kids with Mira’s help. Two terrified freshmen, one junior and another one of your classmates. Every deserted hallway you carefully made your way through was littered with bullet holes. In the walls and the lockers, bullets stuck in the bulletproof glass in the doors… 

You wondered whether Jeremy had already noticed he had no backup ammunition…

You still could not wrap your head around any of this. Jeremy was quiet and weird, and at this point it was almost a meme that the weird loner kid was secretly a psychopath, but Jeremy?

He never even made a strange comment that would reveal something darker, more sinister lurking under the surface.

What could drive a person to do something so horrible?

You had a couple of teachers try to make you stay with them and their class, stay behind a locked door, hidden from sight, and a part of you wanted to do nothing more than that. Just… find a blanket and hide under it like you did when you were five years old, and you were still waiting for your mother to come home, but you couldn’t.

How would you ever live with yourself if people died here today and you hadn’t tried what you could to help?

You weren’t an idiot. You knew your fragmented knowledge of medical emergency measures would not guarantee anyone made it out of here alive, but to stop bleeding was better than to not stop bleeding! You could pack a wound. Robby and Jack showed you how and let you practise on the training mannequins the hospital had for the interns and residents when you were stuck at the hospital and bored out of your mind. You knew the signs of shock and what to do until paramedics arrived. You knew more than your classmates and probably more than most teachers, so did you not owe it to them and their families and yourself to try?

You hoped Dwayne was okay.

“Why aren’t they coming in?” Mira whispered next to you, glancing at the flashing blue and red lights filtering into the hallway. “Aren’t they- I don’t know, supposed to come in? Engage the shooter as quickly as possible?”

You shrugged. You really had no idea what the protocol for these things was. “If he’s taken hostages, they wouldn’t, right? Like… to not put them in danger? Hostage situations take forever, Uncle Jack said that once.”

“Do you think he has?”

“I don’t know?! How would I know?”

“Don’t snap at me!”

“Sorry.”

You kept walking. There hadn’t been another shot fired in a while. You wanted to feel relieved, but something in you couldn’t let go of that tension, that anticipation.

You bit back a laugh. Mira looked at you as if you’d lost your mind.

“I just realised we’re just like Yang and Mer in that episode of Grey’s Anatomy with the shooter. Where they just causally stroll through the locked-down hospital.”

“Oh my god, you’re right.”

“And Derek finds them and can’t believe they thought it was just a drill.”

“I feel like that’s exactly how your dad is going to react.”

You winced. “And Uncle Jack… though… yeah, no. Not Uncle Jack. He’s more likely to give us a high-five.”

“He’s such a bad role model.”

“The worst.” You couldn’t help the smirk sneaking onto your lips despite everything.

Both of you fell silent the moment you saw the thick, bloody drag mark leading towards the cafeteria. 

Faint noises grew louder the further you followed the bloody trail. You crept forward slowly, staying pressed against the wall and out of sight. Through the windows set into the cafeteria doors, you watched movement - Jeremy, pacing frantically. He looked unstable, physically. He was swaying and muttering to himself, clenching and unclenching his hands around the rifle strapped to his chest. Unraveling.

That’s not good, you thought, biting your bottom lip bloody.

“That’s why they aren’t coming in.” You whispered and nodded towards the injured pair of police officers sitting slumped against one of the tables.

“Fuck…”

Your principal knelt in front of Jeremy. His hands had been tied behind his back with zip ties. Duct tape covered his mouth. He was bleeding heavily from a wound on his forehead.

“No.” Mira hissed, already realising what had gone through your head. "Absolutely not. Do you have a death wish?”

But any chance to make a decision was taken from you when Jeremy suddenly swirled around and spotted you just as you tried to duck and hide from his gaze.

He called your name and pointed his rifle at the principal.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

An ice-cold shudder ran down your back.

You subtly made sure your hoodie - your dad’s hoodie - concealed the gun still pressing into the small of your back and gripped your medkit tighter, stepping forward and into the cafeteria.

The stench of iron bit into your nostrils.

“You!” Jeremy hissed at Mira. “Get over there.” He gestured towards a cowering group of students, lunch staff and teachers in a corner with the muzzle of his rifle.

You peered at Mira and nodded, lifting your hands to make yourself seem like you weren’t a threat. You were a meek, compliant, submissive little thing. You didn’t have a gun in your waistband. Nope.

“Jeremy, what are you doing?”

You could tell the fact that the school was surrounded by police and the constant assault of sirens was stressing him out. Whatever his plan had been, it had gone off the rails a long time ago. He now was nothing more than a wild animal pushed into a corner about to consider chewing his own limb off to escape.

“They deserve it.” He spat. “My brother went to this school. Did you know that? Five years ago.” Jeremy swirled around, shoving his rifle into the principal’s face again, who flinched. “He killed himself! He died because of you! Because you didn’t stop them! All you had to do was do your job and stop the people tormenting him every fucking day!”

Your principal flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. A muffled whimper made it through the tape stuck over his mouth.

“Jeremy.” You said, keeping your voice soft and soothing, the same way you’d heard your father comfort frantic patients moments away from becoming violent. Jeremy glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry about your brother. That’s horrible.”

Jeremy’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Whatever determination and thirst for revenge had led him at first, it was quickly waning, replaced by the reality of what he had done and the fear the police presence outside struck into his heart.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone else. Just him.”

Liar, you thought, remembering well the weight of ammunition in your hands as you removed it from his locker. Why bring so much fucking ammunition when all you wanted was to kill a single person?

If this was about revenge, about the place he blamed for the loss of his brother, then he wanted the entire school, the whole staff and county to feel the same pain he had been in.

“Of course.” You said anyway. “You’re a good person.”

“I knew you’d understand.” Jeremy muttered and resumed his pacing. “You’re the only one- the only one here who understands.”

Not that he ever truly spoke to you. Is this what you get for trying to make the weird loner kid feel included? Ending up at the centre of some nutjob’s delusion?

“This is very scary, Jeremy. Can you put the gun down?”

He whirled around, raising his rifle and pointing it at you. You felt all warmth leaving your body, blood freezing in your veins, breath stopping-

The principal screamed behind his gag. Mira emitted a panicked shriek somewhere behind you. Shock and fear rippled through the assembled group of hostages.

You kept your hands lifted, your posture submissive, but you let the fear show on your face.

“Jer?”

Jeremy blinked. As though in a trance, he lowered his weapon. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” He said it with a scoff, as if it was ridiculous you’d even think he would.

You looked at the police officers. “May I help them, Jer?”

Submissive, meek, cooperative, non-judgemental.

“They’re going to go easier on you if you let me. You’re a good man. You don’t want to hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it, I know you don’t. Please? I don’t want them to hurt you because they are too stupid to see that.”

Jeremy gave you a tight nod after a moment of consideration. Without taking your eyes off him, you walked towards the police officers. You knelt down on the bloody ground and opened your med kit with trembling hands.

One of them was dead.

Jeremy watched you. He realised it the same moment you did. When your trembling fingers left his clammy, cold neck where no pulse thrummed beneath his skin to still the bleeding of the second officer.

Jeremy pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursed, pacing even more frantically than before. 

The second officer had been hit on the neck. A grazing shot that luckily missed all major arteries, but he’d been sitting here for a long time and lost a lot of blood. You gave the officer a tight-lipped smile and opened one of your last packs of gauze to press to his neck wound.

“What’s your plan, Jeremy?” You asked after a while of silence, only interrupted by fearful whimpering, the sound of his boots against the ground and the sirens outside. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

“If you go out now, unarmed, and with your arms raised, they aren’t going to shoot you.”

“Shut up, you dumb bitch!” Jeremy snarled. “You don’t know shit! I’m not making it out of here- I-” He stomped over to the principal and pressed the muzzle of his rifle against his forehead. He stared down at him, finger curling around the trigger-

Jeremy screamed, pent up and frustrated, and dropped his rifle against his chest before stalking away again, resuming his pacing.

It’s easier to shoot at running kids than execute a grown man, huh, you thought bitterly while bringing the officer’s hand to his neck to hold the gauze in place himself. He tried to grab your wrist and shake his hand, but you were already on the move.

“You can still make it out of here alive.” You said softly, keeping a deliberate distance from Jeremy. He was wearing tactical gear. Shooting him with a handgun, even from close range, would not slow him down enough. The impact of bullets on body armour still left bruises at the very least, or even broken bones, but he had his rifle strapped to his chest. Unless you aimed for his head, and miraculously hit, you couldn’t stop him.

And you couldn’t shoot somebody point-blank in the head.

Not even Jeremy, who had the object of his full hatred kneeling at his feet, after shooting down countless people, could do that.

“I don’t want you to die, Jeremy. Your mom already lost one son…”

Oh, you were not the only one with mommy issues in the room.

You realised your mistake right away, but the words had already left your mouth, and you could not stop them or take them back. Jeremy’s eyes grew hard and cold. He made two steps towards you, drawing himself up to his full height and glared down at you with all the hatred of a starved, abused, radicalised animal.

“And what would you know about mothers, huh? What makes you think mine is any better than all of them, huh?! Fucking kike bitch.”

Your jaw set, nostrils flaring as you tried to contain your rage. Your star of David necklace you inherited from your great-grandmother burnt against your sternum. It was part of a set. Its twin had been proudly worn by your great-grandfather for many, many years and now hung around your father’s neck.

You saw movement from the corner of your eye. Men in tactical gear, closing in on the cafeteria. Panic and rage surged alike inside you.

Jeremy was spiralling. He was losing it, and if the SWAT team moved in now, he’d start shooting blindly. And there were so many civilians around. Would they return fire?

Your body moved before your mind could catch up with the situation.

You punched Jeremy - square in the face, using every bit of momentum you could get to generate force and smashed his nose in, just the way Jack taught you how. 

The slur he hurled at you after you’d done nothing but be nice to him all year still had your blood boiling. You grabbed his shoulders and buried your knee in his groin. Jeremy went down with a muffled groan. You were on top of him immediately, pushing him to the ground with the weight of your body. You reached behind you, drawing the gun to shove it in his face and keep him down or- something.

You had no idea what you were doing!

Your body was running on instincts, survival and primal fear.

Jeremy recovered much faster than you anticipated. He grinned at you with blood-smeared teeth.

“You’re not going to shoot me.” He hissed and, proving his words right, tried to grab the gun from you.

The problem was that you wanted to live - and Jeremy only cared about not dying before killing the principal.

You grappled for the gun. SWAT stormed the cafeteria. Shots were fired. You scrambled to get away, but Jeremy already reached out to grab you. He dragged you to your feet with him and pressed the muzzle of the handgun against your temple.

Your eyes met Jack’s across the room.

He was covered from head to toe in tactical gear, and between the mask and helmet, only his eyes were really visible, but you knew those eyes.

He stared at you intently, then, lifted his fist to stall the team. He nodded at you, once, and you knew what to do.

You widened your stance, took a steadying breath and grabbed the barrel of the gun to yank it away from your head as quickly as you could, catching Jeremy by surprise and breaking his grip on the handle. He tried to reach for the gun, but you grabbed his wrist with your free hand and slammed your elbow into his face. You scrambled away. Jeremy went after you.

Jack fired five shots, each one hitting Jeremy square in the chest. He collapsed.

It was almost comical.

As if someone had dropped a fabric doll from a set of stairs.

How could something so menacing stop being terrifying from one second to the next?

With trembling fingers, you removed the magazine and ejected the bullet from the chamber before dropping everything to the ground.

You didn’t want that thing in your hand. 

You never wanted it in your hand in the first place.

You became painfully aware of all the drying blood clinging to your skin and clothes. Your father’s hoodie you’d stolen and not taken off despite your fight now ruined. Maybe he knew some tricks to clean it. He got blood on his clothes all the time despite the PPE. Sometimes there wasn’t time for PPE. Maybe Dana would know something…

A shuddering, painful sob tore through your throat, a sob you’d been holding back all day, pushing the trauma and fear to the very back of your head and ignoring all the physical symptoms in favour of helping other people.

Controlled chaos erupted around you. SWAT members helped carry the injured officer out and free the principal from the tape and zip ties. The terrified hostages were led outside. Jeremy was searched for weapons.

You stood in the cafeteria, the same place you sat in with your friends for years, complaining about the food and cracking jokes. The usual loud atmosphere of lighthearted jokes and animated chattering was now forever replaced by the sounds of bullets, shouts and screams - and the stench of blood.

You didn’t know if Jeremy was still alive as you stared at his unmoving body. 

A part of you didn’t care. Another, meeker, almost ashamed part of you, the part that had honestly tried to help a lonely, excluded boy feel less alone, did care. It cared a lot, despite everything he had done and everything that had happened. 

You could not consolidate either part with the other.

“Hey, Robby jr.” Jack secured his weapon and stepped up to you. He brushed a strand of sweaty hair out of your face. Finally, the tension coiled tightly around you since Mira stormed into the bathroom, covered in blood, evaporated. You sagged against Jack. He caught you with ease, keeping you upright.

I’m so glad to see you, you opened your mouth to say, your brain already having sent the order to your tongue and lips, but only a gargled noise made it out.

Blood trickled down your chin.

You watched Jack’s face shift from relief to utter terror. The strength in your legs disappeared. You were dragged down by the earth’s gravity. Pain exploded through your insides, dragging a groan to your lips that was accompanied by the taste of old, rusted iron.

Jack was calling your name, but it sounded distant. As if someone had stuffed cotton into your ears.

You felt his hands on you, tearing down the zipper of your ruined hoodie that had been concealing the blood spreading across your stomach fully.

Adrenaline truly was a remarkable thing… your brain mused as it was already powering down.

You hadn’t felt it… three gunshot wounds tearing through your insides, and you hadn’t felt them until you were safe in Jack’s arms…

Next Part

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[revolvingsaturn]

𝜗𝜚 “hey, Megumi, have you ever fucked Yuji?”

more like this | satosugu ver

You really didn’t mean to ask! It was supposed to be more of a joke than anything else, just a laughable throwaway comment made to your boyfriend as you reached for your mug while hugging him cosily on the couch.

There’s two men kissing on your tv, something to do with the romance film you’re supposed to be paying attention to (since you picked, it against Megumi’s will) but the scene makes you giggle. “Heyyy, I bet you’ve made out with Yuji before, haven’t you?”

Your honest expectation was for Megumi to groan at your antics and vehemently deny that, no, he doesn't have a secret one-sided romance in the form of Yuji Itadori- except, he doesn’t. He straightens up against you in the way he only does when he’s trying to hide something, and you blink widely. And, oddly enough, the thought of Megumi making out with his best friend... doesn’t make you jealous at all.

You grab his hand eagerly. “Don’t be embarrassed. But, uh… would you do it again? Make out with Yuji for me?”

He groans. “You’re being really perverted right now.” But he doesn’t say no.

What Megumi also didn’t say is that him and Yuji did a lot more than just make out. Although, that was enough to make you salivate excitedly, Yuji's hands threading protectively into Megumi's dark hair as your boyfriend's tongue meshed against Yuji's mouth, cheek, ears, neck- and then it'd spiralled, Yuji dragging Megumi to straddle his lap against the headboard.

They did a lot more than just grind on each other over their boxers- which they gladly showed you, Yuji’s broad hands rocking Megumi’s narrow hips along- but, apparently, they also fucked. Properly, with spit and sweat and clashing hips.

And, apparently, your boyfriend bottomed.

He looks so pretty like this, is the first thought that floats into your head as you watch the way Megumi’s eyes gloss over at Yuji’s first careful thrust, his soft lips passing open around a shuddered gasp.

You could tell he was trying to be quiet at first, biting his lip to keep the noises from slipping out as hot embarrassment flushed his cheeks. Megumi does the same when you have sex with him, but you have ways of opening him up- and so does Yuji, clearly, fingers curling into his waist to yank him strongly backwards until the noises are punched out of him.

“Mmfh- hah-“ he gasps, eyes brimming with a few overstimulated tears as his elbows give way to crash to the sheets. Yuji’s holding your boyfriend’s lean hips up, plunging into him a little meanly with each stroke.

Megumi can’t look at you. He doesn’t want you to see his face, all pathetic and teary and crammed against the sheets of your shared bed as his best friend pummels inside him. From what you can see, his pretty eyelashes are beaded with tears and they’re rapidly fluttering against the duvet below, spiky hair ruffled in every direction possible.

Although, Megumi couldn’t look at you even if he wanted to. His eyes are rolling themselves starrily back in their sockets as Yuji’s sobbing tip glides across his sweet spot and stretches him out, a few quiet groans slipping out of the pink haired man’s mouth.

When you lean forwards, sliding automatically onto the floor to hold onto Megumi’s hands, his face looks wrecked. He looks wrecked, collapsed forwards into your sheets as Yuji pummels him from behind; you gaze up at him, Yuji awkwardly grins like he’s about to give you a thumbs up or wave then realises his hands are too busy gripping Megumi’s hips.

“Megs,” you whisper, shoving his hair back from his rolling eyes, “Megs, it’s okay. I’ve got you, don't worry.” He nuzzles forwards into your hand and whimpers, tears sliding down his red cheeks. Whether they’re from embarrassment or arousal, you can’t tell.

“F-fuck.” He shudders out, grinding forwards into the sheets. “M’sorry, hck, I…” he trails off, obviously forgetting whatever he was supposed to initially say when Yuji thrusts in again. And then he remembers.

“I’m pathetic.”

Your heart clenches a little. “You aren’t.” You coo, stroking away his tears. “You aren’t, Megs. You’re perfect for us.” He gasps and shudders, hips bucking. Yuji moans from above, lip caught between his teeth.

“S-sorry, guys-“ he heaves, genuinely feeling bad he interrupted, “I don’t think- im about to cum. Do you want me to, like, pull out, Megumi?”

Megumi’s too fucked dumb to answer, face smushed between your loving hands. “Do you want Yu to pull out?” You whisper. Megumi nods lucidly at you, and Yuji adheres; he pulls himself out with an obscenely slick noise and Megumi collapses into the mattress where he continues his mindless grinding into the sheets.

You know he’s ruined the duvet with cum when he moans and his pupils dilate outwards before rolling back, his facial expression quite literally the hottest thing you think he’s ever let you see him do. “So good for us,” you assure him as he shakes through the aftershocks, “so good.”

From behind, Yuji is still half-straddling Megumi as he jerks his cock with his hand. He’s gasping and shuddering above, silken skin slapping against his calloused palm and thumb as he pushes himself towards an orgasm quickly.

“Shit!” He groans when he cums, almost doubling over as his abdomen tenses in on itself. Thick ropes spurt across Megumi’s sweaty lower back, streaking the pale skin with sticky white globs that drip across the flesh almost nastily. “Sorry.” Yuji pants immediately after it’s done, “didn’t wanna ruin your sheets.”

You laugh breathlessly, a little more turned on by his show than you’d be willing to admit if anybody asked. “I think Megs has that one covered. Don’t you, baby?” You purr, holding your boyfriend’s lolling head up in your palms. His face is bright red in embarrassment, but he’s still recovering from the space his brain retreated into for him to respond.

Yuji grins, smile just as boyish as it usually is. Apparently, he’s completely undeterred by the naked body beneath him and the way he’s also incredibly naked, cock out in front of Megumi's girlfriend's face and dripping cum onto Megumi’s back. “Well,” Yuji says, scratching the back of his neck, “I guess you’re right.”

He yanks on his clothes, awkwardly avoiding the way Megumi looks like he’s just ran a marathon and is still panting because of it like his dick wasn’t just buried inside him. Then, Yuji stands in your bedroom like a puppy waiting to be given orders.

“Do you want a drink?” You offer him, still petting Megumi’s head as he recovers. You know he’d hate the attention to be on him when he’s like this, so you’re being casual. Yuji deliberates on this for a moment, tapping his chin. “Do you have tap water?”

You snort. “Yes, we do. Glasses are above the sink, knock yourself out.” Yuji bounces out of the room- thankfully wearing his clothes now- and you hear the glasses clink from your kitchen.

“Hey, Megs.” You whisper, noticing the way his eyes have refocused onto your face. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you did so good. I really liked it.”

He loops his arms- as trembling as they are- around your neck and gasps in a few deep breaths until he’s steady again. “You…” he says quietly, “you liked it?” You nod. “Mhm. A lot.”

He avoids your eye contact and drags the blanket around his hips. “Huh.”

“Guys!” Yuji yells from the hallway, a little too loud for how late it is, “I’m gonna go home and sleep. Have a nice weekend!”

“Bye, Yu!” You call back, before returning your attention to your naked, sleepy boyfriend, who presses his mouth lazily to yours as soon as you’re within reach. You should do this more often.

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: yumyumyumyum

tags (open):

@yvannaille @f33bs @loverofladybugs @p3stop3sta @arabellasolstice @dreamcastgirl99 @what-the-jams @likstars @elenathriel @gyusheadphones @savagecatsuga @wqsrs @kakuthefish @megssleepygirl @olegirldowntheblock @sugerfilled @mershyjershy @1cckedheart @mimicosmos8 @destenyyyyy @icebearcucumber @satoru2716 @mebodys @megumisrighttoe @toesy3 @ivankinnieclatter @v4mp1r3b4tzz @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @stqrgumi @skylaryippee @iridescentshine @hanges-wife @rengoatku @lilyalone @cherryfawnie @toro-inouelover @bowiesprettieststar2 @mischivana @themoonknowsyourname @lovingplum @tellria @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred

people who asked for an itafushi ver (I hope you don’t mind being tagged, eek!) @huckleberrycake @loser-with-eyeliner @jaiceekamo @0soleilmist @dssstinyy @megumiswifeyily

[gloomwitchwrites]

It's Just a Car

For the anon that wanted some fluff and a little hurt/comfort, where reader crashes the car and is more worried about the vehicle rather than themselves, and our boys only care about reader's health and safety. Have some softness (and a little humor.)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, humor, fluff, established relationship, gn!reader, simon’s pov, price pov, kissing, gn!reader, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John glances between you and the car and back again.

It’s unbelievable. Fucking bonkers. The car is completely smashed. Sandwiched. Hardly anything left to it. The fact that you’ve seemingly walked out of the car unharmed is a bloody miracle.

“It’s a shame. Was such a good car,” you sigh, wistfully.

John’s hand drops from his face. “You’re worried about the car?”

You shrug. “Of course. We’ve had it for years.”

With a heavy sigh, John drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to him. As your arms wrap around John’s middle, he breathes you in, savoring your warmth and smell. Just hours ago, you could have been gone. Crushed. Broken and unresponsive.

“Hardly care about an old car, love,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “Just glad you’re safe.”

“John,” you laugh. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”

“You’re goddamn infuriating,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss. “Thinking I care more about some fucking car.”

John claims another kiss. Another. You’re alive and that is all that matters.

“Bloody hell!” comes a low, masculine voice. “Get a fucking room!”

You pull away abruptly, tugging on John’s hand, leading him away from the burly tow truck driver.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“You’re back early.” Kyle emerges from under the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he sits up. He checks his watch. “You’ve been gone all of five minutes.”

That’s right Kyle. Only five.

Five minutes it all it took. That’s how the saying goes, isn’t it? Most accidents happen within five minutes from home. Or is it five miles? Fifteen? Doesn’t matter.

What matters is the god-awful bumper to bumper scrape on the side of Kyle’s new car. A gift from his rich uncle because he’s the favorite. That car is special to him, and you fucked it up. Bad.

“We don’t need it,” you say, lamely.

Kyle’s surprise at your unexpected arrival morphs into confusion. “You decided we don’t need what?”

Shit.

“That,” and you wave your hand in the air, “part you gave me. I mean, is it really that necessary?” You end on an awkward giggle.

Kyle’s confusion dissolves like smoke. “The part I gave you? Told you to take it to John at the hardware store. That part?”

You lick your lips. “Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you reply automatically.

It’s too sharp, too high of a crack. Kyle stares at you intently. Nothing gets past him.

“I won’t be mad,” he says, his voice calm and cool. “Talk to me. Something happen?”

Your stomach drops, twisting hard. Not like you can cover this up. It’s his car. You can’t drop it off at the shop and pretend that everything is fine.

“I might have scraped the side of your car,” you admit.

“Might?”

You feel them then, the tears. Hot and salty.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey. Hey.” Kyle tosses the towel aside and comes to you, encircling you in his arms. “Are you okay? No bumps or bruises?”

“No,” you sob. “Just my pride.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Oh shit.”

Symbols ignite on the dash. Some hold their glow while others flash violently in warning. There’s a consistent hiss you can’t locate, and the radio continues to blare “You Spin Me ‘Round” by Dead or Alive.

“Fucking Jesus,” comes Johnny’s voice to your left.

He’s bent forward slightly, one arm out. It’s pressed against your chest like you’ll fly out of your seat and through the cracked windshield.

“The car,” you breathe. “The car. Oh my God.” Johnny’s hand shifts to your face, grasping your head before moving downwards, checking you over for injuries. “And the cow! Did I hit it? Do you think it’s okay?”

Spawning next to Johnny’s window is the hairy cow in question. It moos, and you both jump. A few more appear behind it, and beyond that, a broken wooden fence where more Highland Cows gather, staring at the accident.

“Fence rotted away,” mutters Johnny. “They got out.”

You sigh with relief, and then groan. “Goddamnit. How are we getting to your parent’s house? This is—I fucked this up.”

Johnny turns in your direction. “Ma will understand.” He reaches for you again, cradling your face. “It’s just a car. You’re more important.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Slow down, dove. You’re talking too fast.”

“I hit a tree! I ran into a fucking tree!”

Simon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I heard that. Not the last bit.”

Your words fire like a semi-automatic. Simon can hardly keep up.

“There was a kid and I wasn’t going to hit a fucking child with a two-ton car so I swerved—”

“Love,” sighs Simon, grabbing his keys and boots, ready to walk out the door.

“—then there was this llama wearing a pink party hat and a raccoon so I assume there was a birthday party or something because why would there be a fucking llama in the middle of the suburbs—”

Simon pauses with his hand on the front door, opened mouthed. “A what?”

“—and where did the racoon come from and why was it chasing the llama and why—”

“Did you hit your head?”

You go silent for a beat. “Did I—” and then, “are you even listening to me, Simon? The car is totaled.”

Simon rests his head against the wood door, eyes shut as he steadies his breathing. “I don’t care about the car.”

“Well, I care.”

“You hurt? Bleeding? Feel dizzy? What’s today’s date?”

“It’s June. First Thursday of the month.”

“What year?”

“Fuck you and come help me!”

Simon chuckles, a twinge pulling at the corner of his mouth. You’re acting a brat, running your mouth, which means you’re perfectly fine, as least mentally. “Sure you’re not bleeding?” he asks, opening the front door. “No scratches?” And then, because Simon finds it amusing, “Impalements?”

“Very funny,” you snort.

“Love you,” smiles Simon, bolting the door. “Be there in ten.”

“Love you, too,” you sigh. “And stay on the phone, please. The racoon might come back.”