✿ Pink Soul ˚꩜｡

Where worlds collide

[olivetreeyale]

Shower thoughts…🚿🧼

Thihihi✨

[rkkuna]

— 𝜗𝜚⋆ your husband gets clingy and sappy during sex

it always starts heated, hungry, almost borderline feral when you get your hands on each other. the rough yet gentle way his voice echoes in your ear at every promise he tells you he’s gonna do to you: knows it makes your knees weak and pussy wet.  

his touch always traveling around your body, knowing it like the back of his hand, knows what you like and don’t like, knows which buttons to press to have you trembling and shaking. whispers the dirtiest things in your ear while he’s got this finger stuffed in your cunt and you can’t do anything but grip his wrist tightly and moan into his mouth when he kisses you.

but there’s also times when it shifts, the entire bedroom becomes soft all of a sudden, like now; sat back on his knees, thumb rubbing the slowest circles on your clit while his can’t take his eyes off the way his cock eases in and out of you with one leg pushed off to the side and the other bent over his shoulder. “baby,” he murmurs, deep and low in his throat, his lips littering wet kisses against your leg. “you’re so pretty, baby.”

your eyes snap open at his words, dazed and confused. “huh?” through tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, you catch sight of him, but he isn’t looking at you. he’s fixated on your pussy. your lips part with another string of soft whines, hand loosely pressed against his chest when he’s slowly grinding into you; the thickness of his cock stretching you out perfectly. “what did you say?”

if he hears you, he choses not to say anything, not yet anyway, too entranced with how he fills you up, eyes hooded and breath stuttering at the warmth of you wrapped around him. doesn’t seem to register the way your nails sink into the skin of his chest each time he pulls out just enough to have you whimpering in protest before pushing right back into you. each thrust knocking your breath out of you.

it’s when his eyes flicker up and meet yours finally, lowering your leg from his shoulder, that he smiles; the lazy and giddy kind, before he’s leaning over you. his body, made up of pure muscle and strength, cages yours beneath him. “you’re pretty too, sweetheart,” his face is instantly tucked into the crook of your neck, hot breath against your skin, causing you to shiver and clench around him. “so pretty, my pretty lady,” he continues, hands running up and down your thighs before he’s wrapping them around his waist for you, body lowering more onto yours.

you gasp into his shoulder, the action of his body pressing down onto you causes his cock to sink deeper. “baby,” you whine, biting his shoulder, hands running up and down his back, moving to his sides just to feel the hotness of his skin before they’re moving back up and around his back; the muscle is hard beneath your touch.

his thrusts are slow and gentle, the thick vein on the underside of his cock throbs against your walls, rough hands slide down your legs and over your hips. his ragged breaths and groans vibrate against your neck and the sharpness of your nails sink into his back. “my pretty baby, so sweet and soft,” he murmurs once more, teeth nipping at your neck. “you’re so perfect, so mine.”

he’s gone, that much you realise, and you also realise he’s not even phased by the way your nails continue to rake up and down his back each time he grinds into you, his mind and body focused on how good you feel wrapped around his cock, how you feel so pliable beneath him. those same hands that make you feel safe no matter what, grip your hips tighter once his pace gets more faster. 

“m’yours,” you choked out, the sound a mixture between a moan and a sob; either way it goes straight to his head, panting into your now sweaty neck. “all yours, honey please.” 

“you’re so perfect, m’so lucky to have you,” he can’t stop, his fingers sinking deeper into your hips and nose sliding up and down your neck.

the plap plap plap of skin slapping echo the room, your ankles locked tightly around him, heels pressing into his lower back each time he drags his cock out, enough to make you whine, before sliding right back in, the tip of his cock catching onto the spot inside you that has stars behind your ears and toes curling. “feels ‘shoo good,” you moan, hips moving on their own accord to meet his thrusts. 

your arm wraps around his neck, holding him close to you and you moan, gasp and whine into his ear softly. his sweaty body sticks to yourself like glue, if anything his grip on your hips tighten, lips attaching to your neck hungrily. “so warm, holy shit” his voice slurs slightly, one hand quickly moving between your bodies where he finds your throbbing clit. “so wet,” his fingers work slowly, drawing figure eights on the bud, groaning each time you clench around his cock. “you’re so fucking perfect, fuck honey.”

his words melt your heart, makes your eyelids flutter closed just for a second; or longer, you can’t tell anymore, basking in his love and affection. “mmm love you,” you gasp, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulder. 

“love you more,” he pants, lifting his head from your neck and pressing his forehead to yours, eyes hooded. “love you so much, my best girl, pretty wife.” 

you cry out against his cheek, walls fluttering around his cock once again at his words, never fails to make you shy and happy no matter how many times he says it. “more, need more, please, honey—”

“wanna feel you, need to feel you, just for a little linger—ohmygod,” another particular thrust of his hips has your legs tightening around him and a deep rumble from his throat causes his pace to falter for just a split second. “pussy was made for me, you were made for me, baby, hm? yeah? lemme feel you for longer, need to, mmmm, that’s it.”

“can’t, need you to move faster.”

his lips curl up into a smirk and you cling to his shoulder tighter when he moves his head towards your neck again, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “lemme play with you a little longer, baby, yeah?”

[annsfics]

♡ things a man provides ♡

♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: after catching you on tinder at work, jack puts himself on a mission to get you off of the obnoxious app & into a meaningful relationship with him instead before it's too late. learning you've never so much as been on a date before & are doubtful about ever finding someone worthwhile, he expends every effort to win you over.

♡ content: jealous!jack, jack treats you to dinner on the roof, buys you flowers, spoils you with attention etc, fingering, dacryphilia (kinda), pet names, teasing, flirting

♡ a/n: based off this request, ty!

With forearms planted atop the back of the office chair you occupy, Santos peers over your shoulder as you swipe left.

And left.

And left.

And—

"Oh, he's cute," she remarks.

Looking up from the rolling computer cart Jack stands at, he eyes the two of you from over the rim of his glasses.

Pushing the phone back in her direction for a closer look, you half turn toward her with a raised brow.

"I was talking about the dog," Trinity explains.

You roll your eyes, then swipe again.

"Honestly, you'd have a better time picking up a guy from Chairs than Tinder. Least that way you can test him for drugs and STDs before taking him home like a stray." After drumming her hands against the back of your seat, she steps away.

"Hey!" Jack calls from a few feet away.

Your head jerks up.

Stalking over to the nurse's station, he plants his hands on his hips. "Get off the phone. No more...Tindering," he spits.

You blink twice, then lock the device before storing it away in your pocket. "Sorry," you mumble, now humiliated.

"Look at me," he commands.

You do as instructed and shrink beneath his authoritative gaze.

Jack leans forward. "I catch you on it again, and I'm taking it away. Understood?"

You nod before dropping your chin in shame.

"Only man you should be giving your attention to is me: your attending," he grumbles.

You shift uncomfortably, praying he'll soon walk away in search of someone else to berate instead.

"C'mon, follow me. Time for you to put your hands to uses other than clicking through your Tinder."

Your shoulders slump, but you nevertheless rise and follow his lead.

Once you've finished wrapping the forehead of a ten-year-old girl in soft white gauze who was nothing short of a trooper while you administered seven stitches, due to a nasty skateboarding accident, you grant her a smile. "You were so brave today. But don't hesitate to tell your parents if your head starts hurting, alright? I'm going to give them some medicine to take home just incase."

A concussion was the first thing Diaz ruled out when she was brought back, thankfully.

The girl nods and sends slick black curls bouncing from the motion. "Okay."

You grin, then turn to look at Abbot.

Bumping the back of your head against his abdomen because he's standing that close to you, you mutter a quiet apology.

"Somethin' you need?" Jack asks while uncrossing his arms.

"Yeah. Can you, uh... Get me the jar of suckers from the shelf behind you? And a roll of stickers, too?"

He nods before turning around to retrieve the requested items. "Sure."

Handing you the jar first, his fingers linger against the warmth of your palm. When you glance up to him with an inquisitive brow, he merely takes a small step back while nodding toward your adorable patient. "I'll give you the stickers next."

You blink, then return your attentions to her. "Alright, sweetie, which flavor?"

"You were good with her," Jack says while cupping his hand around the crown of your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Ignoring the vibrating phone in your pocket, you smile softly. "Kids are easier, I think. Adults are the ones who think they know everything. Or just know better than us because they have a degree from Google University."

He snorts. "It's why cellphones are such a bad idea," he says matter-of-factly while shrugging casually.

You roll your eyes. "I promise to save my 'Tindering' only for breaks and after-hours," you reply while rounding a corner and heading in the direction of your computer so that you can get back to charting.

Sliding his hand from your shoulder to the small of your back, Jack's lips tug into a frown. "I mean, I don't exactly know a lot about it, but isn't that some kind of a hookup app?" He leans in close to your ear. "Where people go to get laid?" He whispers lowly.

It sends a shiver up your spine.

Breaking from his side, you make a beeline for your desktop. "It's...It's the most popular dating app there is, which is the only reason I'm on it. Not everyone uses it for...that, though." You flush. "Most men seem to," you complain with a frown. "But I have what I want outlined in my bio. Then again, that would require them to bother reading it."

You shake your head, then plop down in your seat and toss your phone face-down beside you.

Jack slides his forearms atop the counter in front of you. "Let me take a peek," he says with beckoning fingers.

You think you may fall out of your chair. "I—What? You wanna see my Tinder profile?" You ask incredulously.

He lays his palms face-up and shrugs before clasping them together. "I mean, I could give you a male opinion. Help you figure out why all you're catching are minnows instead of trout."

Your brows knit together. "Who... Who is the trout in this scenario?"

Leaning over the counter, he snatches away your phone. You make to grab for it in a panic, but promptly seat yourself again with the reassurance that he doesn't know your pin. Thus, no entry will be gained.

Wiggling from satisfaction from atop your chair, you roll forward.

A sobering expression crosses his face at the sight. Clearing his throat, Abbot pulls out his glasses and settles them atop the bridge of his nose.

You watch with amusement as he holds the phone at a distance to see properly before pulling up the lockscreen.

"Pin?" He questions while studying you.

You busy yourself with charting. "Never."

He considers for a moment, then turns the phone around to face you. He whistles to gain your attention. "Look here, sweetheart."

The moment you glance up, the home screen reveals itself. "Hey! That's cheating!" You shout while trying to swipe the device from his hands yet again.

"Never said I had any intention of playing fair," he drawls before thumbing through... You worry as to what he's looking at, actually. Like cutesy Pinterest boards dedicated to a dream wedding you'll probably never have.

"Not gonna find any dirty photos on here, am I?" He asks while pressing the screen with his index finger. Who uses digits other than their thumbs on touchscreens, anyway? Besides geriatrics.

Your face grows warm. "No!" You hiss. "Course not!"

He purses his lips. "Here's to hopin'."

Your jaw falls slightly open, and he chuckles.

"Just kidding." He continues searching for the app in question. "Or am I?" He mumbles. "I meant to ask, you ever considered going into peds?"

You pull up your recent patient's chart. "I have. It's just that... The day will inevitably come when a child in my care..." You swallow thickly. "Dies in my care," you finish. "I don't know if I can survive that."

Jack reaches forward and slides his index finger under your chin and tilts your head back until your eyes to meet his own. "That's going to happen if you stay in emergency care anyway, baby. You have to go where the heart calls."

He returns his hand to holding the side of your phone, leaving your skin tingling from the abandoned contact.

"Ah!" He exclaims. "Here we go. Tinder," he purrs.

You focus strictly on the computer screen ahead of you while sliding a hand over the back of your tensed-up neck.

Jack remains quiet for a moment and you peer at him covertly. You will never have your personal phone out while at work ever again from this day forward. Even for emergencies. The landlines provided will do just fine.

You watch as a corner of Jack's mouth twitches before verging into full-on smirking territory.

He's going to make fun of you, you can feel it.

And then he begins to swipe.

"W-what're you doing?"

"Trying to get rid of all these assholes," he mutters. "God, how long does it go on for?"

"I have my radius set pretty wide, so—"

He lowers his head and stares at you with wide eyes. "Your what?"

"R-Radius? Like, miles around me. If men are within the search radius—"

He rolls his eyes. "Got it."

Swipe, swipe, swipe.

You glower. "One of those could be my future husband, you know?"

He jeers. "What? These douchebags? Unlikely."

You've never seen him so irritable. Who peed in his Cheerios this afternoon?

With a sigh, he tosses it down beside you onto a stack of paperwork. "You're never going to find what you're looking for on there. I know you know this."

You swiftly shove the device in your pocket. "It's my only option. It's not like it was in the olden days when people met at the market, y'know?" You commentate a tad snidely. But if he's going to shame you for trying to find someone to love, then he deserves a bit of attitude in return.

It's none of his concern, anyway.

He chuckles. "How old do you think I am, honey?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "Ancient."

Rounding the counter he occupies, Jack grips the back of your chair with one hand and the desk you sit at with the other. Leaning down, he brings himself level with your ear. "I read your little bio," he rumbles. "Looking for someone to settle down with," he quotes. "To start a life with, yada yada. Those are things a man provides." He slides his hand to the back of your neck. "All I saw were boys."

His fingers tugs gently at the base of your scalp. "You wanna meet someone the old-fashioned way? Take a long, hard look at what's in your immediate vicinity."

Jack steps back then and you loose a ragged breath in an attempt to calm your thready heart.

"Just remember what I said," he states while heading into Trauma 2. "I catch you on it again..." He sucks his teeth. "Probably be better if you just removed the temptation and delete the account altogether, you ask me."

He's practically fuming while slyly spying on you from across the parking lot—watching as you smile down at your phone with an index finger gently bit between your teeth.

It's like you're trying to set him off.

Happy-go-lucky guy that Abbot normally is, after today's whole Tinder fiasco, he found himself snapping at residents in the style of Robinavitch at every turn. He's meant to be the fun dad, and yet...

He tosses his bag in the backseat of his truck and cringes when the metal zipper clips the window. Not seeing a chip in the glass, however, he slams the door shut while shaking his head.

He keeps taking his piss-poor attitude out on his vehicle and he'll really have something to be ticked off about when it starts falling apart on the damn interstate.

He plants his palms atop the passenger seat and hangs his head between his shoulders. "Let it go, old man. You're too old for this shit," he mutters. "She's not interested. She's not interested. She's not—"

With a huff, he shuts the door before heading in your direction. "Hey, you hungry?"

Jack watches with a satiated look on his face as you munch on a basket of hot wings.

"It's really pretty up here," you say between hearty bites. "With all the lights. Quiet, too." Turning to face him, you begin wiping your hands with cheap napkins.

It's nothing fancy—the two of you are seated upon bare asphalt after all. But facing each other while making idle conversation is admittedly a lot nicer alternative to being stuck inside a noisy ED.

He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer.

"What?" You ask, sucking on a saucy finger.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You, uh, you've got some—"

Your hand flutters toward your face. When Jack scoots closer, you promptly drop it into your lap when he runs the pad of his thumb along the corner of your mouth.

"T-Thanks," you squeak before taking a pull from your water.

Leaning back against the railing behind him, Jack studies you for a moment. "You can do better than online dating."

Your eyes flit to his.

Holding his hands up, he continues. "I get it. It's just the way it is nowadays. But, sweetheart, the guys I saw on there?"

You interrupt him. Occupying yourself with a packet of wet-wipes, you start scrubbing at your hands. Otherwise you might just nibble them down to the bone the sauce was so yummy.

"I...I'm lonely," you whisper. "And I feel like I've fallen behind somehow." You worry your lower lip between your teeth. "I've never so much as been on a date before. There was just...never time. First, it was graduate from high school, then college, then an internship, now residency. After that, fellowship and—" You shake your head. "I told myself that once I was settled in my career and happy with my living arrangements is when I would put myself out there."

You sniffle while toying with your plastic water bottle, listening idly as the water sloshes around as you turn it one way, then the other. "I don't think I can wait that long. I don't want to. I want someone of my own to love. To call after I've had a bad day. Arms to fall asleep in, a chest to lay against when I feel scared. A body to come home to."

You shrug and wipe at yours eyes. "Then again, how many people do we work with—patients do we meet—who tell us the horror stories that are their relationships and marriages?" You frown. "Hardly makes commitment sound all that tempting."

Jack leans his head to the side, then cups your cheek in his palm. "That's why you don't settle for any less than someone who worships you. Who constantly thinks about you. Who'd kill to keep you safe."

A quiet click sounds at the back of your throat when you swallow.

He brushes his thumb along the apple of your cheek. "You've never been on a date?"

You shake your head.

He smiles softly, leans forward, then murmurs "What're we doing right now, then?" before pressing his lips to yours.

Jack never explicitly asked to enter into a relationship with you. Instead, it seems to be a decision he simply makes without warning.

On the one hand, it's so incredibly flattering to be desired by the Jack Abbot of all people. Of all men. Doctors, even. On the other, he's your attending. As well as someone who seems beyond comfortable in his own skin and abilities as a healer while you otherwise feel like you're stumbling through life.

You truly have no understanding of his decision.

There's nothing particularly special about you. You're not a young prodigy like Javadi, fast as a whip like Santos (not that he exactly seems like her type), as lovely as Mohan, or as intelligent as Mel.

The list goes on.

Maybe he's like all the rest, then? Just having fun while the iron is hot?

You dislike the thought.

It makes you feel cheap; pathetic; used.

It's why when at work...you sort of continue keeping your distance. At least initially.

Intent on hovering and crowding and smothering and touching you, however, Abbot is there nearly every time you turn around.

"I get that you're busy," he tells you one day—his hand sliding from your shoulder blade to your lower back; dangerously close to another body part. "But if you wanna keep playing hard to get even though you're already mine, then I'm happy to keep chasing."

And then he'd leaned close, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. "Tell you the truth, the whole thing is giving my Viagra a run for its money."

Instead of it turning you on, as was clearly his intention, it'd only made you feel sick. Because you were right after all: he only saw you as a collection of parts to...objectify.

You had scurried away after, leaving him a bit perplexed.

It's only been a few days since the rooftop, so granted not much has happened thus far, but forcing yourself to have an awkward conversation with Jack where you innocently inquire What are we? feels out of the question. Not to mention humiliating. You're here to work, not star in a rom-com.

Whatever he's after, he clearly needs to start looking elsewhere.

But instead of being a damn adult about the entire ordeal and pulling him aside to talk like grown-ups...you sort of latch onto Robby instead. Not in a flirtatious sort of way. Just as a mentor and mentee one. By otherwise being occupied with learning from him, maybe Jack will move on? Grow bored? As much is inevitable, you figure.

When Jack stumbles across you all but pressed against Robby's side in Trauma 4 one day, however, it's like the pin in a grenade is pulled. All that's left is to release the lever.

He never took you for a tease, but he'll be damned if he's not going to mark his territory as a last resort before throwing in the towel.

Entering the Pitt Friday evening, you're greeted by a vision. A lovely floral arrangement sits atop the nurse's station in a crystal vase; its blooms sprouting in every direction.

You smile at Dana while walking past. "Looks like Benji is quite the romantic."

"Not for me, doll. Had to sign for 'em, but they're for you."

Halting in your tracks—causing your tennis shoes to squeak against the polished tile floor beneath you—you turn and pad over to it. Plucking the enclosure card from the plastic cardette, you read it over.

Meet me where I made you mine. — J

You glance up to Dana who throws a hand up while dialing the phone in front of her with the other. "Didn't read it. Hand to God, kid."

"Could you...keep this here for me until the end of my shift?"

Sliding it back toward herself, she nods. "You got it."

"We couldn't have done this downstairs?"

Standing just behind the railing positioned at the edge of the rooftop, Jack turns back to you with folded arms. "Felt like this should be a private conversation," he replies while stepping unsteadily toward you.

Perhaps his leg is giving him fits tonight.

Matching his strides, you meet him halfway.

He remains silent, with a thoughtful look etched upon his face. "Am I just not what you're looking for, then?"

Your brows furrow as you bat your lashes. "What?"

He huffs. "You've barely spoken to me in the last week, sweetheart. I'm getting mixed signals. You put on your Tinder," he says with an upwards wave of his hand, "that you want essentially the same things that I do. But I try to get close—give you my attention—and you glue your ass to Robby's side instead."

You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it a moment later as he continues.

"Look, I get it. I've been out of the game for awhile, so maybe I don't really know what goes nowadays. I tried giving you attention and that backfired. I flirted and I got the same result. So now I'm going old-fashioned with flowers and clandestine meetings on rooftops. I just—" he steps forward. "I need you to tell me whether to stay or go. Because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. I'd thought we were together, but if you've changed your mind about commitment and settling down—"

"I haven't," you blurt out.

He quiets.

"You... You never asked me."

He raises a silver brow.

"To be...yours. I wasn't sure what we were. And I felt stupid at the idea of even asking. And then with the Viagra comment," you say with a flush. "It seemed like I was back to online dating, but in real life this time."

He hangs his head and sighs. "That's on me." He raises it. "I can have a peculiar sense of humor sometimes. Guess it gets even worse when I'm making a come-on."

Sliding his hand along the back of your neck, he holds you close. "I didn't think it needed saying after the night we were together up here. I just assumed we were on the same page. So I am truly sorry that I never bothered to ask if you wanted to be—" His mouth quirks to the side as he thinks. "Boyfriend and girlfriend are way too juvenile for me," he mumbles. "Partners, then."

He slides his hand to your shoulder. "Everything you listed is what I have to offer; what I want to give you."

You nervously rub at your arm. "I just didn't want to make assumptions."

He grins. "Too late."

Your eyes flit to his.

"I already did for the both of us, sweetheart. Listen, I'm not some kid on the internet throwing darts at a board until something sticks and I get a consolation prize out of it. I want you, and only you. I have since the day you were first assigned to me."

"Oh," you say, leaving your lips slightly parted.

"So," he begins while running a calloused palm down your arm before gripping your fingertips. Lifting them to his lips, he brushes a kiss along the back of your hand. "We're clear on what we're doing this time, then? That you belong to me and me alone, and I to you?"

You glance away while heat rushes to your cheeks.

You nod. "Yes, I think so."

He chuckles. "Good."

Jack wraps you in his arms and holds you firm against his chest. "Because if I see you with Robby again, I'm throwing my leg at him in the parking lot."

You cackle while burying your face in his chest and inhaling the calming, woodsy scent of his cologne.

It takes some adjusting to: being Jack's girl. From him assigning himself to being your designated driver to and from work, to cooking for you in the comfort of his well-stocked kitchen, to asking rather sheepishly if you'll rub his leg at night—what begins with butterflies and nervous laughter, ends in routine and comfortability.

The only excitement is at the ED. Because outside of it, you each share quiet nights in. Ones where you lie atop his chest on the couch while he watches TV... Or the one where he finally coaxes you out of your shirt and bra so that he can run his palms along the soft skin of your back.

He says it feels nice, since they can ache at times from arthritis.

The scratchy sensation makes your skin sing in the best of ways.

He seems rather pleased, after having moved you in before long, when you finally take liberty in using what's his, but for yourself. Like his t-shirts for sleeping in, his razor for shaving (men's are superior, you tell him), his truck for picking up groceries and his credit card to pay for them, and... Well... His stethoscope on the nights the two of you play doctor in the bedroom.

So, yes, physical intimacy is a facet of your relationship which does develop naturally in due time. And to his credit, Jack is endlessly patient with you as he teaches you all about it.

Insecurity about inexperience in every arena—sexual or otherwise—had certainly been of much concern to you. Perhaps he'd prefer someone who had familiarity with partnership, you'd worried. But he made clear that being able to claim you in every way there is stroked his masculine ego like nothing else.

And being the first to put hands on you...?

It doesn't take long for you to learn that you really enjoy extra attention being paid to your breasts, for example, when he laps at them with his tongue while his fingers explore the sopping folds between your legs. Gruffly, he says things which get you dripping with little effort applied: "That feel good, sweetheart?", "Spread your legs for me, baby.", "C'mere and lie back on the bed so that I can take your clothes off, angel."

You'd once asked shyly from atop your shared bed if he could please wear his dog tags during. With a grin, he muttered quietly "Yeah, honey, I can do that," before obliging your request.

As if he's Pavloved you, he sometimes teases even while at work just to get a rise out of you. Like when he seats himself next to you as you chart—sliding a palm along your inner thigh until it's right against your heat. Jack merely leaves it there, and smirks every time you make a typo.

Or when you do a job well done with a patient and he'll mutter "Good girl." before stepping away.

By the time the two of you get home, you're feral with want, and care little to none about waiting for his Viagra to kick in.

So, he typically makes use of his tongue instead until he's able to achieve manhood. He usually challenges himself in getting you to come twice on it before finally sinking his cock between your fluttering walls and kissing away your tears, you're that overstimulated from him rutting away between your thighs.

You'd been so afraid before—paranoid, even—of winding up in an unhealthy, and deeply unhappy relationship, but with all the love and tenderness he gives you, you can scarcely imagine ever wanting another.

Besides, Jack tells you that just the thought of you with someone else is likely to make his head explode. So, for better or worse, you're stuck with him.

You find that you're just fine with that fact. Especially at night when he holds your naked body close to his—his arms wrapped tightly around you—and as you drift off to sleep, he whispers how he's never letting you go now that he's found you.

[holy-minseok]

... FOR THE WRITERS <3

Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin

Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.

I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).

"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”

Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.

Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.

If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.

↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.

I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default

Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!

[kryptidfiles]

born to ride Clark Kent, forced to read and write fanfiction of him 🥀

[sc3ptre]

krpyonite play… and if i asked for this to be expanded upon then what 😛

Rocking on your Kryptonite

Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938

a/n: Soooo very highly requested after I posted Clark's NSFW Alphabet and since it's currently hot enough to melt both me and my laptop before I can finish the next chapter of The Marvelous Mrs. Kent, I figured I'd share this in the meantime. Hope you guys enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!

Classification: Smut +18 | Unprotected sex and creampie, brief mention of blood and marking, sex while physically weakened/power dynamics (consensual physical vulnerability due to Kryptonite poisoning), anxiety surrounding mortality and existential reflection

Word count: 3,1k

Divider by me ;)

K - Kryptonite play (consensual and careful): This only happens if he suggests it first and requires insane levels of trust. A controlled amount makes him feel more human and sensitive. It stays at a safe distance, ideally with you in the dominating position, riding him while watching deep green veins crawl up his skin. When you start worrying and try to move faster, he begs you to slow down so he can experience this vulnerability under your control. He’ll tell you when he needs it to stop but often keeps it around during aftercare so he can feel tired and sleepy with you....

The room was swallowed by a thick, oppressive darkness, save for the sickly, emerald radiance bleeding from the bedside table. The lead-lined box sat open, allowing the kryptonite to pulse with a rhythmic, poisonous light that painted the walls in shades of green.

You were perched atop him in a slow, grinding rhythm, thighs gripping his waist as you sank deep onto his thick, throbbing cock. Inch by veined inch, your soaked pussy swallowed him whole, stretching around his impressive girth until your clit ground flush against his pelvis. Clark lay beneath you, chest heaving like a dying engine, skin slick with a cold, heavy sweat that made the sheets stick to his broad back and shoulders. Beads of it rolled down his temples, tracing paths that caught the green glow and shimmered like liquid poison. 

He looked fragile, a word that never applied to the Man of Steel and the sight of it sent a jolt of raw heat straight through your core, making your walls flutter and clench greedily around him.

As you rolled your hips in a filthy circle that dragged his cockhead against that sweet spot deep inside you, your fingers reached out to trace the side of his neck. The skin burned hot under your touch, feverish from the radiation but beneath the surface you felt the distinct, raised ridges of green veins crawling up his throat and temple, pulsing in time with the glowing rock nearby. 

They stood out dark and angry against his pale skin, branching like toxic ivy. The radiation was stripping him bare, peeling away every layer of invulnerability and leaving behind a raw, hypersensitive man who felt every millimeter of your slick friction with an intensity that was almost agonizing.

His massive hands were clamped onto your hips but their grip was wrong. Usually, his touch was a careful, measured restraint, always holding back the terrifying strength that could shatter you but now, his fingers trembled. His hold was weak, slipping slightly against your sweat-slick skin, thumbs pressing with barely any pressure as his muscles failed him and the toxin seeped into his marrow. He was exhausted, breath coming in ragged, wet gasps that echoed in the silence of the midnight hour in deep, shuddering inhales that sounded pained, followed by shaky exhales that brushed hot against your collarbone.

You looked down at him, seeing the way his pupils were blown wide, blue eyes clouded with a mixture of pain and absolute, unwavering devotion. The trust in the room was palpable, a heavy, intimate weight that pressed down on both of you because he had asked for this, he had begged you to feel this human, to feel the terror of weakness while anchored by your presence, body and control.

You picked up the pace, hips snapping down harder, driven by a sudden, desperate need to claim him while he was this broken. The obscene, wet sounds of your soaked cunt sliding up and down his cock filled the air with lewd squelches every time you bottomed out, your arousal and his precum mixing into a slick substance that coated his heavy balls and dripped down to soak the sheets. 

Your tits bounced with each thrust, nipples hard and aching, brushing against his sweat-drenched chest.

As you accelerated, you saw his head toss back into the pillow, jaw locking tight as the green veins in his neck bulged prominently. Suddenly, a sound tore from his throat in a low moan that cracked into a broken whimper of genuine distress, something you had rarely heard him make in all your time together. It was the sound of his body buckling under the strain, raw and exposed, like the last defense of a god crumbling.

Panic quickly flared hot in your chest and you immediately shifted forward, still impaled on his throbbing length, reaching one hand toward the bedside table to slam the lead lid shut and end the torture but before you could touch the box, Clark’s hand shot up.

It was sluggish and shaking but he still managed to catch your wrist, fingers barely curling around your skin with fading strength. You didn't stop moving, pussy still clenching and sliding up and down in a slow, agonizingly deep friction, milking his cock with every roll of your hips but your wide eyes locked onto his.

"Not yet," he breathed, voice a wrecked, gravelly shadow of itself, barely more than a hoarse whisper.

You were breathing heavily, breasts heaving as you stared at the sweat dripping from his chin onto his collarbone. His other hand, still resting on your hip, gave a weak, demanding squeeze, prompting you to keep grinding against him, to keep fucking him through the haze of poison and pleasure.

"You're in pain, Clark," you whispered, voice trembling with worry and lust as you felt his cock twitch and pulse inside your tight pussy. "I think it's enough. I can't...I can't watch you suffer like this."

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, as the green veins pulsed vividly under the emerald light. He then looked up at you, his expression one of pure, erotic surrender, eyes glassy and lips parted while a small string of saliva bridged the gap between them as he fought for breath. His abdomen clenched visibly beneath you, fluttering with exhaustion but his cock stayed rock-hard, buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt.

"I can feel it," you groaned, your own pleasure peaking as you felt him twitch again, thick and hot inside you. You rocked slower, savoring the drag, nails digging into his chest just enough to leave faint marks on skin that should’ve been unremarkable by you. "I can feel how weak you are…It's too much."

His hand on your wrist loosened but didn't let go, guiding your palm back to rest on his heaving chest instead. The trust was raw and sometimes terrifying, but beautiful. He didn't want the safety of the lead box, he wanted the vulnerability of being completely at your mercy, stripped of his godhood, feeling every throb of your velvety walls, every ridge of his own cock as it speared into you and every drop of sweat sliding between your joined bodies while the poison made him crave you with a desperation that bordered on madness.

His breathing hitched again with another broken, needy sound escaping as you clenched around him. His hand trembled on your hips, fingers slipping in the slickness, no longer able to guide you with superhuman force but still trying, still holding on to this moment of complete surrender.

You leaned down closer, forehead nearly touching his, breaths mingling as you continued the slow, filthy ride. Your soaked pussy slid up and down his thick, straining cock in grinding circles, taking him to the hilt again and again so every veined inch dragged against your fluttering walls. The kryptonite's light cast shadows across his face, highlighting every bead of sweat clinging to his brow, every straining tendon in his neck,and the darkening green veins that mapped his vulnerability.

He remained pinned beneath you, shivering and spent, yet refusing to let you save him until he had felt every single second of the exquisite ruin you were bringing him. 

Clark let out a guttural groan, muscles twitching and jumping under sweat-slick skin. Despite the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the heavy-lidded eyes, the dark circles and the sweat pouring off him in rivulets, he managed a tired, blissful smile that tugged weakly at the corners of his lips. "What's pumping out of me right now is far from pain..." he rasped, voice vibrating through your shared heat, broken and hoarse. "Not yet, sweetheart…please."

As if to prove his point, his cock gave a powerful, rhythmic throb inside you, stretching your walls to their limit and leaking hot precum that mixed with your dripping arousal. You let out a high, needy whine, forehead dropping fully to meet his. Your eyes fluttered shut, the world narrowing down to the salty-musk scent of his sweat, the sickly sweet-green glow of the room and the overwhelming fullness of him buried so deeply. 

In a surge of desperation, you arched your back and dug your nails deep into the meat of his shoulders and for the first time in months, you felt his skin give.

There was no resistance or impenetrable barrier, solely the soft, visceral slide of your nails breaking through his flesh, leaving raw, crescent-shaped marks that welled with tiny beads of blood. The suddenness of it sent a jolt of fear-laced arousal through you, the realization that he was truly, dangerously fragile in your hands made your heart hammer against your ribs and your pussy clench hard around his cock.

Clark felt the change in your energy and the flicker of panic in your touch. He opened his eyes, and you saw them shimmering, tears of raw emotion welling up in the blue depths and spilling over to mix with the sweat on his temples. The fact that you were scared for him, that you felt the weight of his mortality, made every second of the poisoning worth it. He wasn't a god here, he was just a man trembling, leaking, hypersensitive and utterly yours.

"Honey..." you whimpered, hips never stopping their relentless, grinding pace. Your pussy slid over him in wet, sloppy friction, loud and obscene in the oppressive silence.

He reached up, one large palm cupping the back of your head with trembling fingers, tangling in your hair to lock you against him. He held you there, forehead to forehead, breaths mingling in hot, desperate pants.

"Help me stay in this dream a little longer," he whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of your combined panting and the wet squelch of your cunt riding his cock.

"I'll still be here when it's over," you moaned, voice breaking as you sank down on him again, feeling every thick inch split you open. "And long after the sun rises…You know that."

A full-body shudder ran through his entire frame, making his cock jerk and pulse inside your tight cunt. "The marks you leave behind won't...I want to see them on my skin in the light of day." His voice cracked with raw need. He wanted the evidence of this vulnerability, the physical proof that he had been broken open by you, claimed, marked and made mortal under your hands.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of it, you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, face pressed against the green veins of his throat. You could hear the frantic, uneven thud of his heart beneath your ear, weaker and more human than it had any right to be. You accelerated your pace, pussy clenching tight around him, milking him with every desperate downward thrust. The wet slap of your bodies meeting grew louder and filthier as your ass bounced against his heavy balls, cock churning your combined fluids into a creamy mess that leaked out around him with every rise and fall.

Clark’s other hand on your hip tightened as much as his fading strength allowed, fingers digging in to help guide your rhythm, pushing you down harder and faster. The pleasure for him was agonizingly amplified, every nerve ending raw and exposed by the kryptonite. Each drag of your slick walls felt like fire and lightning at once, too much, too perfect. His breaths came in wet, labored gasps, chest heaving beneath you as sweat poured off him in sheets, making your tits slide messily against his slick pectorals.

The climax built slowly, torturously, dragging you both toward the edge. Your walls fluttered and tightened around his throbbing length and Clark’s groans turned into broken, whimpering moans, sounds of pure, helpless ecstasy mixed with the strain of his body fighting the poison. 

His cock swelled even thicker inside you, veins pulsing in time with the green glow.

When the orgasm finally hit, it crashed over you both like a tsunami that refused to recede.

You screamed into his neck, your internal muscles convulsing in violent, rhythmic waves as you came hard, your entire body shaking and shuddering on top of him. Your pussy spasmed wildly around his cock, squeezing and milking him in powerful contractions that drew out every drop of pleasure. Juices gushed around his shaft, soaking his groin and thighs as you ground down desperately, riding through the peak.

Simultaneously, Clark let out a loud, wrecked groan that sounded like a prayer torn from his soul. His weakened body bucked up beneath you in shallow, exhausted thrusts, cock pulsing frantically as he came. 

Thick, hot ropes of cum shot deep inside you, flooding your pussy in heavy, endless spurts that filled you to the brim and beyond. For Clark, the orgasm felt fundamentally different, terrifyingly sensitive as every nerve was stripped bare. The release crashed over him in prolonged, devastating waves that left him gasping and trembling, tears slipping freely down his temples.

It was catharsis, a complete surrender of his body and soul, while the poison heightened every throb and spurt, until he felt hollowed out, raw and profoundly human. His balls tightened and emptied in long, draining pulses, cock twitching and jerking inside your twitching pussy as aftershocks continued to rip through him, prolonging the ecstasy into something almost painful in its intensity.

Even as the main peak faded, smaller ones kept rolling through both of you. Your pussy continued to flutter and squeeze around his spent cock, drawing out weak, oversensitive whimpers from deep in his chest. His hands trembled on your skin, barely holding on, breath ragged and wet against your hair. The exhaustion settled heavy into his bones, a bone-deep tiredness that made his limbs feel like lead, yet the emotional high kept him anchored to you.

You collapsed fully on his chest, your skin sliding against his sweat-slicked torso, bodies still joined with his softening cock buried deep inside your cum-filled pussy. The only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized rasp of your breathing, the emerald light of the kryptonite still casting long, ghostly shadows across the two of you as you lay there, entwined and utterly spent.

Clark’s hand moved slowly up and down your back in long, lazy strokes, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with fragile tenderness. The warmth of his release leaked slowly out around him with every subtle shift of your hips, a slick, messy reminder of how thoroughly he had spilled into you, thick, pearly cum trickling down his shaft and over his heavy balls, coating your skin in warm, sticky evidence of his surrender.

His chest rose and fell beneath you in uneven rhythms. He tried to hide how much trouble he was actually having breathing but you felt it in the way his lungs hitched and the faint tremor that ran through his entire body. Sweat still glistened on his skin, cooling slowly under the green light, making every point of contact between you slick and intimate.

“I wish you could have this all the time,” he said without thinking, voice hoarse and quiet, barely above a whisper.

You turned your face just enough to see the side of his face, your cheek still pressed to the damp skin of his shoulder. “Have what?” you asked quietly.

“Normalcy.” He paused, the word hanging heavy between you. His hand kept moving along your back, slower now, as if even that small motion cost him. “Proof that when the suit goes on, the man under it is still yours.”

You traced your hands over the dark veins of kryptonite that lingered beneath his skin, following their faint paths across his chest and neck with gentle fingertips. The raised lines felt warmer than the rest of him, pulsing faintly in time with his labored heartbeat. You knew what man, what version of him, was talking now. “I’ve always wanted to touch the stars…and I come home to a gift from them.” You paused. “The one time I needed proof of vulnerability from you, you opened your heart and let me in...I know just how human you are…Kal-El.”

Clark met your eyes and realized he could do nothing but stare. The blue of his gaze was glassy and unguarded, shimmering with everything he couldn’t say. How could someone know both parts of him so deeply? His breath caught visibly and a soft, broken sound escaped him as the weight of your words settled over his weakened body.

He moved his hand with visible effort, cupping your jaw and pulled you into a kiss. His lips were fever-warm and trembling against yours, the kiss was slow, deep and a little desperate, as if he were trying to pour every remaining ounce of himself into you. His tongue moved lazily against yours, tasting of salt and exhaustion. 

You made sure he stayed distracted by the kiss, pouring yourself into it just as fully, while your hand blindly reached toward the bedside table until your fingers found the lead lid and pushed it shut over the kryptonite with a soft, final click. The green glow vanished instantly, plunging the room into deeper shadows broken only by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.

He pulled back enough to rest his forehead against yours, hand now resting in place while the pad of his thumb brushed across your cheek. “You touch my soul and act like you never meant to reach for it,” he murmured, voice cracking with raw emotion. “Only the sun has come this close…”

His eyes began fluttering shut, heavy lids drifting downward as the full weight of the kryptonite’s aftermath crashed over him. No matter how many times you’d witnessed it, the fear still twisted sharp in your chest as you watched the last traces of tension leave his face, but you knew this was part of the process, this was the price he willingly paid to feel human with you. You didn’t want to take your eyes off him but you did for a second, glancing toward the window, hoping to see the first hints of sunrise bleeding across the horizon. 

Yet the sky remained dark and indifferent.

“Only the sun,” you breathed quietly, the words slipping out like a prayer against his lips as a single tear slid down your cheek. It would only register to him because of how many times it had happened before, because he knew every small tell of your heart the same way you knew his and it had been proven that not even kryptonite could strip you away from his being.

The promise of sunrise would never make it easy, not when its absence was what gave it meaning. So you would keep hoping for it, even as you cherished every sundown spent beside him because every dawn was a reminder that even the most constant light could leave and still be worth yearning for.

It was the debt of being conscious and in love…the very burden and privilege of being human.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!

[njbuvyvtc]

⚠️I WILL FIND YOU SPOILER!! below the cut.

I can’t believe my delusional aah actually fell for it. 🙏😭

[rkkuna]

— 𝜗𝜚⋆ your husband gets clingy and sappy during sex

it always starts heated, hungry, almost borderline feral when you get your hands on each other. the rough yet gentle way his voice echoes in your ear at every promise he tells you he’s gonna do to you: knows it makes your knees weak and pussy wet.  

his touch always traveling around your body, knowing it like the back of his hand, knows what you like and don’t like, knows which buttons to press to have you trembling and shaking. whispers the dirtiest things in your ear while he’s got this finger stuffed in your cunt and you can’t do anything but grip his wrist tightly and moan into his mouth when he kisses you.

but there’s also times when it shifts, the entire bedroom becomes soft all of a sudden, like now; sat back on his knees, thumb rubbing the slowest circles on your clit while his can’t take his eyes off the way his cock eases in and out of you with one leg pushed off to the side and the other bent over his shoulder. “baby,” he murmurs, deep and low in his throat, his lips littering wet kisses against your leg. “you’re so pretty, baby.”

your eyes snap open at his words, dazed and confused. “huh?” through tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, you catch sight of him, but he isn’t looking at you. he’s fixated on your pussy. your lips part with another string of soft whines, hand loosely pressed against his chest when he’s slowly grinding into you; the thickness of his cock stretching you out perfectly. “what did you say?”

if he hears you, he choses not to say anything, not yet anyway, too entranced with how he fills you up, eyes hooded and breath stuttering at the warmth of you wrapped around him. doesn’t seem to register the way your nails sink into the skin of his chest each time he pulls out just enough to have you whimpering in protest before pushing right back into you. each thrust knocking your breath out of you.

it’s when his eyes flicker up and meet yours finally, lowering your leg from his shoulder, that he smiles; the lazy and giddy kind, before he’s leaning over you. his body, made up of pure muscle and strength, cages yours beneath him. “you’re pretty too, sweetheart,” his face is instantly tucked into the crook of your neck, hot breath against your skin, causing you to shiver and clench around him. “so pretty, my pretty lady,” he continues, hands running up and down your thighs before he’s wrapping them around his waist for you, body lowering more onto yours.

you gasp into his shoulder, the action of his body pressing down onto you causes his cock to sink deeper. “baby,” you whine, biting his shoulder, hands running up and down his back, moving to his sides just to feel the hotness of his skin before they’re moving back up and around his back; the muscle is hard beneath your touch.

his thrusts are slow and gentle, the thick vein on the underside of his cock throbs against your walls, rough hands slide down your legs and over your hips. his ragged breaths and groans vibrate against your neck and the sharpness of your nails sink into his back. “my pretty baby, so sweet and soft,” he murmurs once more, teeth nipping at your neck. “you’re so perfect, so mine.”

he’s gone, that much you realise, and you also realise he’s not even phased by the way your nails continue to rake up and down his back each time he grinds into you, his mind and body focused on how good you feel wrapped around his cock, how you feel so pliable beneath him. those same hands that make you feel safe no matter what, grip your hips tighter once his pace gets more faster. 

“m’yours,” you choked out, the sound a mixture between a moan and a sob; either way it goes straight to his head, panting into your now sweaty neck. “all yours, honey please.” 

“you’re so perfect, m’so lucky to have you,” he can’t stop, his fingers sinking deeper into your hips and nose sliding up and down your neck.

the plap plap plap of skin slapping echo the room, your ankles locked tightly around him, heels pressing into his lower back each time he drags his cock out, enough to make you whine, before sliding right back in, the tip of his cock catching onto the spot inside you that has stars behind your ears and toes curling. “feels ‘shoo good,” you moan, hips moving on their own accord to meet his thrusts. 

your arm wraps around his neck, holding him close to you and you moan, gasp and whine into his ear softly. his sweaty body sticks to yourself like glue, if anything his grip on your hips tighten, lips attaching to your neck hungrily. “so warm, holy shit” his voice slurs slightly, one hand quickly moving between your bodies where he finds your throbbing clit. “so wet,” his fingers work slowly, drawing figure eights on the bud, groaning each time you clench around his cock. “you’re so fucking perfect, fuck honey.”

his words melt your heart, makes your eyelids flutter closed just for a second; or longer, you can’t tell anymore, basking in his love and affection. “mmm love you,” you gasp, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulder. 

“love you more,” he pants, lifting his head from your neck and pressing his forehead to yours, eyes hooded. “love you so much, my best girl, pretty wife.” 

you cry out against his cheek, walls fluttering around his cock once again at his words, never fails to make you shy and happy no matter how many times he says it. “more, need more, please, honey—”

“wanna feel you, need to feel you, just for a little linger—ohmygod,” another particular thrust of his hips has your legs tightening around him and a deep rumble from his throat causes his pace to falter for just a split second. “pussy was made for me, you were made for me, baby, hm? yeah? lemme feel you for longer, need to, mmmm, that’s it.”

“can’t, need you to move faster.”

his lips curl up into a smirk and you cling to his shoulder tighter when he moves his head towards your neck again, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “lemme play with you a little longer, baby, yeah?”

[sieunified]

NA HWAJIN HUSBAND HEADCANONS

SUM. hwajin as your husband

(TYAL MLST) . na hwajin x wife!reader · slice of life, domestic fluff, est. relationship, husband!hwajin

• husband!hwajin who asked you to marry him without a ring or planning, just the desire to be yours forever, motivating hwajin. you were about to go to bed, tired from another long day of work, but when he looked at you, focused on your night routine, arranging things for the next day, hwajin realized that was a vision he wanted to have for the rest of his life; hwajin’s words came without hesitation, spontaneous, carrying with them all the hope and desire for a full life by your side.

“let’s get married. i can't bear to spend another day with the fear of losing you. i want this life we have forever.”

• husband!hwajin who at your wedding, at the end of the day under the sunset, pulled you away from all the guests and said private vows just for you. at the ceremony hwajin was too eager to hurry up the ceremony and finally have you forever and ever, and, as such, his vows were beautiful, yes, but brief; however, when the day was ending, when dancing and laughter occupied all the space, hwajin gently held your hand, taking you to the garden, pouring out his soul in the form of simple words.

“i promise to love you. not as i love you now, or as i loved you yesterday, but as i will love you tomorrow and the day after, for i continue to fall in love with you constantly and my love will never diminish, only grow.”

• husband!hwajin who sits in the kitchen with a guitar and serenades you. whenever you were cooking, cleaning the kitchen, or simply working, hwajin would take his guitar (because, yes, of course he’s good at everything, including singing and playing a guitar) to the kitchen and embellish your tasks with a gentle melody echoing through the room, the music that your husband played for you comforting your heart and making you smile every time hwajin decided to accompany his guitar with his sweet voice.

“honey, i made up this ballad with you in mind. wanna hear it?”

• husband!hwajin who likes to be the little spoon when you take a nap on a sunday afternoon. hwajin liked to have you in his arms, to have the feeling that, in a way, he was protecting you from the world and that he contained within you all the essence of your soul that made you so unique, so beautiful; however, hwajin wasn't going to deny that he also liked to feel held, to have your hands around his body in a warm blanket of pure love and tranquility.

“do you want to take a nap with me? i wouldn't mind being held now... because… i need you, to... you know. please?”

• husband!hwajin who adopted a dog on your first anniversary. hwajin would be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking about a family with you since the day he told you he loved you — it was stronger than him. you made hwajin dream, dream about things he never thought he wanted, things he never thought he was worthy of wanting; you were magic for hwajin, an eternal source of dreams and hope and he just wanted to repay you — a dog, an animal that would keep you company when he was away, an animal that was capable of loving you almost as much as hwajin, almost.

“i don’t know what magic you have in you, but i just want to continue to grow with you and make our relationship grow. this dog is the beginning of our family.”

• husband!hwajin who reads you books out loud when you are tired or sad. hwajin asked you to lay your head on his lap and choose the book he would read: poetry, fantasy, even plays he was capable of reading and interpreting for you if it meant you resting and laughing for moments; there were entire hours of nothing more than your husband's melodious words filling the room, various tales and stories coming to life through his voice while you closed your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the narrative recited by hwajin.

“if i read you shakespeare and look at you while i read the love dialogues, does that count as a confession from me to you?”

• husband!hwajin who loves you unconditionally for years and years on end, the feeling that was planted in hwajin’s heart only growing with each moment shared with you without ever withering or losing a single fragment. as if linked by the oldest constellations, your love was constant, long ago idealized by the universe itself with traces of stars and magic making your relationship lasting in each lifetime.

“i don’t want to stop dreaming about you. i don't want to stop loving you. you are the only reality for me and i only exist with you by my side.”

[kihyeoniie]

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐔𝐏

: ̗̀▶ SYNOPSIS — In-Beom haircut was always his secret signal : when his hair was let down, it meant he was chill, someone you could approach easily. But when he tied up his hair? It's that maybe you should have listened to his first warning to start with.

GENRE — Angst, Bit Of Fluff, Romance

PAIRINGS — Cho In-Beom x Fem!Reader

↳˳⸙ WARNINGS — Kissing

──────────────────────────

It wasn't that he wasn't working hard. In contrary, he was exhausting himself to the point of being able to sleep only for five hours at least before going to school everyday.

But was his work of getting better worked? Not really... His grade were below his own expectations, always thinking he'd succeed this exam after finishing it to almost having a pang of sadness inside him seeing the bad grade.

Luckily, he had almost forgot that he had a smart girlfriend, the type of "nerd" that may be bullied and seen as weak by everyone but had a better use of her brain. Someone that didn't listened to anyone and never had a single bad grade.

That's why everyday, afterschool, instead of exhausting himself to study alone and unefficiently, he walked with you to your house so that you could explain him the homeworks.

And then finally came the exam. Failed. Even with your explaination, he succeeded to fail it. Again.

It was getting on his nerves, making him mad at you. You were damn smart, did you do it on purpose? Or was he the dumb one in there?

You could see it, he wasn't listening to your explaination, leaned on his chair, as if he could care less about it. His feet were disrespectfully rested on your desk, making you roll your eyes in annoyance. "In-Beom, remove them." you told him once, him ignoring you. That's it, you couldn't support him and took one of his leg forcefully and made it fall on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he finally looked at you, clicking his tongue as you sighed. "You don't listen to me since earlier. Can't you have at least a bit of respect for me?" you replied to him, looking frustrated.

You and In-Beom didn't really argumented with each others, most of the time being at peace together. When an argument occured, you knew that it wasn't for nothing.

"Is it because you failed the test?" you asked him as his tongue poked out of his cheek. "Yeah," he didn't hesitated, scoffing at you. "You did it on purpose, you explained me something else on purpose, I know it." he removed his second leg out of your desk, arm crossed against his chest and looking everywhere but you.

You frowned. What was he talking about? Never once in your life you would do something like this!

"In-Beom, you may have been the one misunderstanding the test. I don't have anything to do about it," you justified yourself with, In-Beom not wanting to understand your point of view.

"Fuck your lies. I'm tired, you know? I'm trying my best yet you had to ruin it!" he got up, starting to yell at you. He was just letting out his frustration, you were saying to yourself. It will pass... But as the time passed by, he was yelling, cursing all around that you thought the neighbors heard him clearly.

"You think you're the only one exhausted there? I take my free time to help you! You didn't even thanked me for it!" you got up too, trying to desesperatly make him stop. But that one sudden glare of his... Was his first warning. "Don't cut me off to say bullshit, ____" he didn't let go of the eyes contact. "Bullshit? Do you even hear yourself?" the tilt of his head to the side, was the second warning.  "What are you even going to do about it? Hit me? Curse me out?" that was it. He slowly took out the black elastic on his wrist, tying up his hair into a ponytail.

Oh...

"What I am going to do you?" he slowly walked toward you, making you step back automatically.

Your legs suddenly touched your bed. You couldn't step back, or you'd fell on it, and In-Beom saw it well too, looking behind you before his head went to look beside him as if people might watch him. His hand went to grab your collar and push you down on your bed, him getting on top of you before raising one of his eyebrow. "Still want to say something?" he asked you. "Should I continue to speak in this position so you finally listen to me?" he continued with, making you gulp.

"No, but you're the one who isn't lis-" bla bla bla, In-Beom rolled his eyes and kissed you, shutting you up.

One of his arm went beside your head to support himself while the other went to hold you by your waist.

His lips, despite being rough and not well treated were still soft on yours, moving with a sweetness althought he was mad at you, head tilted so you couldn't escape him even if you wanted to.

He broke off the kiss, both of you breathless by it. "If you even say one word, l'll kiss you again. Understood?" you nodded at his words, blushing while he grinned at you.

Maybe he should do that more times, so that you'll learn to listen to him first.

Should he?

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© kihyeoniie

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[njbuvyvtc]

Me patiently waiting for the teach you a lesson x reader fics to start dropping

[sukunaglazerrr]

HusbandKuna x Reader who lost her memory

After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.

Everything was so much weird.

When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.

You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.

But the real shock came twenty minutes later.

The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.

You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.

"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.

You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.

"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.

Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.

When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.

"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"

You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."

The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.

"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.

"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.

"And do you know where you are right now?"

"A hospital?"

"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."

You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign

So you were married.

"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."

The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.

Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?

"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."

You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.

"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.

The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.

"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.

"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.

To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.

"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."

You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.

An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.

You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.

"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.

"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.

"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.

"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."

"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"

"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."

He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.

"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."

He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.

Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.

As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.

"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.

'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.

"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.

It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.

You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.

"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.

He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.

"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."

You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.

"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."

"Okay" you hummed softly.

His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."

You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.

"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"

His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.

"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.

He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.

"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"

"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"

"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.

"Why?"

"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."

You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."

The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.

"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."

"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm thirty two. You're thirty" Sukuna answered smoothly.

"Wow. So we're getting old," you teased gently.

Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."

A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.

Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.

Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.

When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.

And then, there was Sukuna.

Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.

To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.

He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much

His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.

At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.

The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.

Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"

"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.

"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.

"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."

The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"

You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."

You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.

"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.

"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."

You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.

"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.

The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.

As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.

Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.

Crash!

The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.

You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.

You froze.

Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.

Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.

You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.

Pink hair.

The backyard.

The jazz music.

The napkin.

A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.

The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.

When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.

"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.

You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.

But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.

As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.

"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.

Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.

Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.

"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."

Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.

"I fucking love you" he whispers

(not me me writing all night just for 36 like and one reblog😣🙏🏾)

[jakeycore]

friendly fire / neteyam

aged up! neteyam x na'vi reader. MDNI 🔞

Summary: Neteyam Sully has spent his whole life being perfect. You’ve spent yours surviving. On the battlefield, you’re constantly at each other's throats. Behind closed tent flaps, you’re... well, still at each other's throats, just differently. Warnings: 3.8k words, aged up! neteyam, rival with benefits, explicit smut, p in v, hate sex, fingering, a lot of teasing, mdni

Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire, frozen fire, seed of fire

For his entire life, Neteyam was the standard. He was the firstborn son of Toruk Makto and the heir to the Omaticaya after all.

In the training ring, he was faster, stronger, and smarter than every other kid his age. He was used to looking back and seeing everyone else trying to catch up. He lived with the heavy weight of expectation, but he carried it easily because he knew, deep down, he was the best.

Then you limped into High Camp.

You weren't Omatikaya. You were a Windtrader, a nomad born to the open skies and shifting trade routes, not the dense and suffocating forest. But you didn't arrive at High Camp with rare beads or woven songs to trade. You arrived with nothing but the blood-stiffened clothes on your back and a survivor's hollow stare.

The Mangkwan or what they also called the Ash People had descended on your caravan like a pyroclastic flow, brutal and silent until the screaming started. You were the only thing that crawled out of that smoke.

When Jake Sully took you in, Neteyam looked at you with that unbearable softness. Pity. To him, you were just a merchant’s child whose wings had been clipped, a broken traveler terrified of the dark. He saw your silence as trauma that needed gentle handling, not the calculating quiet of a predator waiting for the right moment.

He expected to have to teach you how to hold a bow, to slow his pace for the poor wanderer who had lost their way. He thought he was your savior. He had no idea he was looking at a survivor who had learned to fight dirty long before he even learned to fly.

That illusion shattered the first time you stepped onto the sparring mat.

Neteyam had offered to go easy on you. He remembered the look on your face, it was an insult. When he lunged, expecting you to cower, you moved with a feral, desperate speed that he had never seen in a structured lesson.

You fought with the raw, desperate instinct of a survivor, casting aside all ideas of honor and form. Within ten seconds, the future Olo'eyktan was face-down in the dirt with your forearm crushing his windpipe.

The silence in the camp was deafening. You crushed his pride alongside his defense.

From that day on, everything changed. You had grown from a charity case into a real threat.

Suddenly, Neteyam wasn't automatically the best archer, because you never missed a shot. He wasn't the best tracker, because you could smell an RDA patrol from a mile away. He stopped looking at you with pity and started looking at you with a burning and obsessive intensity.

He trained harder, stayed up later, and pushed himself to the breaking point just to reclaim his spot at the top, but you were always right there, matching him step for step.

He hated it.

You were the only person who didn't treat him like royalty. You rolled your eyes at his orders, you corrected his stance, and you smirked when he missed. You became the grit in his eye, the one variable he couldn't control. The rivalry consumed both of you, bleeding into everything you did until that aggression and need for dominance found a different outlet in the back of a weapons tent.

Now, he doesn't just want to be the best for his father. Instead, he wants to be the best to prove it to you.

The mist clinging to the Hallelujah Mountains hadn't even burned off yet, but the thwack of arrows hitting woven targets echoed through the clearing.

Neteyam stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his posture text-book perfect. He drew the string back to his cheek, exhaled slowly, and released. The arrow flew straight, embedding itself directly in the center of the painted circle.

He lowered his bow, glancing sideways at you with that maddeningly arrogant tilt of his head. "Center mass. Clean kill. That is how you conserve energy."

You were leaning against a rock, chewing on a piece of dried fruit, looking unimpressed. You swallowed and picked up your own bow— a scavenged thing you’d re-strung yourself, rougher than his ceremonial weapon but just as deadly.

"That's how you kill a target that stands perfectly still and waits for you to shoot it," you drawled, stepping up to the line. "But out there? The Sky People don't wait."

"Form dictates accuracy," Neteyam lectured, watching you closely. "If your foundation is sloppy, your shot is lucky. We don't rely on luck."

"Watch and learn, Golden Boy."

Instead of planting your feet like the instructors taught, you broke into a run. You sprinted parallel to the targets, sliding on your knees through the mud. In mid-slide, you twisted your torso, drew, and fired.

The arrow hissed through the air and struck the target— not dead center, but an inch to the right, deep in the 'lung' area. A kill shot.

You stood up, wiping mud off your knees, and smirked at him. "Dead is dead. Doesn't matter if it's pretty."

Neteyam scoffed, walking over to inspect the target. He pulled your arrow out with a sharp yank. "You exposed your back during the slide. If there was a second shooter, you’d be down."

"If there was a second shooter, you’d still be standing in your perfect pose getting shot while I was already moving to cover," you shot back, snatching the arrow from his hand.

"You are undisciplined," he muttered, stepping closer, invading your space under the guise of instruction.

"Your elbow was too high on the draw. You’re going to tear a muscle."

"My elbow was fine," you argued, standing your ground. "It works for me."

"It’s wrong." Neteyam moved behind you, his chest brushing your back. To anyone watching, he was the dutiful squad leader correcting a subordinate. But you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his breath hitched slightly. "Raise your arm. Like this."

He gripped your forearm, his touch firm, sliding up to your bicep. His fingers dug in slightly, a silent reminder of who had pinned whom against the tent pole hours ago.

"You're hovering, Neteyam," you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "Distracting."

"If you're distracted, you're dead," he murmured into your ear, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave. "Focus."

"Get off of me," you said, shoving him back with your elbow, though there was no real bite in it.

"Hey! Break it up!"

The voice made you both jump apart. Lo'ak came jogging into the clearing, looking between the two of you with a confused frown. He held a basket of fish, looking tired.

"By Eywa," Lo'ak groaned, rubbing his face. "Do you two ever stop? I could hear you arguing from the breakfast fire. 'Your form is bad,' 'You're too stiff.' It’s exhausting."

Neteyam immediately straightened up, the perfect soldier mask sliding back into place. "She refuses to listen to protocol, Lo'ak. Someone has to make sure she doesn't get herself killed."

You rolled your eyes, re-nocking an arrow. "And someone has to make sure your brother doesn't turn into a statue while the war happens around him."

Lo'ak laughed, shaking his head. "I swear, you two hate each other more than we hate the demons. One day you’re going to kill each other."

Neteyam glanced at you. A tiny, imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a secret just for you.

"Maybe," Neteyam said smoothly. "But until then, we train. Again."

He looked at you, his golden eyes challenging. "And this time, try to actually hit the center."

"Make me," you hissed at him, just before loosing another arrow.

The War Tent was stifling, smelling of damp earth and stale smoke. Jake Sully stood over the holomap, the blue light casting long, harsh shadows across his face. You stood in the back, arms crossed, while Neteyam stood right at his father’s elbow, mirroring his stance perfectly.

"We’ve got reports of a supply train moving through Sector 4," Jake said, pointing to a glowing red line on the map. "Neteyam, I want your squad to scout the perimeter. Do not engage. Just eyes on. If the RDA is moving heavy equipment, we need to know."

"Yes, sir," Neteyam nodded sharply. He leaned over the map, tracing a path with his finger. "We’ll take the southern ridge. It provides the best cover from the gunships. We can observe from the high ground and exfil before they scan the area."

It was a safe plan. A smart plan. A textbook plan.

You let out a short, sharp huff of breath. It wasn't quite a laugh, but in the quiet tent, it was loud enough.

Neteyam froze. He didn't turn around, but you saw his ears twitch back. Jake looked up, his yellow eyes locking onto yours.

"You have something to say?" Jake asked, his voice neutral but commanding.

"The southern ridge is a wind tunnel this time of year, sir," you said, stepping forward. You ignored Neteyam’s glare burning into the side of your face. "If we take the Ikrans that way, the downdraft will make us fight for stability the whole time. We’ll be loud, and we’ll be slow. If a Sampson patrol catches us there, we’re sitting ducks."

Neteyam turned to you fully now, his jaw tight. "It’s the standard recon route. We’ve flown it a dozen times."

"And the Sky People know that," you countered, meeting his gaze evenly. "They aren't stupid, Neteyam. They predict the safe moves. I say we cut through the Needle hills. It’s tight, it’s dangerous, but the magnetic interference there blinds their sensors. We can get right on top of them before they even know we’re there."

"The Needles?" Neteyam sounded incredulous. "You want to fly a squad through a rock field where one wrong turn means smashing into a cliff? That’s reckless."

"It’s unexpected," you corrected. "Survival isn't about being safe. It's about being invisible."

Silence stretched between you. Neteyam looked like he wanted to strangle you. You looked at Jake.

Jake looked between his son—the careful, burdened heir and you—the survivor who had crawled out of the ashes. He rubbed his chin.

"She's right about the sensors," Jake said finally. He looked at Neteyam. "Take the Needles. But Neteyam leads. You follow his pace. If he says pull back, you pull back. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," you said, a flicker of victory in your voice.

"Sir," Neteyam said stiffly, though he looked like he’d swallowed a rock.

Ten minutes later, outside the tent, the explosion happened.

Neteyam grabbed your arm before you could reach your Ikran, yanking you behind a stack of supply crates, out of sight of the others.

"What is your problem?" he hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You undermine me in front of the Olo'eyktan? In front of the squad?"

"I gave tactical advice," you shot back, wrenching your arm free. "You were walking us into a trap because you’re too afraid to take a risk!"

"I am responsible for their lives!" Neteyam stepped into you, forcing you back against the crates. The gap between you vanished. "I don't have the luxury of playing hero like you do. If I make a mistake, people die. If you make a mistake, it’s just you."

That stung. You barred your teeth, grabbing his shoulders and jerking him down to your level. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know I’m expendable compared to the Great Toruk Makto’s son?"

"Stop saying that," he growled.

"Then stop acting like your way is the only way just because you read the manual!" you shouted, then lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. "I’m trying to keep you alive, you idiot. The southern ridge is a kill box today. I felt the wind."

Neteyam stared at you, his chest heaving against yours. The anger in his eyes warred with something else, the realization that you weren't trying to outshine him, you were trying to protect him. It confused him. It made him furious and desperate all at once.

"You are impossible," he breathed.

"And you're welcome," you snapped.

The tension snapped. He grabbed the back of your neck, his fingers tangling violently in your hair, and crushed his mouth to yours. It was an angry, biting kiss, fueled by the adrenaline of the argument and the fear of the mission ahead.

It was a battle for dominance, a way to scream at each other without words. He broke away, gasping, his forehead resting heavily against yours. His eyes were dark, blown wide.

"We take the Needles," he whispered roughly, his voice scraping against the air. "But if you crash, I’m leaving you there."

You smirked, though your heart was racing like a drum. You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, which was swollen from the force of the kiss.

"Deal. Try to keep up, flyboy."

You shoved him back and turned toward your Ikran, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the reins. Behind you, you heard Neteyam take a deep, stabilizing breath before shouting orders to the squad, his voice once again steady, commanding, and perfect.

The mission through the Needle rocks had been a success, but it had been a nightmare. The wind shears were worse than you predicted, and at one point, you had to dive your Ikran vertically between two colliding floating mountains to avoid a gunship scan. It was insane. It was brilliant.

And Neteyam looked like he wanted to kill you.

The moment the squad landed back at the High Camp, amidst the pouring rain of a sudden storm, Neteyam didn't even dismiss the others properly. He barked a generic "Equipment check, then rest!" to the group before grabbing the harness of your vest and practically dragging you toward the secluded overhang where the extra saddles were stored.

He shoved you into the dry space, the sound of the rain roaring outside like a waterfall. It was dark, cramped, and smelled of wet leather and ozone.

"You dove," Neteyam seethed, shaking the water from his hair, his chest heaving. "We said stay in formation. You dove into a blind gap!"

"I saw the scanner!" you yelled back, shoving his hands off your vest. "If I hadn't dove, they would have pinged the whole squad! I saved your ass, Neteyam!"

"You risked the mission on a hunch!"

"I was right!"

"You're a maniac!"

The shouting stopped abruptly as he slammed you back against the rock walls. The anger was still there, blazing in his eyes, but it had mutated. The adrenaline from the near-death flight was vibrating under his skin, seeking an outlet.

He looked at you—wet, defiant, chest rising and falling rapidly—and the restraint snapped.

"I hate you," he growled, his voice dropping into that rough, unrecognizable register.

"Feeling is mutual, skxawng," you hissed.

He didn't need to be told twice. He crashed against you, his mouth capturing yours with bruising force. There was no tenderness, no romance. It was a collision of teeth and tongues, a continuation of the argument by other means. You bit his lower lip hard enough to taste copper, and he groaned, a guttural sound that vibrated against your chest.

His hands were frantic, fumbling with the buckles of your heavy vest. He tore the leather straps loose, not caring if they broke, desperate to get the armor off. As soon as the vest hit the dirt, his hands were on your skin, hot and rough, gripping your waist with enough force to leave marks.

"You think you're so smart," he muttered against your neck, hiking your leg up around his waist. He pressed you hard against the rock wall, the friction of his body against yours sending electricity shooting through your veins. "Always have to be the hero."

"Someone has to be," you gasped, throwing your head back as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. You dug your nails into his back, scraping down the spine. "Since you're too busy following rules."

"Shut up," he breathed, his hand sliding down to the waistband of your loincloth. "I'm going to make you shut up."

"Try it."

He lifted you effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs tight around him, anchoring yourself.

Then you hissed at him.

He laughed, the sound like honey and venom in your ears, his breath fanning your neck and sending shivers down your spine. "Someone is eager," he purred, lips brushing your skin. His arms tighten like a vice around you, holding you tight. "Already getting the shivers and I've barely touched you."

"Shut up," you snapped, struggling to sound confident and not at all affected by his proximity.

Neteyam kissed you again. His kiss was demanding, hot, and possessive, swallowing your gasp before you can even think of protesting. He pressed you harder against the rock, the rough texture biting into your back, but all you can focus on is the way his tongue teases yours, the way his body pins you in place.

He started to undo your loincloth. His fingers are rough but quick, the knot of your loincloth unraveling easily under his touch. The fabric slips away, leaving you bare against him. His heated skin pressed flush against yours, the teasing friction making your breath hitch.

"Finally," he growled, nipping at your jaw before dragging his lips down your throat.

His touch is both light and maddening, his fingers teasing at your entrance in slow, torturous circles, only to pull away just as you're about to grind into it.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. His fingers trace teasingly, just enough pressure to make you shudder but not enough to give you what you truly crave. "So desperate already."

"Fuck you," you spat.

A sharp grin cuts across his face at your defiance like he was waiting for it.

"Oh?" His voice is pure sin, low and rough as his fingers finally press in, just enough to steal your breath. "That what you want?"

He worked you open slow, deliberate, twisting just there until your hips jerk against him helplessly.

His smirk widens as he feels your body respond, betraying you far more than your words ever could. "Thought so," he murmured, lips grazing your jawline before catching your earlobe between his teeth.

His fingers sink deeper, slow and purposeful, each movement calculated to wring every reaction from you. "You're so fucking tight," he grits out, his own breathing uneven now. His thumb circles your clit, the pressure just shy of cruel, and he watches your face as he does it.

He can read your body like a damn book, every shiver and squirm giving him exactly what he needs to drive you closer to the edge and then pull back just in time.

You let out a whine, hips jerking forward, but before you can even protest, he moved with practiced ease, shifting his own loincloth aside in one smooth motion.

The thick length of him pressed against you, hot and insistent, teasing at your entrance but not giving you what you desperately want.

You hissed again at him. "Stop playing."

"But you look so damn pretty all desperate," he murmured, the words more breath than sound. He rolled his hips again, just enough to make you squirm, his fingers tracing over your waist, your stomach, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "Like you'd do anything I asked, right now," he added.

"Fuck," you cussed but finally give in. "Please."

"Since you asked so nicely," he said, the words rumbling through his chest, thick and full of promise, and then he's sliding into you with a harsh breath.

You arched and cried out, fingers digging into the flesh of his back, hips jerking to take him as deep as possible.

You gasped when he moved. The slide of him inside you gave a slow, torturous burn that goes straight to your head. It feels like fire and lightning all at once, sending sparks through your veins, setting you alight from the inside out.

He's everywhere. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, his voice in your ear. You can feel him everywhere, overwhelming all your senses.

But of course, you won't admit it.

"You're terrible," you panted against his skin, moving with him, matching his rhythm instantly. It was a competition, just like the sparring, just like the flying. Who could push harder? Who could last longer? Who would break first?

"And you're loud," he gritted out, his hands tightening on your hips, driving into you with a punishing pace that made your head spin. "Focus."

"I am... focused," you managed to say, though your voice wrecked as he hit a spot that made your vision blur. You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming his name because you refused to give him that satisfaction.

The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin and harsh, ragged breathing.

He wanted to see you come undone. He wanted to prove that he could control you, even if he couldn't control you on the battlefield.

"Say I was right," he gasped, his rhythm faltering as the edge approached. "Say... the southern ridge... was safer."

You laughed, a breathless, broken sound, tightening your grip on him. "Never."

"Stubborn little slut."

When he finished the insult, he felt your orgasm hit, the pleasure spiking so hard it felt like pain, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode out the waves.

Then he pulled out, stroking his cock few times before releasing his cum on your stomach.

For a long time, there was only the sound of heavy panting and the rain.

He pulled back, his chest slick with sweat, and looked at you. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide. Then, he cleared his throat and stepped back, letting your legs drop. He reached down and picked up his dropped gear, turning his back to you to fix his loincloth.

"Your landing was sloppy, by the way," he said, his voice raspy but returning to that cool, detached tone.

You slumped against the wall, legs shaking, pulling your vest back over your chest.

"And you finish too fast, Sully."

Neteyam whipped around, eyes narrowing, though his ears burned a dark purple. "Watch it."

"Or what?" you challenged, standing up on wobbling legs. "You'll punish me again?"

He stared at you for a long beat, the heat flaring up in his eyes again, before he shook his head and shoved past you toward the cave entrance.

"Get back to the barracks," he ordered over his shoulder, stepping out into the rain. "And don't be late for dawn patrol."

"Yes, sir," you called after him, wiping a smear of his war paint off your cheek.

[djopuppy]

what are you wearing?

pairing: steve harrington x female!reader wc- 3.9k

summary: your boyfriend steve helps you masturbate over the phone, but he gets so worked up that he ends up coming over to take care of his need too.

w/c: explicit smut! 18+, masturbation, use of sex toys, dirty talk, p in v, cream pie, oral sex (m receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, phone sex, degradation kink, praise kink, big dick steve

you knew who was calling the second you heard the phone ring. steve usually called at the same time every night. you smiled against the receiver that was now pressed to your ear as soon as you heard the familiar charming voice of your boyfriend.

“hey, love. you still awake?”

you could picture him, lounging in some lonely hotel bed with his hair all messy, looking unreasonably sexy. steve always looked the best when he wasn’t trying. some too tight t-shirt probably stretched across his chest that was straining on his biceps. his hair messy from his hands running through it every few minutes.

“hey, babe. yeah, of course im up. wouldn’t miss talking to you.” you loved this time of night, recalling your days to eachother and gushing about how much you missed the other.

“i missed your voice today. have a good day?”

a simple conversation went on for about twenty minutes, discussing your days and telling eachother how much you can’t wait to reunite. steve had been gone for three days now, on some boring business trip his father had dragged him on. he was supposed to return home tomorrow afternoon, you were counting down the hours.

you were talking about your day, telling him about the mall, and the new clothes you just picked out for summer when you heard the tone of his voice shift when he spoke again.

“so.. what are you wearing right now?” it was a suggestive question, and you knew it. it had been three days after all, and steve was a very needy man.

your cheeks flushed slightly “nothing exciting. just the pink pjs, with the floral print.”

he hummed into the phone line “the pink ones with the floral.. i know those. the soft ones.”

you smiled a little, he was so observant.

“but that’s not what i meant. what’s under all the softness, baby? tell me.” it wasn’t really a demand, it sounded like a plea. a needy one.

your cheeks flushed further at the boldness of his question “just.. you know…”

“no, i don’t know. im not there to see for myself, so you gotta tell me. c’mon, don’t be shy”

“just the white lace panties, with the pink bow on the front” you whispered it softly, a little embarrassed.

you heard steve groan, and it sounded like his head fell back on a headboard. he was quiet for a long minute, picturing you all alone in your large bed. the same bed he usually fucks you senseless in. the same bed he’s pried those lace panties off with his teeth more times than he could count.

“those ones…mm. so pretty, baby. you know how much i love those.”

“they’re your favorite, aren’t they?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“yeah, they are. you put those on just for me?” you couldn’t lie, you had. you’d selected them out of memory of all the times steve hadn’t been able to take his hands off you when he saw you in them.

“maybe i did” you teased.

“yeah? want you to touch yourself f’me.. just slowly, be a good girl and tell me how it feels. okay?” steves voice was low, barely a whisper into the phone receiver.

“touch myself.. where?” you knew where. but you wanted him to tell you. you wanted him to walk through it, talk you through it. you could imagine his reaction, how he was working himself up.

“start with that pretty neck, trace that soft skin right under your ear. tell me how it feels when you drag your nails across it. is it sensitive?”

you traced your fingers down the side of your neck, exactly where he places small kisses “it’s so sensitive..” a shiver went down your spine at the light touch.

“keep going, lower, down your collarbone.. down your sternum. want you to squeeze those tits” steves voice was getting rougher.

you slid your hand down, finding one of your breasts and gathering it into your hand, squeezing. pinching your nipples lightly, making them hard under your touch as you pictured steves rough hands.

“are your nipples hard for me? all pebbled and aching?”

“mhmmm, they’re.. fuck, steve. they’re so hard” you whimpered

your nipples were achingly hard, your fingers digging into the soft flesh and pinching your nipples in the same rhythm that steve would. you gasped into the phone.

“so fucking beautiful when you’re desperate. i want you wet for me. you getting there?”

you breathed out a breathless “yes”, which steve rewarded with “good girl.” the praise sending pleasure through your body, pussy throbbing against the lace in your shorts.

his words felt like a caress, painting the path of your arousal for you. “slide your hand down, slow. down your stomach and over your hips, tell me when your fingers are tracing that pretty white lace”

your hands roamed your body, fingers delicately skimming over your warm and flushed skin. every inch of skin you grazed felt overly sensitive, your body responding to everything. you reached the edge of your panties and you could feel just how badly you were throbbing, needy for any sort of touch. desperate to feel something other than the emptiness.

“slide the tips of your fingers right under that lace, just the tips. tell me how wet you are. make that pretty little clit swell for me” steve instructed

you slid your fingers under, exactly as he said, and grazed over the entrance of your pussy. a moan left your lips when you finally made contact. your thumb went straight to your clit, circling in slow motions.

“so wet.. just want you to c’mere and drink it all up” your stomach was fluttering, desperate for more than what steve was instructing.

“oh, baby, you have no idea..fuck” steve was rock hard, throbbing in his pants, pressing his palm down hard on his erection for any kind of relief. “slide a finger in for me, just one…. now curl it, honey. press up, right where you're most sensitive. can you imagine that it's my cock?” you heard steve let out a whine. “god, im so fucking hard for you, just aching to fill you up.”

your breath was hitching into the phone as your fingers explored your pussy, feeling how you’d clench around yourself just like you clench around steve when he was the one filling your insides.

“yeah? come on and fill me up then.. come stretch me with your cock, stevie” you teased, knowing the reaction would be instantaneous.

steve groaned at that. you knew he couldn’t, he was two hours away for a business trip, but you knew teasing him would cause his thick cock to twitch in his pants. it was turning you on to hear how turned on he was.

you whined, growing wetter and more comfortable as you felt the wetness spread “jus wanna be stretched so good, baby. want you so bad.”

you heard steve go quiet for a minute before his voice cut into the receiver again “you still have that toy? the one i got you?”

you knew exactly what he was talking about. the long and girthy dildo that stretched you wide. he’d gotten it for you a few months ago, for times exactly like this, when he couldn’t do it himself.

you reached over to your nightstand and pulled it out “mhmmm, i do. want me to use it? tonight?”

“yeah, use it. put it in slowly, lemme hear every inch going deep in that pussy” steve could picture you perfectly. pink flush running from your cheeks down your sternum, mouth open in a soundless moan and back arched slightly off the bed as your cunt accommodated the stretch of the dildo.

you whined as it stretched you, sinking it slowly into your cunt inch by inch “st- steve… i want you so bad.. wish you were here.”

“so desperate for me, huh? it’s only been a few days and you’re already all messy for me. my perfect girl who becomes such a slut when im not there to fuck into you properly. you wanna know what id do if i was there? mm?” the image of you was burning into steves mind, making him twitch and press his clothed dick harder into his hand.

heat rushed to your core, your inner walls squeezing around the silicone “yes, yes. tell me. please, baby” you moaned out as it reached deep inside you.

“id flip you over. so you were on your hands and knees for me, make you keep the dildo right where it is. then id get behind you and spread your cheeks, watch how fucking wet you are for me. watch you fuck yourself with the toy.” steves voice was rough, needy.

your eyes were squeezed shut as you listened to the filthy words leaving steves lips, breath shallow as your body trembled in euphoria.

“then i’d lean down and use my tongue. starting right from your clit, all the way down to where you’re being stretched. taste just how bad you want me.”

you were breathlessly moaning into the phone receiver, body extremely full and sensitive, desperate to orgasm. steves voice was tipping you over the edge.

“keep fucking yourself, just like that. keep it deep.”

you nodded even though he couldn’t see you, squeezing your eyes shut as your stomach fluttered and back arched off the bed.

“can’t stop thinking about your legs shaking... how you grip the sheets when you're close. i wanna feel that around me so bad” you were surprised that steve wasn’t getting himself off, you were surprised you hadn’t heard the wet sounds of his hand sliding up and down his thick cock firmly, but steve wasn’t worried about his own desperate need. steve was completely focused on your pleasure, completely enamored with making sure you felt good when he wasn’t there to do it for you.

“i’d grab your hips, baby. hold you tight when i finally replaced the dildo with my cock and fucked into you, hard and deep. make that pretty ass bounce for me.”

you were speeding up your movements, slamming the silicone into your sensitive pussy repeatedly to chase your release. steve could hear the squelching sounds of it going in and out of you. the sound of sheets rustling and muttered curses came from his side of the line. he was getting frantic.

“tell me you want me, tell me you want me filling you up. please, baby. c’mon.”

you whimpered at how desperate he sounded, you imagined his eyes were wild with need. “want you so bad. you.. fuck.. you stretch me so good”

“i know i do, god, i know. now be a good girl and make yourself cum for me. yeah?” steves voice was low and rough.

“ye-yes i can be good, ill be good” you were desperate for his praise, the words that came from his lips were sending chills down your spine as a choked gasp left your lips as your eyes shot open, your body spasming on the bed as your orgasm crashed over you.

steves breath was shaky “listen to you… so fucking beautiful when you cum. so perfect for me.”

your body went limp as you pulled the dildo out, breathing heavily as your cunt fluttered around nothing.

“fuck.. you okay, baby? you sound so beautiful. just wish i was there to hold you.”

you hummed into the phone “mhmmmm that.. was so good. i wish you were here too, i miss you so much.”

“i wanna be there so bad. wanna kiss you all over… feel you shaking against me.” steve said softly. you were quiet for awhile, your body exhausted as you attempted to catch your breath.

“i should let you sleep, love. you sound exhausted.” he sounded reluctant to get off the phone, but he knew you must’ve been tired.

“mmmkay. goodnight, baby”

“i love you” was the last thing steve said before hanging up the phone. you set the phone down back on the hook and fell fast asleep before you could even clean yourself up.

steve was pacing his hotel room, large hands tugging at his beautiful chestnut hair. his hand was still constantly pressing down on his erection, but it offered no relief. steve could lay back down, wrap his hand around his cock and make himself cum in a few minutes. but your voice and your moans were echoing in his head, he knew his hand would be nothing compared to the warmth of you. it wouldn’t even compare.


the image of you all blissed out and sleeping alone, without him, was unbearable. the thought of laying in an empty room and falling asleep with nobody to hold while he ached for you was even worse.

“screw it” was the only thing he said as he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his bag and keys, and slipped out of the motel room to head to his car.

the two hour car ride felt like forever, steves hand was gripping his wheel tightly while he shifted in his seat. he arrived at your place a little after two am and sat in his car for a long minute, looking up at your window and imagined you fast asleep. imagining what you looked like, imagining holding you. he got out of the car and made his way to the door quickly, using his key and slipping inside.

“baby?” he called out softly into the house, worried of frightening you. he continued calling it out as he opened the door to your room. he stopped as soon as it opened just watching you sleep. steve memorized the way the moonlight caught on the curve of your cheek, your hair fanned perfectly out on the pillow.

he kneeled beside the bed and carefully ran a hand through your hair. you stirred. “hey, baby. couldn’t stay away. needed to be near you” he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“stevie.. you’re here?” you were half asleep but you felt the smile creep onto your face. you reached out weakly to pull him into bed with you.

steve went down easy, desperate for your touch. “drove the whole way just.. thinking about you” you could feel how tense his body was next to you, how he was basically thrumming with need.

you ran your hand up his torso lightly until you made your way to the nape of his neck, threading your hand into his hair. “missed you tonight” you whispered it into the room and you watched his eyes flutter from the touch. he looked starved. he pressed his head further into your hand, then leaned into your lips.

the moment your lips met, a long groan left steves mouth, it sounded like it had been building for hours. his mouth was hot and hungry on yours, his tongue fucking into your mouth immediately. his hand gripped your hip, pulling your body closer to him.

“i’ve been going crazy, out of my mind.” he murmured against your lips in between kisses.

your fingers were already tightening in his hair, pulling him closer with the same desperation that was written all over him. steves fingers started to hook into your waistband of your pjs, brushing over the skin and tugging on them.

you let out a breathy “steve….”

“yeah, baby? gotta tell me what you want. need to hear you ask for it.” he gripped your jaw in his palm, tilting your face up to meet his, tightening his hold just slightly. you could feel him shifting next to you, pressing his erection against your thigh firmly before grinding it against the skin.

“i want you, i want you to fuck me. so bad” you whined, your cunt throbbing and dripping into your panties.

“you remember what i said, don’t you? told you id get you on your knees for me, get yourself ready on that dildo.”

you nodded eagerly, desperate for friction of any kind. desperate for feeling. desperate for release now that steve was real and in front of you. just his kisses made you horny. the way he sucked in your top lip, his nose nudging against your eyelid, his brows furrowing together as he concentrated.

steve ran a hand in your hair, his eyes locked on yours as he whispered “good. so good for me, aren’t you?”

you felt your entire body shudder, your breath hitching as he shifted to pull your soaked panties and pjs down your legs. his hands were everywhere on your bare legs, squeezing your thighs and skimming his palms up and down the back of your legs as you shifted to get onto all fours on the mattress.

he reached over to grab the dildo from the nightstand, large hand wrapping around it tightly. your fingers trembled as you reached for it, taking it from his hand and reaching under you to guide it towards your still slick entrance.

whimpers left your lips the second your pussy made contact with the cold silicone, body twitching at the feeling.

“go on baby, fuck yourself for me. show me how you do it when im not here”

you pushed just the tip inside you, feeling the excruciating stretch as it went deeper and deeper. a low moan came out, eyes rolling back as you rocked your hips back on the toy.

steve watched from behind you, completely mesmerized, before his hand shifted to his sweats and boxer band to yank them down just enough for his cock to spring free. the sight of you fucking yourself combined with the sounds of pleasure pushed him past his limit. the throbbing of his cock was now unbearable to ignore.

he shifted his body to kneel in front of you, his hand stroking his dick as he bit down on his plump lower lip. his cock was eye level with you now, leaking with pre-cum smeared all over the length of him. it was clear he had been ready for hours.

“open up, baby. c’mon. wider” your lips parted immediately as he guided the head of his cock past your lips. the second your lips closed around his tip, his hips involuntarily thrusted forward, forcing himself deeper down your throat as you continued to fuck into your pussy with the silicone.

your throat relaxed, allowing him to continue deeper as saliva seeped out of the corners of your mouth and down your chin. steve was long, and thick, you could feel every inch of him pulsing inside your mouth. steve groaned as soon when you moaned around him, running a hand into your hair to gather it, holding it back for you in his fist.

the sensation of being filled everywhere was almost too much, the fullness of it all made your head spin and your inner walls clamp down while your tongue swirled messily around steves cock.

“you like having your mouth full while you get your pussy stretched, don't you? you just love being used like this, huh, baby?” steve was panting now, you could tell he wanted more. he wanted to be inside you, he wanted to replace the toy that was stretching your pussy. but you knew in order to feel him, you’d have to cum first.

your hand sped up, moving the dildo faster in and out of you to chase your release that you knew was coming any second. a high whine left your lips that were still wrapped around steves cock, your back arching and body buckling on the bed as you clamped down on the silicone and soaked it with your cum.

steve immediately pulled out of your mouth, a thick strand of saliva connecting his glistening cock to your swollen lips.

“on your back, baby. need to be inside you so bad” steve wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore, his voice came out whinier than he wanted it to. he’d been horny for so long, desperate for the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him since he got on the phone.

the second you were on your back his hands gripped your thighs, pushing them apart to settle in the space between. “look at you. so wet and open f’me. aren’t you?”

your eyes were locked on his, panting and still shaking from your orgasm. “steve… please, i want you to fill me, please”

you watched as a smirk formed on his face and he reached back to pull his t shirt off, his chest rising and falling rapidly. he knew how hot he was, he always stood there and let you look your fill because he knew how much you loved seeing steve shirtless. he had the perfect amount of chest hair across his chest that trailed all the way down towards his aching cock. your hands reached up to rest on his hips, running your hands over the skin of his soft tummy.

steve leaned forward, hovering over you before the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, his fingers now digging into your flesh as he entered you in one movement and began a brutal pace inside of you. slamming his cock into you repeatedly before he replaced it with a slow and deep grinding roll of his hips that pressed him impossibly deep.

it was an exquisite kind of agony, each thrust stretching you in a way the toy could never achieve. you could feel the thickness of him being squeezed by your oversensitive walls. each time he pulled back you felt a desperate emptiness that only lasted a few seconds before he was filling you again. your body always struggled to accommodate steves length, the tip of him nudged at a spongy spot deep inside you that sent jolts all throughout your nerves.

“god, baby…. always taking my cock so good. fuck- barely fucking fits” steve gritted his teeth as his hand moved to press down on your lower stomach, feeling how it’d bulge with every slow grind. the firm pressure of his hand pressing down made you gasp, the feeling amplifying how full you are.

your back arched up, eyes rolling back as you moaned continuously “mmmmmph, feels so good. steve.. fuck, im gonna-“ all your words were dissolving into breathy moans and gasps as your body reached its third orgasm. your legs trembling on the bed, body jolting with each motion of steves hips.

the sensation was immediately too much for steve. the oversensitivity of it all after he denied himself for hours sent him over the edge as he felt you clench around his thick cock.

steve pushed in deep and you felt his body still, then shudder as your pussy milked him, cum coating your insides. his cock pulsed inside of you over and over again before he leaned down on top of you to kiss your sweat dampened cheeks.

both of you were trembling and sensitive as you laid together before he slowly pulled out of you and he shifted to lay beside you, gathering you in his arms and brushing the stray hairs out of your face gently.

“you drive me crazy, you know? can’t even leave for three days without going insane.”

you smiled a little breathlessly against his chest, your fingers toying with the thick hair that rested there. “yeah? guess that means you can’t ever leave me again, hmm?”

steve brought his hand up to your jaw gently, tilting your head back to meet his eyes so he could press his lips to yours, murmuring with a soft smile on his face “oh i don’t plan to, baby”

-

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a/n: i love my emi baba thank u for helping me w this eeekk

[bbyg4rl]

only you get to call him jackson . . .

cw: clingy!boyfriend!jj x reader, fluff !!

JJ’s legs were thrown over yours on the couch, chin on your shoulder as you scroll on your phone. He’d been like this for the past hour, touching you like you’ll disappear if he lets go. “I missed you,” he mumbles, even though he’s been with you since the sun rose this morning. His fingers lazily draw circles on your thigh, rings clinking together when he shifts.

You smile, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m right here, clingwrap.”

JJ ignores that. Then he adds, dead serious, “You’re not allowed to leave me. Ever.”

You scoff. “What about work, Jackson?”

He melts at the sound of it. Jackson. No one else calls him that. Not even his friends. To them, he’s JJ, always has been—loud, reckless, a little unhinged. But to you? He’s Jackson. Soft and warm and real.

He nuzzles into your neck with a small smile. “Say it again.”

“Jackson?” you repeat with a giggle.

A pleased hum leaves his lips. “Mmm. Just like that. Sounds so pretty coming from you.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” you laugh, leaning your head against his.

“I don’t care. No one else gets to say it. Just you. If anyone else calls me Jackson, I’m fighting them.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

JJ pulls back, eyes serious now—like he means it. “I’m not kidding. That’s your name for me. You gave it meaning, you know?” His voice softens, “Jackson didn’t mean anything until you said it.”

You freeze, heart doing flips. “That’s… weirdly poetic for you.”

He grins, a little proud. “I can be deep.”

Then he tugs you until you’re laying on his chest, legs tangled. His hand slides under the back of your hoodie, warm and possessive. “I like when you say it when I’m sleepy,” he murmurs against your temple. “Or mad. Or when you’re all cute and bossy.”

“Jackson, get your hands outta my shirt.”

He gasps. “Hot.”

You swat his chest, and he catches your hand easily, lacing your fingers with his. “Don’t test me, Maybank.”

He makes a face. “Ew. Everyone else calling me Maybank? Normal. You calling me Maybank? Hate it. Feels illegal.”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts, and Jackson is right there, eyes on you like you hung the damn stars. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Seriously though. It’s yours. That name. Jackson. You made it soft.”

You go quiet, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “I like that,” you admit. “That it’s mine.”

“It’s all yours, babe. I’m all yours.” He kisses you again—slower this time, and you believe he’s yours.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[eyelessfaces]

grey haired oscar. reblog if you agree

[dirtylittlediary]

everything but lovers - frank castle

pairing : frank castle x vigilante f!reader

summary : you and frank work as a team. in and out. effective. so what happens when he finally snaps are realises you're friends, partners in crime, enemies... everything but lovers ?

word count : 6.7 k

warnings : angst, angry love confession ™️ , protective!frank, swearing, mentions of blood and weapons

a/n : i am loving these frank requests omg. based on this- and obvi keep the requests comin but don't hesitate to request for litt anything not just frank bc im game to write anything !!! enjoy my lil freaks (not proofread so excuse any spelling mistakes)

New York howls around you, sirens and the wind combined, biting into your cheeks.

You pull your jacket tighter around you, shifting your position. Sitting on this rooftop obviously isn't helping with the biting october cold, but you bite the inside of your cheek and tough it out.

Frank is pressed, stomach-down, onto the floor, fiddling with the scope on his long rage rifle, muttering under his breath as he tries to clean the condensation on the scope, left there by his own, fogged up cold-air breath.

You roll your eyes, flipping your knife between your fingers again, watching the moon rise higher up in the sky.

Tonight's target is simple. Someone from your past- someone who was involved in the murder of your single mother, and had a indirect hand in condemning you to a life in foster system with hands middle-aged foster dad who liked to come into your room late at night.

Last week, Frank and You took out the last of the irish. The last of the bastards who put his babies and his wife into the ground. Wasn't your revenge to carry out, but damn did it feel fuckin' sweet.

You've been running with Frank for months now. Hell, you've seen his hair go from that short marine buzz to the longer, outgrown cut that he's sporting now.

Frank shifts first. A small movement at the edge of your vision - boot scraping lightly against gravel, the faint click of metal settling back into place. He doesn’t look up from the rifle right away, but his voice cuts through the wind anyway.

“You’re fidgetin’.” You flip the knife again, slower this time.

“I’m bored.” That earns you a short, unimpressed exhale. Not quite a laugh. Not quite anything soft either.

“Bored gets people killed.”

“Good thing I’m not people,” you murmur. That finally makes him glance up. Just for a second. It’s enough. Frank’s eyes catch the light wrong up here—sharp, pale, too alert for someone who’s been up all night. He looks like he always does before a job: built for impact, already halfway in motion even while still. But then his gaze drifts—just briefly—to your hands. The knife. The way you’re holding it like you’re waiting for something to happen. Something in his jaw tightens.

“Put that away,” he says. You tilt your head.

“It’s not like it's a loaded gun.”

“That’s not the point.” There it is again—that tone. Not anger. Not exactly. Control. You huff, but you do it anyway, tucking the blade away. A pause settles between you both, thick with cold air and unfinished thoughts. Below, New York keeps screaming like it always does. Somewhere far off, a siren rises and fades like it never meant to stay. Frank goes back to the scope. You watch him for a moment longer than you mean to. Wind pushes harder across the roof, tugging at your jacket. You shift again, boots scraping lightly against concrete. Frank’s voice comes again, rougher this time.

“Stay where I can see you.” You blink.

“I’m literally ten feet away."

“Doesn’t matter.” That lands heavier than it should. You open your mouth to joke—but something in his face stops you. He’s not looking at the skyline anymore. Not the scope. You. Just you. And it isn’t casual. It never really is, with him, but this is worse—this is focused in a way that feels like restraint. Like he’s holding something back by force. You swallow.

"What's the fat fuck doin' now ?" You ask, turning to face him. Frank tenses and looks back down the scope.

"Gettin' ready to move." He leans back, his legs spread wide, cocking the gun up and slapping it back into place on the strap on his chest. "Means we gotta move too."

You push yourself up off the ledge with a grunt, knees stiff from the cold. Across the street, the warehouse windows glow faint yellow through the fogged dark, shadows shifting behind dirty glass. Your target.

Frank is already moving before you fully straighten up. Always is.

He slings the rifle over his shoulder and crosses the rooftop in long, purposeful strides, boots crunching over frost-bitten gravel. You fall into step beside him automatically. Months of this. Months of learning how he moves, how he thinks, how to read the tiny shifts in his breathing before violence happens.

The fire escape rattles under your combined weight as you descend. Metal groans. Wind bites harder lower down between the buildings, carrying the stink of exhaust and wet concrete. Frank keeps glancing over his shoulder. Not paranoid. Never paranoid.

Checking for you.

“You remember the plan?” he asks quietly once you hit the alley.

You snort. “No, Frank. Totally forgot the six times you drilled it into my skull.”

His stare cuts sideways toward you, flat and unimpressed beneath the shadow of his hood.

“Funny.”

“You love my jokes.”

“No,” he mutters immediately. “I tolerate ‘em.” But there’s something thinner around the edges of his voice tonight. Something wound too tight. You notice it when he checks the magazine in his pistol for the third time in ten minutes. When he pauses before crossing the alley mouth just to put a hand out in front of your chest automatically, stopping you from walking ahead of him. Protective. Possessive. Like he thinks danger follows you specifically. Maybe it does. You reach the side entrance of the warehouse fast. Rusted steel door. Weak lock. Frank motions you back, then jams the butt of his knife into the latch until it snaps with a dull crack. Inside smells like mildew, cigarettes, and old blood. Your pulse starts climbing immediately. Because he’s here. The man from your past. The man who signed papers and shook hands and looked the other way while your mother bled out and you got thrown into hell afterward. Frank glances at you once as the door shuts softly behind you.

“You steady?” he asks. You nod too quickly. His eyes narrow. “You ain’t gotta prove shit tonight.”

“I know.”

“You sure?” That almost annoys you enough to laugh.

“You think I can’t handle myself?”

“I think you get reckless when it’s personal.” You bristle immediately.

“Says the man who blew up half of Hell’s Kitchen over his family.” Frank’s jaw flexes hard enough to show beneath the scruff on his face. For a second you think he’s gonna snap back. Instead, he just steps closer. Low voice. Dangerous quiet.

“Yeah,” he says. “And look how that turned out.” The words hit harder than they should. Before you can answer, voices echo deeper in the warehouse. Movement. Frank instantly shifts modes. One hand catches your arm, pulling you into shadow behind a stack of rotting crates. His body presses briefly against yours—solid, warm, all restrained violence—and your stupid heart stumbles over itself like it always does when he gets too close. You hate that he can still affect you like this. Hate it even more that he probably doesn’t know. Frank peers around the corner.

“Three on the floor,” he murmurs. “Target’s upstairs.” You nod once. Then everything goes wrong. A flashlight beam cuts across the dark.

“Hey—!” Gunfire erupts instantly. Frank shoves you down hard behind the crates as bullets rip through wood overhead. Splinters explode everywhere.

“Move!” he barks. You roll, slashing twice at shins. One body drops. Frank advances like a fucking force of nature beside you, controlled shots, brutal efficiency. Loud. Fast. Terrifying. Another man goes down. Then another. You barely hear yourself breathing over the ringing in your ears. Upstairs footsteps. Your target running. You see it immediately. So you move. Without thinking. Without waiting.

You sprint toward the stairs. Behind you—

“Hey!” Frank’s voice cracks across the warehouse sharp enough to stop a heart. But you’re already climbing. Your target bursts through the second-floor office door. You chase him through rows of moldy desks and broken computers, adrenaline eating through your bloodstream like acid.

“Stop running!” you shout. The man glances back once, panicked.

The second you see him, the plan dies. Not slowly. Not thoughtfully. Just—gone. One look at that face and something ancient and ugly tears loose inside your chest.

Him.

Older now. Heavier. Grayer around the temples. But still him.

The same bastard who smiled at your mother in courtrooms and back hallways. The same man who signed papers that buried her and left you to rot afterward. The same man who looked the other way while foster fathers with whiskey breath and wedding rings slipped into little girls’ bedrooms at night. Your hearing tunnels. Frank says something behind you— Your name, probably. Doesn’t matter. Because suddenly you’re moving. Fast. Reckless. Pure instinct. You shove through the office door before Frank can stop you.

“Hey—!” The man’s eyes snap toward you immediately, wide with recognition and panic.

“You—” You launch at him before he can finish. The first punch cracks across his jaw hard enough to spin him sideways into a desk. Papers explode into the air. He stumbles, swearing, and you hit him again. And again. Years of rage pours out ugly.

“No no no—please—”

“You remember her?” you spit, grabbing him by the collar. “You remember my mother?!” He tries to scramble backward. You barely let him breathe before driving him into the wall. Behind you, somewhere distant—

“Back up!” Frank. Gunfire erupts downstairs. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the man in front of you. He shoves you hard enough to break free and bolts through the office exit. You chase him instantly. Frank is shouting now. You ignore him. Your boots hammer against metal catwalks overhead while the target crashes through the maze of upper offices, panting hard. You vault a fallen filing cabinet without slowing, adrenaline burning so hot it feels chemical. The whole world narrows into prey. You barely register bullets tearing through drywall nearby. One grazes close enough to your shoulder to spark plaster into your face. Still you keep running. The man bursts into the final office at the end of the hall and nearly trips over himself trying to escape through the opposite door.

Locked. Dead end. He turns around breathing hard, sweating through his collar. You slow. Finally. Knife already in your hand.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes. Something in you almost smiles.

Behind you— Heavy footsteps. Frank.

“Don’t—” Too late. You surge forward. The man fumbles at his waistband desperately, and your brain doesn’t process it. Doesn’t recognize the movement. You’re too deep in it now—too consumed by the years of fury clawing their way out of your ribs. All you see is him.

Terrified.

Cornered.

Good.

You grab him by the front of his coat and slam him backward across the desk.

“You ruined my life,” you hiss. He gasps something incoherent. Your knife lifts— And then Frank hits you like a truck. A massive arm wraps around your waist and yanks you backward violently just as the gunshot detonates.

BANG.

The sound obliterates the room. For one disorienting second you think Frank tackled you to stop you. Then his body jerks hard against yours. A strangled grunt tears out of him. Warmth splashes across your hands. Frank collapses with you to the floor. The target scrambles up in panic, gun still smoking. You stare at the blood blooming across Frank’s side.Your blood runs cold.

No.

No no no—

“Frank?”

He’s breathing hard through clenched teeth, one arm still wrapped around you protectively even now, even bleeding out onto the floor. The realization slams into you all at once.

The gun.

He had a fucking gun.

And you never even saw it. Because you weren’t thinking. You weren’t following the plan. You weren’t listening. You were just angry. The target raises the pistol again with shaking hands. This time you see it. This time you snap. You wrench Frank’s handgun from his holster and fire before the man can breathe. One shot. Right between the eyes. Silence. The body drops.

Your ears ring violently. Frank curses under his breath beside you, trying to sit up.

“Oh my God—” You grab him immediately, hands pressing against the blood pouring through his fingers.

“Frank—Frank—”

“What the fuck were you doin’?!” he snarls suddenly. The sheer anger in his voice stuns you.

“You got shot!”

“No shit!” he barks back. “You think I tackled you for fun?!” His face is twisted now—not just pain. Fear. Genuine, furious fear. “You forgot the goddamn plan the second you saw him.” You can’t even deny it. Because he’s right. Frank shoves himself upright with a groan, breathing ragged.

“You ran in there like a goddamn maniac.”

“He killed my mother—”

“And he almost killed you.” The words crack through the room like another gunshot. You freeze. Frank’s chest rises hard beneath the blood-soaked shirt. His eyes are wild now, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. “You didn’t even see the gun,” he says, voice suddenly lower. Rougher. “You were so busy tryin’ to tear him apart you never saw the fuckin’ gun.” Guilt twists sharp in your stomach. Because you didn’t. You really didn’t.

Frank laughs once under his breath, ugly and humorless, pressing harder against the wound.

“I’m yellin’ your name, tellin’ you to back off, and you just—” He cuts himself off harshly, shaking his head.

“I had him,” you whisper weakly.

"No, you fuckin' didn't !" Frank’s voice ricochets off the walls hard enough to make you flinch. Blood keeps spilling through his fingers. Somewhere far below, sirens start wailing.

Cops.

Shit.

Your head snaps toward the warehouse windows instinctively. Red and blue lights flash faintly against the far buildings, still distant but getting closer fast. Frank sees it too.

“Move,” he grits out. You’re at his side immediately, hooking his arm over your shoulders despite the way he resists at first out of pure stubborn reflex.

“I got it,” he snaps.

“You’re bleeding all over the fucking floor, Frank.”

“Had worse.”

“You got shot.”

“And you almost got killed!” The roar in his voice silences the room for half a second. Frank looks furious. Not cold furious. Not Punisher furious. Scared furious. You swallow hard and tighten your grip around his waist anyway.

“Yell at me later,” you mutter. “Cops are coming.” He stares at you another second like he wants to keep fighting. Then his face pinches sharply as pain slices through him. That ends the argument. You practically drag him through the warehouse. Down rusted stairwells. Across puddles of old oil and shattered glass. Frank stumbles once and immediately curses under his breath, trying to straighten up before you can notice. You notice. Of course you notice. The blood soaking through his shirt feels endless beneath your hand. By the time you shove him into the passenger seat of the stolen sedan three blocks away, your own hands are slick crimson to the wrists. Frank leans his head back against the seat with a sharp exhale.

“You run every mission like that now?” he mutters tightly. You slam the driver’s door shut harder than necessary.

“Maybe don’t take bullets for me then.” His head snaps toward you instantly.

“You think I had a choice?” You don’t answer. Because part of you already knows.

No. He didn’t. The drive back to the apartment is brutal. Frank keeps pressure against the wound with one hand while the other braces against the dashboard every time you take a corner too hard. Sirens scream somewhere behind you at least twice, but neither of you speaks. The silence feels jagged. By the time you get him upstairs, he’s pale beneath the scruff and sweat. Still standing though. Still trying to act like he isn’t bleeding through his goddamn clothes. You shove the apartment door open and immediately steer him toward the bathroom.

“Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re leaking on the floor.” Frank exhales sharply through his nose but drops onto the toilet lid anyway, broad shoulders tense with pain. The bathroom suddenly feels too small with him in it. Too warm. You yank the med kit from beneath the sink with shaking hands. Frank watches silently while you tear gauze packets open too fast. Your fingers won’t stop trembling.

“Hey.” You ignore him. Alcohol. Tweezers. Thread. Your vision keeps blurring.

“Hey.”

“Hold still.” You kneel between his spread knees and carefully lift his blood-soaked shirt. The bullet went clean through his side. Thank fucking God. But it still looks awful. Angry red flesh. Too much blood. Your stomach twists violently. Frank’s eyes stay on your face the whole time. You can feel it. Feel him watching the panic you’re trying desperately not to show.

“This is gonna hurt,” you whisper. Frank almost laughs.

“Sweetheart, everythin’ hurts.” The endearment hits you wrong right now. Too soft. Too intimate. You press the cloth against the wound harder than necessary. Frank hisses sharply.

“Jesus Christ—”

“Sorry.”

“Just-Just stop."

"What ? Frank, I need to-"

"Just stop, alright ? Get the fuck away from me." He rasps, pushing away from you. You stare at him for a second, stunned silent. Frank never pushes you away. Not really. Even angry, even furious, he always circles back toward you eventually like he can’t help it. But right now he looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Frank—”

“I said back off.” His voice cuts sharp through the tiny bathroom. “Jesus Christ, you think this is bad?” He laughs once under his breath, breathless and ugly. “You shoulda seen your face when he pulled that gun.” Something twists painfully in your chest.

“I didn’t see it,” you admit quietly.

“No,” he snaps immediately. “You didn’t.” He drags a hand down his face, smearing blood across his jaw accidentally. “Because you stopped thinkin’.” His breathing turns rough again. “You went in there like you wanted to die.”

“That’s not fair.”

“The hell it ain’t.” You stand abruptly, anger finally flaring through the guilt.

“You don’t get to say that to me after the shit you pull every night.” Frank barks out a humorless laugh.

“Difference is I know what I’m doin’.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, fuck you,” he fires back instantly, rising to his feet too fast. Pain slices across his face but he ignores it completely. “You think I didn’t see it? You think I don’t know what that look means?” He points at you violently. “I watched you stop carin’ whether you walked outta that room alive." Your throat tightens.

“He deserved it.”

“Yeah,” Frank growls. “And so what? You dyin’ was supposed to make that better?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You had a knife to his throat and didn’t even notice he had a goddamn gun in his hand!” The apartment goes dead quiet after that. Frank’s chest heaves hard. Yours too. Outside, sirens scream somewhere blocks away. You swallow thickly.

“I had it handled.” Frank just stares at you. Then he laughs again. Low. Disbelieving.

“Handled?” he echoes. “Handled?” His eyes shine with something dangerous now—not rage exactly. Something rawer. “You call that handled?” He steps closer suddenly. “I hit the floor and the first thing I thought was thank God it hit me instead of you.” His voice cracks around the edges unexpectedly. “You understand that?” You freeze. Frank seems to realize what he said a second too late. His jaw locks hard.

“Frank…”

“No.” He shakes his head immediately like he wants to physically shove the words back into his mouth. “Forget it.”

“No, you don’t get to do that.” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to. “What do you mean thank God it hit you?” Frank looks away. Which terrifies you more than if he’d yelled. Because Frank Castle does not look away from things.

“You think I could sit there,” he says finally, quieter now, “and watch you get shot?” Your heartbeat stumbles. The bathroom suddenly feels too small. Too hot. Frank presses a hand against the sink behind him hard enough his knuckles pale. “I can’t do it,” he mutters. “Can’t.” He shakes his head once, furious at himself now more than you. “You run into a room like that again and one day I ain’t gonna get there in time.” You stare at him.

"What the fuck do you want me to do then ?" You snap, anger bubbling up inside of you. "Wait for you for the rest of my goddamn life ? I was doing fine killing those sons of bitches on my own before you, y'know ?"

Frank goes still. Not calm. Still in the way a bomb is still before it detonates.

“That's what we're callin' it now ? You were 'doin fine' ?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.”

“Oh, bullshit.” The words crack out of him instantly. “Bullshit, and you know it.” You throw your hands up violently.

“Then what, Frank?!” Your voice bounces hard off the bathroom walls. “What the fuck do you actually want from me?” His jaw flexes.

“I want you to stop throwin’ your life away!”

“And I want you to stop acting like you get to decide what I do with it!” Frank stares at you like you just slapped him.

“You think this is control?” he asks, incredulous now. Angry in that dangerous, low-burning way that means he’s barely holding the leash on himself. “You think I’m barkin’ orders ‘cause I wanna own you?”

“You’re sure acting like it!”

“Jesus Christ.” He drags both hands down his face hard enough to wince when he brushes too close to the wound in his side. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” you fire back immediately. “Because every time I try to do something myself, you step in front of me like I’m some fucking civilian you gotta protect.”

“You wanna know why?!” he suddenly roars. The sound punches through the apartment. You both freeze. Frank’s chest heaves violently, blood already soaking through the bandage you barely got started on. “You wanna know why?!” he repeats, louder now, voice cracking around the edges from pure frustration. “Because I can’t stand the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you!” Your throat tightens.

“But it’s fine if it happens to you?” you shoot back, tears of anger stinging unexpectedly now. “That’s different?”

“Yes!”

“How?!”

“Because it’s me!” The words explode out of him. Raw. Immediate. Like instinct. Frank looks furious with himself the second they leave his mouth, but he keeps going anyway because now he can’t stop. “I know what I am,” he snarls. “I know how this ends for guys like me. But you—” He points at you sharply, hand actually shaking now. “You still got somethin’ left.” A bitter laugh tears out of you.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.” His voice drops lower. Rougher. “That thing where you act like your life don’t matter.” You look away first this time. Because it hit too close. Frank sees it immediately. Of course he does. “That asshole tonight,” he says, breathing hard now, “he had a gun pointed right at your chest and you didn’t even notice because somewhere along the line you decided dyin’ was worth it if you got revenge first.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Silence crashes between you both. Your eyes burn. Frank’s breathing turns uneven.

“I was fine before you,” you whisper finally. “Maybe messy. Maybe angry. But I was surviving.” Frank laughs once. Broken.

“Yeah?” He steps closer again despite himself. “You call that survivin’?”

“At least I knew what I was doing!”

“And now you don’t?” he snaps immediately.

“No!” The word rips out of you before you can stop it. “I don’t know what the hell this is anymore!” Frank freezes. You hate how vulnerable you sound.

Hate it.

“I had rules before you,” you continue shakily. “I knew how to do this alone. Then you show up and suddenly every time I walk into a room I’m checking if you’re behind me first.” Your voice cracks slightly. “Every time you get hurt it feels like somebody’s peeling my skin off and I—” You stop yourself abruptly. Too late. Frank’s stare locks onto yours instantly. The room goes dead silent.

“Oh,” he says softly. You look away immediately.

“Don’t.”

“No, sweetheart—”

“Don’t fucking call me that right now.” Frank runs a hand through his hair hard enough to tug at the roots. His face is wrecked now. Angry and overwhelmed and something dangerously close to hopeful all at once.

“You think this is easier for me?” he asks suddenly. “You think I like feelin’ like this?”

“Frank—”

“I can’t sleep unless I know where you are.” The confession spills out ugly and fast now, like once the seal cracked it all started bleeding through. “Every mission I’m watchin’ you more than the damn target. Every time you walk away from me I got this voice in my head tellin’ me it’s the last time I’m gonna see you.” Your breathing stutters.

“And tonight—” He cuts himself off sharply, swallowing hard. “Tonight I saw that gun pointed at you and I swear to God somethin’ in me fuckin’ stopped.” Your eyes sting. Frank’s voice rises again suddenly, frustrated at himself for even saying any of this.

“You got any idea what you do to me?!” he barks. You stare at him.

“No,” you whisper honestly. Frank laughs bitterly again.

“Yeah. No shit.” He paces once through the tiny bathroom before wheeling back toward you, eyes blazing now. “Because you keep actin’ like I’m worried about some partner on a job and not—” He stops. Too late. Your heartbeat pounds so hard it hurts. Frank looks trapped by his own mouth now.

“Not what?” you ask quietly.

“Forget it.”

“No. Frank, not what ?” You push. "Not what, Frank ? Some desperate little girl looking to get herself killed ?" You snap.

"Stop-"

“No, tell me,” you cut in sharply, hurt bleeding into every word now. “That what this is to you? Some fucked-up rescue mission? You saw some broken girl with a dead mother and decided to play savior?” Frank’s face changes instantly. Not angry. Offended. Deeply.

“You really think that low of me?” he asks quietly. The softness of it hits harder than yelling would’ve. But you’re too wound up now to stop.

“You don’t let me do anything alone anymore,” you fire back. “You watch me like I’m gonna snap any second, you throw yourself in front of bullets for me, you act like I’m made of glass—”

“Because I fuckin’ love you, alright?!” Silence. Absolute. Brutal. The words hang there like another gunshot. Frank looks stunned immediately after saying them.

Like he didn’t mean to. Like they just tore themselves out by force. His chest rises hard beneath the blood-soaked shirt. Your own breathing completely stops. Frank stares at you for one awful second. Then another.

And when you don’t answer right away— Something in his face breaks.

"Shit." He rasps. "Fuck, I didn't mean-"

You back away from him, your heart pounding, like the words physically hit you. Frank notices. And that hurts him more than the bullet.

“No, hey—” He stops himself halfway toward you, hand flexing uselessly at his side. “Don’t do that.” Your pulse is hammering so violently you can barely hear over it. The bathroom suddenly feels microscopic. Too bright. Too hot.

“You love me?” you repeat faintly, like your brain can’t quite process the sentence. Frank shuts his eyes for a second like he already regrets every decision that led here.

“Yeah,” he says finally. Rough. Cornered. “Yeah, I do.” The honesty of it steals the air right out of the room. No joke. No deflection. Just truth. Raw enough to bleed. You shake your head once instinctively, overwhelmed more than disagreeing.

“Frank…”

“I know.” His laugh comes out hollow and exhausted. “Believe me, sweetheart, I know.” He presses a hand harder against his side, blood seeping between his fingers again. “Shouldn’ta said anythin’.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Why?” he snaps suddenly, frustration boiling back over to cover the vulnerability. “So you can stand there lookin’ at me like I just ruined your whole goddamn life?”

“That’s not what this is!”

“Coulda fooled me.” His voice cuts sharper than he means it to. You see the regret immediately after, but neither of you knows how to stop now. “You think this is easy for me?” he asks, pacing again despite the obvious pain dragging at him. “Jesus Christ, I spent months tryin’ not to feel this shit.” He laughs bitterly. “Look how well that worked out.” You stare at him helplessly. Because part of you wants to cross the room. And another part wants to run.

Not from him. From what this means.

“You don’t understand,” you whisper. Frank’s expression hardens instantly.

“Then explain it to me.” You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Because how do you explain that nobody has ever loved you gently before? That every person who claimed to care eventually wanted something ugly in return? That Frank loving you feels less like safety and more like standing at the edge of a building waiting for the ground to disappear? Frank mistakes your silence immediately.

Of course he does.

“Right,” he mutters, looking away. “Got it.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” His jaw flexes hard. “Then what am I supposed to think here?” He gestures sharply between the two of you. “You back away from me like I put a gun to your head.”

“You blindsided me!”

“Yeah, well, you almost got yourself killed tonight, so excuse me if I’m a little past subtle.” The words hit hard enough to make you flinch. Frank notices instantly. “Shit.” He scrubs a hand over his face tiredly. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get it,” you cut in suddenly, voice cracking. “You don’t get to say something like that and expect me to know what to do with it.” His eyes lock onto yours immediately.

“Why not?”

“Because people don’t love me, Frank.” The room goes completely still. You wish immediately you could take it back. But it’s too late now. Frank stares at you like the words physically wounded him.

“Don’t say that,” he says quietly. You laugh once. Small. Broken.

“It’s true.”

“No.” Immediate. Fierce. “It ain’t.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know enough.” He steps toward you again despite everything. Slower this time. Careful, like you’re the one bleeding out instead of him. “I know what people did to you.” His voice roughens. “I know what they made you believe.” Your throat tightens painfully. “And I know,” he continues, “that every time somebody was supposed to protect you, they failed.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “But I ain’t them.” Emotion climbs so fast into your chest it almost hurts. Frank swallows hard. “I’m not sayin’ I’m good at this,” he admits roughly. “Hell, I’m probably the worst person alive for it.” A humorless huff escapes him. “But I swear to God, you are not some charity case to me.” His gaze drops briefly to your shaking hands. Then back up. “You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up.” His voice turns quieter now. More dangerous because of how honest it is. “And the last thing I think about before I sleep.” A beat. “When I sleep.” Your eyes sting again. Frank notices. His whole expression softens despite himself. “C’mere,” he says quietly. You don’t move. Not because you don’t want to. Because you do. Too much. Frank sees the fear all over your face and something inside him cracks all over again.

“Jesus, fuck- I’m not gonna hurt you.”He rasps. Before thinking better of it, your cross the space straight into his arms.

Frank catches you instantly.

Like instinct. Like breathing. One second there’s space between you, all sharp edges and panic and unsaid things, and the next his arms are around you so fast it almost knocks the air from your lungs. One hand curls hard against the back of your head, the other wrapping around your waist carefully despite the wound in his side.

And then he just— holds you.

Really holds you.

You make a broken sound the second your face hits his chest. It embarrasses you immediately, but Frank only tightens his grip, burying his nose against your hair like he’s been trying not to do exactly this for months.

“Hey,” he murmurs roughly. “Hey, c’mon. I got you.” The words destroy something inside you. Your hands fist in the back of his shirt automatically, clutching hard enough to wrinkle the fabric beneath your fingers. He’s warm. Solid. Alive. You can feel the uneven thud of his heartbeat against your cheek, too fast to be calm. You realize suddenly he’s shaking too. Not much. Just enough.

“I thought you died,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. Frank goes still. The confession hangs there between you, raw and ugly and real.

“When he pulled that gun up again…” Your voice cracks. “And you hit the floor—I thought—”

“Hey.” His hand slides up the back of your neck immediately, grounding. “Look at me.” You lift your head reluctantly. Frank’s eyes are wrecked. Not angry anymore. Just exhausted. Open in a way you’ve never seen from him before.

“I’m right here,” he says quietly. Your throat burns.

“You idiot,” you whisper shakily. “You absolute fucking idiot.” A tiny huff of laughter leaves him at that. Disbelieving. Fond despite everything.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Probably.” You hit his chest weakly.

“You took a bullet for me.”

“I’d do it again.” The answer comes too fast. Too honest. Frank seems to realize it immediately because his jaw tightens after, like he’s frustrated with himself all over again. But he doesn’t take it back. Wouldn’t take it back.

“You can’t just say shit like that,” you murmur.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because—” Your voice catches. “Because I can’t survive that.” That gets him. You see it happen in real time. Frank’s entire face shifts, something painful flashing across it before he pulls you even closer, forehead pressing hard against yours.

“You think I can survive you gettin’ shot?” he asks quietly. “You think that does anythin’ except bury me too?” Your breath stutters. Silence fills the bathroom again, thick and hot and aching. Frank’s thumb brushes under your eye before you even realize tears slipped out.

“Christ,” he mutters softly. “Baby…” The nickname doesn’t sting this time. It ruins you instead. “I don’t know how to do this right,” he admits after a second, voice low. “This—” one hand gestures vaguely between your bodies, frustrated by language itself. “Whatever the hell this is.” Your laugh comes out watery.

“Really convincing speech so far.”

“Yeah, well.” Frank exhales sharply through his nose. “I ain’t exactly built for healthy emotional communication. My wife could tell you that.” That pulls a real laugh out of you this time. Small. Cracked around the edges. But real. Frank stares at you the second he hears it. Like the sound means everything.

God.

That look alone could kill you.

“You scared the shit outta me tonight,” he says more quietly now. “Saw you run after him and I already knew.” His jaw flexes once. “Knew you weren’t thinkin’ anymore.”

“I know.”

“And then I saw him pull that gun—” His voice cuts off abruptly. You feel the memory hit him all over again. Frank closes his eyes briefly, forehead dropping to yours harder.

“I can't lose you. You're the only good fuckin' thing i got left.” he says finally. Simple. Certain. Like truth. Your chest aches so badly it feels impossible to breathe around it.

“You won't loose me,” you whisper. Frank opens his eyes again slowly.

“You can’t promise me that.”

“No,” you admit. “I guess not.” Another silence. Then, quieter: “I love you too, Frank.” Something fragile flickers across his face at that. Hope, maybe. The kind that terrifies men like Frank more than bullets ever could. His hand slides against your jaw carefully.

“You mean that?” You nod once. Frank stares at you another long second like he still doesn’t fully believe this is real. Then he kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.

It’s Frank.

It’s a collision, a desperate, bruising press of lips that tastes of blood and adrenaline and the metallic tang of fear. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll try to pull away. You don’t. You couldn’t. You kiss him back with just as much frantic energy, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you, until the wound in his side has to be screaming in protest but he doesn’t make a sound. He just deepens the kiss, a low groan rumbling in his chest that vibrates through you straight to your bones. It’s a kiss that says everything he can’t—don’t ever do that to me again, you’re mine, I can’t breathe without you. Your hands slide up his chest and freeze.

You break away from him panting.

He grabs the back of your head, chasing the kiss, but you nudge your head backwards.

"Frank.. You're still bleeding." You breathe. Frank looks at you like the words barely register. Still too close. Still breathing hard against your mouth. Your fingers press instinctively against the blood soaking through his shirt again, and this time he hisses sharply through his teeth. Reality crashes back in all at once.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, panic surging fresh through your veins. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are actively bleeding.”

“That ain’t usually fatal.”

“Frank.” Your voice cracks hard enough to finally get through to him. Something in his expression softens immediately.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Alright.” You guide him back down onto the closed toilet lid, hands careful against his ribs. Frank watches you the entire time now with this strange, unguarded intensity that makes it hard to think straight. Like confessing everything ripped some wall out of him permanently. Your hands shake again when you reach for the antiseptic. Frank notices instantly.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“I almost got you killed.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” The words come out sharper than you mean them to. “You got shot because I lost my fucking mind.” Frank’s jaw tightens.

“I got shot because I made a choice.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

“Well, tough shit.” His tone hardens again suddenly. “I’d make it every time.” You look up at him immediately.

“Frank—”

“Every goddamn time.” His eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “You understand me?” Emotion lodges painfully in your throat.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

“Watch me.” Despite everything, a helpless sound almost like a laugh escapes you. Frank catches it instantly, mouth twitching at one corner.

You wet another cloth and carefully start cleaning the blood from his side again. This time, he lets you. Mostly because the fight burned itself out of both of you. The adrenaline’s fading now, leaving behind exhaustion and bruised honesty. Frank’s muscles tense under your hands every few seconds though, face tightening whenever you press too close to the wound.

“You wanna maybe stop flexin’ like a macho asshole for thirty seconds?” you mutter.

“I ain’t flexin’.”

“You literally are.”

“Can’t help it.” You roll your eyes faintly and dab more antiseptic against the torn skin. Frank curses under his breath immediately.

“Baby—Jesus fuck.”

“That bad?”

“You’re enjoyin’ this too much.”

“You screamed at me. I deserve revenge.” Frank snorts softly. Then quieter:

“You still scared?” The question catches you off guard. You pause.

“A little,” you admit.

“Of me?” Your head snaps up instantly.

“No.” The answer comes so fast it almost surprises both of you. Frank goes still at that. You swallow hard and set the bloodied cloth aside. “I’m scared because…” Your voice weakens. “Because now I have something to lose too.” The words settle heavy between you. Frank stares at you like you just put a gun directly through his ribs. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for you again. This time his hand finds your wrist first. Thumb brushing your pulse.

“You got me,” he says quietly. Your eyes sting all over again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Simple as breathing. Simple as truth. You finish bandaging him in silence after that, the tension in the room changed into something softer now. Not lighter. Never light with Frank. But steadier. Intimate. By the time you tape the last piece of gauze down, exhaustion is dragging at both of you hard.

“There,” you murmur. “Try not to get shot again for at least twenty-four hours.” Frank hums thoughtfully.

“No promises.”

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[finco99]

Respectfully-

[njbuvyvtc]

lowkey life changing