summary: after the death of your parents you have to take on their role at the High Family annual celebrations but you have no idea what kind of family you were born into. Titus is well aware of who you are and will stop at nothing to get his hands on you
content/warnings: inappropriate relationship, unspecified age gap, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, pet names, death, murder, human sacrifice, virgin!reader, no use of y/n NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 3.5k
notes: sorry this is darker than what I usually write but it felt right for our boy Titus...also like suspend your disbelief okay, they get married right away!
Titus remembers the first time he saw you. You were with your parents, now an adult, you were being newly introduced to the world of Mr Le Bail. But they sheltered you, Titus remembers that. You really had no idea what kind of family you were born into.
They sheltered you from sacrifices and hunts. Until a car crash tragically ended their lives. And now you were the head of the family. Which means that you have to attend all the major ceremonies. And that's why you are standing in the Lodge on a Midsummer's evening in a beautiful white dress. You like a sacrificial lamb. But no, you're not the sacrifice tonight. That would never do.
Titus watches as you clutch your champagne flute and look around the room in confusion. He walks over to you, well aware that he is one of the most intimidating presences in the room. He notices how you wilt before him. Nerves taking over your body.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asks.
It's his family who are hosting the party afterall. He has to be a good host. He can feel his twin sister, Ursula's, eyes on him. What is he doing?
You smile shyly at him and nod your head.
"Of course, Mr Danforth. Thank you so much for inviting me. I know you were friends with my parents," you say.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Titus responds.
He's not. He'll get to see a lot more of you now that you have to attend the ceremonies.
"Is this your first Midsummer ceremony?" he asks.
You pause before quirking your lips, "Ceremony?"
Titus chuckles to himself. Oh your parents really did not clue you in on anything. His eyes scan your outfit, pretty dress and heels. You look good enough to eat...but it doesn't really work for the hunt that is about to take place.
A midsummer sacrifice is due. Sometimes that is delivered right to the altar, a throat sliced and the blood drawn in seconds. But the Danforths like the drama of a chase through the woods. The sacrifice is never going to escape. But the adrenaline is worth it. But there's no way you can chase through the forest in the outfit you're wearing.
"Did your parents not explain?" Titus queries with a cock of his head. His tone more mocking than sweet.
You shake your head but before the older man in front of you can explain a horn sounds out. You jump, your hand reaching out for the Danforth heir.
Titus preens when you grip him for stability. Oh, his precious lamb. He'll take care of you.
Ursula's voice trills out, "Come along, Titus."
"Where are we going?" you ask as you follow him like a lost puppy.
Titus doesn't want to ruin your innocence. But this is the reality of this life, the life you were born into. He wants to offer to allow you to stay in the Lodge. However, he can hear his sister remind him that all families must take part in the festivities.
"Out to the woods," he simply gruffs out.
You try to keep up with him. You've been watching him for years. He's so handsome, so off-limits. But his strides are longer than yours and you're wearing heels. You thought you were just attending a party. But you're traipsing out into the chilly Midsummer air and out to the woods. And you gasp when you see a figure in front of you. A man bound on his knees and blindfolded.
"What is this?" you breathe, almost to yourself.
You flinch when you see the way Titus' face lights up at the sight before him. Another horn sounds and the bound man's blindfold is pulled off. In a split second he takes off running.
You grip Titus' arm, as he is only person who has spoken to you all night.
"What's going on?" you desperately beg.
He looks at you with a softness now, "Oh my little lamb, the hunt. You must know about our traditions?"
You simply shake your head as another horn goes off. These stupid horns!
"You have to catch him, little lamb."
And with that, Titus stomps off into the forest. You look around as everyone else takes off. There is no way you're doing this. You turn on your heels and start to rush back to the Lodge. But a man in robes stops you.
"Ma'am, it is in your contract that you must take part in the hunt. You are the head of your family, the only person able to represent your lineage. If you don't do this, well, Mr Le Bail won't be happy," the man says as he clutches a huge leatherbound book to his chest.
"Who is Mr Le Bail?" you ask with huge eyes.
The man gives you a look that you can only describe as pity.
"Run...that way," he simply says pointing towards the forest. "Or it won't just be one sacrifice tonight."
You whimper before you do as he says. Your heart is racing and you can feel tears prick your eyes. You have no intention of killing anyone if that's what the robed man is suggesting. But you don't want to die either. So you take your chances in the woods. Until you come face to face with the, well, sacrifice.
"You're not gonna kill me, bitch," he snarls as he lunges at you.
You fall onto the leaf-covered ground with the strange man on top of you. Oh God, he's going to kill you. You're going to die. You scream out as his body becomes even heavier on you and something wet and hot is seeping over you. Your eyes open to see the full moon overhead, illuminating another figure. Titus is standing there, his warhammer dug deep into the back of the man who's entire weight is now on you.
Titus kicks the body off you, allowing you to scramble to your feet. Your white dress stained with blood. Titus feels the stir of his cock in his pants at the sight before him. His beautiful sacrificial lamb.
"Thank you," you gasp, rushing into his arms.
He wraps his thick arms around you, kissing the top of your head. Oh his precious girl. He isn't going to let anything bad happen to you. The fact you don't flinch when his lips press to your hair just emboldens him.
He breathes your name after a moment and you look up at him.
"You're not a hunter, sweet girl," he tells you, smoothing down your hair. And you shake your head as tears finally roll down your cheeks.
"You know there's a way to exclude you from the hunts. But...But it's quite the step."
You look at him, doe-eyed and willing.
"If you married someone from the families here tonight, you would be a member of their family. And you wouldn't have to hunt or attend Mr La Bail's ceremonies," he says, as he stroke the tears away from your cheek.
"Marry?" you echo.
Titus coos and nods his head, "Yes, little lamb. Marriage is the only way. Join a new family."
"Who would marry me, Mr Danforth?" you ask, your voice still shaky.
He chuckles, "Well, I'm sure there are so many options for you. But there is only one correct family to join. The Danforths are the most powerful. We hold the High Seat of the Council. Become a Danforth, rule the world, little lamb."
He can feel you shiver against him. The idea of the power going straight through your body.
"Marry you?" you ask then.
He nods his head in return. He knows he's much older than you. He knows that a beauty like you deserves a proper proposal. But he's wanted you since he saw you, and he has the opportunity now.
"When?" you continue.
"Well everyone is here tonight. I could make you a blushing bride right now," he all but growls as his grip on you tightens.
You whimper at the intensity of it all. You should run. You should push him away. This is crazy. You just watched him kill a man. And now he wants to marry you. You don't even know this man. You've only met him a handful of times.
But you don't do any of that. Instead, you let Titus draw you towards him. Let him press his lips against yours, gasp out at the taste of him. Titus growls out in response. He walks you back, pressing your back against the rough bark of a tree. He's all but rutting against you in the forest, blood still hot on your dress.
It takes all of his strength to pull away from you. This is not how he's going to take you for the first time. No. No. He can wait until his ring is heavy on your hand.
And the best part of the wedding is that you won't have to play some stupid game. No. You're already a follower of Mr La Bail. You will just be Titus'.
He takes your hand and walks you back towards the Lodge, finding the man in the robes. Titus simply calls him The Lawyer. You're whisked upstairs and you are bathed in lavender water. Your hair fixed, as is your tear-ruined makeup. Your white dress is replaced with a lavish black one. And you meet Titus underground in front of a bloodstained altar. You don't comment on this. You're too caught up in the idea of being his wife.
While Titus has watched you year after year, you have been just as enthralled with him. Your father tutted about what a strange family the Danforths were. Made salacious comments about why the twins never married. But you saw Titus. Saw how handsome he was. How, well, needy he was. And you wanted to give everything to him.
And with two words, rings placed on fingers and another searing kiss you shed your old skin and became a Danforth. Mrs Danforth. The wife of the most powerful man in the world. Although you weren't aware of that. Your parents truly had shielded you from the realities of the deals they had made. Even though you were a grown woman.
Ursula had cornered her twin brother earlier, scolding him for turning the night into his twisted plan. How could he marry a girl he didn't even know? She spat the word girl, letting him know she was unhappy with the obvious age gap between the two of you. But Titus would not be cowed by his sister. Not when he was finally getting the one thing that he wanted.
You.
Being a Danforth came with traditions and Titus had grown to love keeping traditions alive. So after he was allowed to kiss his bride, he had one thought in mind - consummating the marriage.
He carries you across the threshold of his bedroom in the Lodge. You giggle at how easily he hauls you into his arms. He places you back down on your feet and circles you like a wolf circling its prey.
"You look like a vision," he tells you as he comes back again to stand in front of you.
The black dress isn't what you envisioned for your wedding day but none of the night has been what you planned. You didn't intend to walk out of the party with a husband. But Titus had bewitched you. You weren't sure you could say no to him ever.
"But the dress really needs to come off," he says with a tut.
You move your hands to start to undo the ties at the front of the corset but he swats you away. Instead he pulls a knife from under his jacket and presses the tip under your chin. Your lip quivers as you look at him. Surely he didn't do all of this just to kill you?
You try not to think about the heat that is blossoming in your stomach at his action.
He hums as he meets your eyes before dragging the knife down your throat, not hard enough to cut you but enough for you to feel it. The cool metal drags over your chest and the swell of your breast. You whimper when he strengthens his force on the knife when it meets the fabric of the dress and with one sharp movement, the dress is cut from you. He pushes it off until you're standing in your undergarments.
This elicits a low, satisfied hum from your new husband.
"Pretty lamb," he growls, cupping the back of your head and crashing your lips together.
He walks you back until the back of your legs hit the plush blanket covering his bed. And with one swift movement, you're on the bed with Titus hovering over you.
His kisses are becoming more desperate, more sloppy. His tongue is exploring every inch of your mouth, and drool is rolling down your chin. And your core is on fire. He chuckles when he feels your hips rock upwards in desperation.
"Needy baby," he growls, kissing you once more. "Has anyone ever had you before?"
You shake your head. Your parents had drilled into your head the importance of finding the one. That and one too many Disney movies. While you'd dated in the past, everyone had been a dud. And this knowledge fills Titus with pure glee. He could click his heels together!
His hands move to massage your breasts over your lacy bra. He lets out contented little grunts as he teases your nipples before impatience takes over him and he rips the fabric from your body. One thing you'll learn about your new husband is that he doesn't like to wait. And he's waited so long for you.
He wants to ram his aching cock inside you but he knows that you're such a delicate thing. You wouldn't like that. Not at first. But you'll get used to taking him whenever he pleases. But not for your first time. No, he spends an embarassingly longtime sucking at your tits, leaving marks all over your skin. You can feel your arousal completely soak through your panties. Your thighs are soaked now.
"All for me?" he asks as he pulls your panties down your legs.
He would tear them off but this way he gets to inspect your pretty little pussy better.
"Spread for me, baby," he says giving your thigh a sharp slap before you open your legs.
"Good. Keep them like that. Good girl," he tells you as he steps off the bed to undress himself.
While he was impatient to get you naked, there is no rush in his undressing. He takes every item off slowly, folding them and putting them to the side. Until he's standing there in all his glory. You need to touch him, drag your nails over his freckled skin. But he tuts when you start to move.
"Be a good girl," he says giving your pussy a smack.
You should be embarrassed by the wet sound that echoes through the room. But you can't bring yourself to be. You just whine, keeping your legs spread for him. He smirks at you, like the big bad wolf that he is and hooks your legs over his sunkissed shoulders.
He places kisses over your stomach and thighs before diving into your cunt. And Titus eats you like a man starved. He sticks his tongue inside you before suckling at your clit before dragging his tongue over your aching folds. He repeats these movements until you're squirming under him. His thick hands grip your thighs, holding you against him.
"Cum for me, pretty girl," he demands.
And, as if on command, you do. Soaking his face, the silver of his stubble glistening with your release.
"Oh my little lamb, you taste utterly sinful."
Your eyes don't leave his weeping cock. He's huge - thick and long. You're not sure he's going to fit. But Titus has no doubt as he crawls back up your body. See, he knows that you're made for him. And he's not wasting any more time. He presses the blunt head of his cock against your opening. Even this feels like heaven...
He dips his head into the crook of your neck before he slowly, inch by torturous inch, presses inside you. You whimper and whine, squirming under him. He gives your ass a smack, a warning to stop moving. And finally he bottoms out.
"So fucking tight. The most perfect pussy. All for me," he tells you.
You both watch each other, chests heaving for a moment before he finally starts thrusting. Titus is not a patient man and he can feel your body's resistance to his movements. But he can't go slow like this forever. His hands tighten on your hips as he pulls them upwards so he can go deeper before he rocks his hips harder...faster...
Your screams of pleasure bounce off the walls as he takes what he needs from you. There's a burning sensation, the feeling of being pulled apart for the first time. But it is overwhelmed by how good this feels. Every pull of his cock sends shivers down your spine. And soon your eyes are rolling back in your head as you reach your second orgasm of the night. And it won't be your last.
No, Titus has plans for you.
The way your already tight pussy clenches around him as you cum forces him to stop. He physically can't move. It's enough to have him seeing stars. But not yet.
He pulls out of you, flipping you onto your stomach.
"Hands and knees, princess," he growls in your ear.
And you do just as he says. He gives you enough time to find your balance before he's driving into you again. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, the wetness of your cunt echoes around the walls and it's joined by your cries of pleasure and his low grunts as he drills into you. His rough hand snakes around and grips your neck. Pulling your back up against his chest.
A third orgasm overwhelms you making your vision go bleary as your whole body shakes. This time when your pussy clamps down on Titus he has no choice but to follow you over the edge. He fills you with ropes of cum. You didn't know someone could cum that much.
He lets you fall onto the bed, but he's not going to let his seed go to waste. No. When he pulls his cock out of you, he replaces it with two fingers.
"Need you to give me an heir, little lamb. Think I can fuck a baby into you tonight?" he growls in your ear.
All you can do is nod. Already fucked out. But you know that Titus' night has just begun.
"What a pretty fuckin' pussy you have," he tells you as he lazily pumps his fingers in and out of you.
He can feel the familiar quiver of your walls. Your fourth orgasm is fast approaching. He feels it as he breathes, "And all I had to do to get it was kill your useless fuckin' parents."
His words send your world upside down. He tells you as you're cumming. What a cruel, cruel man. He's killed your parents to get to you. And you've signed your life away to him.
"Oh pretty girl," he says pulling his fingers out and offering you them to suck. "Don't look so horrified, we both know that deep down you knew."
You open your mouth and let him press his fingers inside. You suck them clean as your eyes meet his. Did you? Did you know this man murdered your only family so he could marry you? Did it matter as you lay completely fucked out in his bed?
You were the most powerful woman in the world... Could you hate him for giving you that?
Titus watches as the gears shift in your head.
"Pretty girl. Smart girl. Precious girl," he breathes, kissing over your skin. "You stay by my side and you'll never want for anything again. Or you join your parents...What do you say?"
You look at him then. It's not much of a choice...but even if it were you had made it when you gripped his arm in the woods all those hours ago. You could never say no to Titus. So you just pull him down for a kiss. And you can feel how he smirks against your lips.
"Now, you should get used to this room because you're not leaving until I get you fuckin' pregnant," he snarls.
Summary: After finding out a certain attending likes to gossip, you find yourself having a very unexpected Fourth of July shift.
Warnings: none really; TONS of fluff, age-gap, pre-relationship, mentions of injuries, mentions of PTSD, gossip!jack, & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 4k+
Authorās Note: my fourth of july fic is here !! so excited to introduce yaāll to gossip jack !! i hope you guys enjoy !! <3
Jack Abbot is a lot of things; strong, intelligent, well-liked, level-headed, quick to react, reliable and good at his job. If you knew him well enough youād find heās pretty funny despite his dry sense of humor, very down to earth and has quite the sweet tooth. One thing you absolutely wouldnāt expect by just looking at him was his love for gossip.
With his sharp jawline and casually neutral faceāgrumpy in a way that was unfairly handsomeāchin donned with grey stubble and hair to match. Sharp eyes that noticed everything. Heās an ex-army man with a night shift attending badge clipped to his pants pocket who only drinks his coffee blackāhe survived losing half his leg, and yetāJack enjoyed using all of that to his advantage.
Any newcomer at the Pitt was quickly intimidated by himāalmost choked to death anytime Robby or Dana, hell; even if Shen or Ellis picked on him or called him old. Desperately looking for a patient to tend to before they saw one of their coworkers die or get scolded. But it never came, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips that was quickly so uniquely Jack.
So no, looking at Jack youād assume he probably kept to himselfāand for the most part he did. But once you got to know him a little? It wouldnāt be long before the truth came out;
Jack Abbot is a big fat gossip.
He never started the conversations, heād wait until someone else did and justā¦effortlessly slide himself right into them. But you could always tell when heād heard something new.
Like now, as youāre walking in next to him for your shift; heās practically vibrating. An extra bounce in his step, his hands closing and unclasping at his sides. Heās shifting on his feet way more than he usually does; and he keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms.
You try your best to keep your eyes on the boardāan ever growing list of patients above you. You try to ignore him, try to start your shift and at least make an attempt to head towards your first patient; but when he leans against the counter with a rather obnoxious exhale through his nose and scratches at his scruffāyou finally break.
āAlright Gossip Girl, what is it?ā, You ask, crossing your own arms and lifting a brow.
Jack practically shoots off the counter, straightening up and stepping closer to you. He looks around once before speaking.
āRobby and Noelle are hooking up.ā
He says it with both brows raised and eyes so wide you swear theyād pop out at any second.
Your mouth falls open before you can stop it; āSHUT UPāā
Eyes from every direction flick towards you, your reaction a little louder than you wanted it to be.
āJesus kid-ā, Jack shushes you quietly; nervously looking around before he gently pulls you into the empty break room.
His hand is still on your elbow when you speak up. You force the acknowledgement at the way your skin burns perfectly at his touch to the back of your mind; store it away for later.
āRobby and Noelle!?ā
He nods; āMhm.ā
āHow?? When?? Robby??ā, All your questions tumble out at once.
Jack shrugs, slipping his hands in his scrub pockets; āDonāt know for sure, long enough that it set McKayās alarm bells off.ā
āā¦Oh this is too goodā, You say, eyes focused on the floor as you comb through every thought thatās now popping into your head.
āIt gets betterā, Jack says, leaning closer; āDana said Noelle told her Robby sleeps with the tv on.ā
Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. The smug smirk on Jackās face does nothing to help you. Neither does the scrunch of your nose when you realize what youāre really hearing.
āThatās way more than I needed to know about Robbyā, You say.
Jack grunts something close to a laugh; āYouād be surprised.ā
āWaitā, You tilt your head; āWouldnāt you already know that about him?ā
Jackās smirk deepens; āWell yeah, butā, He leans even closer; āHow would she know that?ā
The information hits you again, your brain swirling at a speed thatās too fast for before coffee.
āOh my godā, You breathe.
Jack laughs across from you, actually laughs. You force yourself to ignore what that does to your heart.
āI donāt think I can even look at him nowā, You say, āIād laugh in his face, itās too good. Iād-ā
Jackās hand on your shoulder stops you; āWoah, kid. Donāt go spiraling on me now.ā
āIām notā¦itās just so?-ā
āStrange? Weird? Bordering on haunting?ā
āWell, yeah!ā, You say, hands flying in the air.
Jack laughs again, you ignore what it does to your heart; again.
āCareful kidā, He says, leaning in way too close; āGotta work on your poker face or I wonāt be able to share with my favorite resident.ā
Favorite resident.
Your heart does a somersault and the air leaves your lungs; heat rising to your cheeks.
His hand on your lower back lingers for a moment before he pulls away, leaving your skin cold and missing the contact.
āCmon, gotta get back out there before Dana threatens to put us all in triageā, He says, that crooked smirk playing at his lips.
It stays there as you watch him push the break room door open with his shoulder, disappearing back into the noisy hum of the ED; leaving you standing there with your mouth parted and your heart beating way too fast to be close to normal.
Three hours and too many patient charts later, you finally get a moment to sit down and let your feet rest. You take a drink of your water, crack your back once and lean back in your chair; letting your eyes close and hoping you get at least a few minutes.
That dream is quickly wrecked within seconds.
You feel him before you see him, not even having to open your eyes to know whoās standing next to youāthe shadow of his strong frame blocking out the blaring fluorescent lights above you. The heat you can always feel radiating off of him. Warmth you so desperately want to sink into, wrap your arms around him and nose into his neck. You briefly wonder if his cologne would smell stronger against his skin like that, or if thereād be something youād learn to be so uniquely and purely him.
You sigh, snapping yourself out of it. Eyes still closed as you cling to the last remaining bit of peace youāll get before he speaks and resumes his mission to annoy you as much as he can. Not that you mind in the least bit.
āWhat Jack?ā, You breathe, fighting the smile thatās trying so hard to creep onto your lips.
āHowād you know it was me?ā, You can hear the smirk in his voice.
āYou reek of antiseptic and annoyance.ā
A noise escapes him next to you, something between a laugh and a sound of disbelief.
āOh so you know what I specifically smell like?ā, He juts.
You feel your face heat up immediately, air leaving your nose. You fumble to keep yourself composed, a string of muttered words leaving your mouth.
You peek your eyes open, peering up at a way too smug Jack. Enjoying how flustered heās made you. His strong arms crossed over his chest; biceps bulging under his too tight scrub top. Freckles decorating his skin all the way up his arms; grey curls looking unfairly good and framing his face in a way that should be illegalā
āWhat do you want, Jack?ā, You feign annoyance.
āWhat makes you think I want something?ā, His answer comes from pursed lips.
āYouāre hovering.ā
āIām standing.ā
āYou have a look on your faceā, You throw back.
āMy face always looks like this.ā
āUnfortunately.ā
āHeyāā, His mouth opens, but you cut him off.
āJack.ā
āHm?ā
āWhatā, you sigh; āDo you want?ā
His mouth is crooked in the way it gets when heās trying to hide a smile or the fact that heās amused; but it always gives him away. You know that look and all of his looks too well by now. Unconsciously memorized and stored away for later with all the other information youāve filed away about him. Normal, completely casual.
It certainly has absolutely nothing to do with whatever feelings flutter to life inside your chest and set your very being alight each time you seem him. That certainly wasnāt the case, even now; when heās standing so close you can smell his cologne and something underneath it thatās just uniquely Jackā
You snap yourself out of it before the heat climbing up your neck once again can reach your face. Forcing yourself to stay calmāsteady.
Jack, who hasnāt moved from where heās standing; that ridiculously and frustratingly adorable crooked smirk still on his faceātakes a step closer to you.
āDid you know Shen has a secret supply of free drink vouchers from Dunkin?ā, Jack says.
You roll your eyes; āDid you know you and Robby have matching tattoos?ā
Jack falters for a moment, mouth falling open before heat pinkens the tips of his ears; āWe do not!ā
You shoot him a smirk, grabbing your drink and rising to your feet to walk around him. Heās following you half a stride later.
āW-Where did you even hear that?ā, He gawks.
You shrug; āIāve got my own sources.ā
A second later heās in front of you, arms up in defense as he shakes his head; eyes closing for a moment; āWoah. WoahāIāok, youāre screwing with me, arenāt you?ā
āHowās it feel?ā, You muse.
You watch as his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, a crooked twitch of his mouth as he rubs at the back of his neck; āYouāre mean, kid.ā
āAnd youāre a gossipā, You shoot back.
Jack pushes his hands into his pockets; āI might be.ā
You canāt help rolling your eyes again; āWhy would you even care if Shenās was true? You hate Dunkin.ā
āIām noseyā, He shrugs.
āYouāre something.ā
But that only makes Jackās smirk grow wider, twitching again in the way that sets your heart ablaze. God, he was gonna be the death of you.
A few weeks later, youāre strolling into the hustle and bustle of the ED for another shift. Bracing yourself for the incoming influx of patients from the holiday. The Fourth of July was always busy with firework accidents and heat strokeāamong other injuries you didnāt even want to ask about.
You hoped it would at least be relatively smoothāclose enough to a regular shift; that unfortunately would soon become the furthest from the truth.
You slid up next to Robby with a few patients, following Danaās directions; having opted to come in a little early to help out day shift. The ED was already busy, already bustling with patients of all different kinds. McKay had a firework injury, Santos had a nun with gonorrhea in her eye that she deemed an āimmaculate infection.ā Donnie had a priaprism, Mel and Langdon had set up a cool room and Javadi was helping a girl with glue in her eye. Not to mention the fact that a baby had been found in triage and was now being lovingly referred to as baby Jane Doe. Never a dull moment.
As if the shift couldnāt get any crazierāan hour later the ambulance bay doors opened and who came rushing through with a gurney but Jack Abbot. A Jack Abbot in uniform, nonetheless.
Camo fatigues hugged his body close, sweat already peaking through the fabric. Damp hair matched as he called out to Robby. SWAT team rushing in behind him. You canāt help but stare.
āIntubated neck wound, stats not great. Is there a trauma room open?ā, Jack calls out.
Youāre quick to snap yourself out of itājoining him at the other side of the gurney, rushing along side him; āWhatās the story?ā
āMy buddy Hiro, neck trauma. Warehouse robbery gone wrongā, Jack fills you in.
He doesnāt say much after that, setting up immediately once inside the trauma room. You can see heās tense by his shoulders and jawāworried for his friend. You jump into the chaos, helping any way you can.
āDid you intubate?ā, Trinity asks, working alongside you.
āYeahā, Jack says, not looking up; āUnder active fire.ā
You donāt miss the way he looks back over his shoulder, eyes flicking down as if looking for something that isnāt yet visibleāor the way he winces when he rolls his shoulders.
āThatās badassā, Santos says, smiling to herself as she assists Robby.
You on the other hand; only have worry clinging to the back of your neckāhairs standing on end as you look at Jack.
It doesnāt take long for all the hands working on Hiro to get him stabilized enough to send him up to surgery. The room clears out, leaving Jack and Robby the last two lingering inside. Youāre pulled into another case before you can get to Jack, forcing your worry down for later.
When you finally get a moment, Jack is nowhere to be found. The ED settling back into its regular busy hustle before SWAT had rolled in. You pick up another chart, going to check on one of your patients. What you find however when you pull the curtain back isnāt a patientābut rather the man youāve been looking for the past few hours.
Jack Abbot stands shirtless, back to you with a very visible bruise forming on the back of his left shoulder. He turns at the sound of the curtain being pulled back, glancing around the room.
āOh! Iāsorry!ā, You blurt out, cheeks heating up; āI was looking for my patient.ā
Jack continues moving, sitting down on the exam bedāsliding the tray of sterilized tools heād already set up towards him. He sets his black tee down on his lap, maneuvering the supplies.
āNo patient hereā, He says; āRoom was empty when I got here.ā
You furrow your brows, but push the thought to the back of your mind. All you can focus on is Jackāthe injured Jack sitting in front of you.
āShit, Jackā, You say, mind rushing back to the present; āYouāre hurt, what happened?ā
Youāre already reaching for the glove dispenser on the wall, making your way around him as he reaches for his back with a swabāfailing to reach far enough.
āBullet grazed my vestā, He says, waving a hand.
āYou got SHOT?ā, You blurt.
āShot atā, He says, brows raised with a shrug; āAnyways, Iāll be fine. Donāt worry about me.ā
But you do worry about him; more than he knows.
You ignore his words, taking the swab from his outstretched hand and gently clean the wound on his shoulder.
āThank youā, He sighs, voice going soft.
You canāt help the smile that breaks onto your lips, soft and gentle just for him; āAnytime.ā
Knowing heās ok and safe, your mind drifts nowāfocusing more on the fact that heās sitting shirtless in front of you. Thick and strong body built and freckled; just enough healthy fat around his mid-section that it settles over his belt when he sits down. Broad shoulders that stretch each scrub top he owns. You want to explore them, connect all the freckles that etch his skināpress kisses to the paleness of him.
You feel yourself bite your bottom lip, willing the heat returning to your cheeks to climb back down. To act normal.
āYou ok?ā, Jack asks, noticing your quietness.
āYup, perfectā, You say.
You donāt see his quirked brow, and whatever heās thinkingāhe keeps to himself. Shuffling to grab his t-shirt off his lap when you finish patching him up.
āThanks for keeping this off the booksā, He says, offering you a crooked smirk.
You nod, bottom lip still between your teeth; āSure.ā
He eyes you suspiciously when you donāt move, even after his shirt is pulled back on; āYou sure youāre ok, kid?ā
āYeah!ā, You answer to quickly; āI better go see if Dana needs anything, uhā¦Iāll see you later? For your shift?ā
Jack huffs a laugh; āYeah, see you there crawler.ā
With that you spin on your feet, rushing out of the room; leaving a smiling and curious Jack behind.
You find yourself at the hub, hiding your face in your handsāelbows resting against the top of the counter.
āWhatās got you so flustered?ā, Santos asks, looking up from her charting beside you.
You groan; āI donāt even know if I can say.ā
Princess perks up on the other side of you; āOk, now we need to know.ā
You groan again, looking around you once to make sure no one else can hear. Thankfully spotting Jack leaving through the ambulance bay doors.
Santos follows your line of sight; āSomething happen with Dr. Abbot?ā
You push your face back into your hands; āGod. What didnāt happen.ā
Both of them eye you with quirked brows.
āI saw himā¦shirtlessā, You mumble.
Princessā face lights up; āOh you lucky girl!ā
āAnd?ā, Santos asks.
You canāt help but groan again; āHeās unfairly hot. Like, so built and fit it should be illegal. He has no business looking that good in an ER.ā
The women next to you exchange glances, before bursting out into laughter beside you.
āSounds like someone has a crush on Dr. Abbotā, Santos says.
āWho doesnāt?ā, You quip back, like itās common knowledge and not about you.
Princess sighs on the other side of you.
āHeās like the McDreamy of the Pittā¦or the Clooneyā, She sighs.
āHeās better than McDreamy and Clooney, heās likeā¦McClooney.ā
Laughter erupts around you again.
āSo you and Abbot, huh?ā, Santos asks.
āGod, I donāt know. I mean weāre friends yeah, but I donāt think he even knows how I feel. Or that heād even feel the sameā, You sigh.
āI donāt know, Iāve seen him look at you. Seems like somethingās thereā, Princess says; āYou should talk to him.ā
Your face heats up way too fast; āI canāt do that! Are you crazy?ā
Princess shrugs; āYou never know what heāll say.ā
You sigh, nodding. You know sheās right, but you canāt push past the nerves or the fear that you might ruin a friendship you deeply value.
āHeās gone for a few hours anyways, I just need to get back to workā, You say, reaching for a new iPad.
You turn on your feet with another sigh.
āGo get your McClooney!ā, Princess calls out behind you, making you shush her.
You shrink under all the glances your way, hurrying along to find Dana and focus on literally anything besides your feelings towards Jack.
Itās a few hours later when Jack strolls back into the ED, camo backpack slung over one shoulder. Patients still bustle around him; Robbyās still forcing himself to work longer.
The hub is buzzing with a few staff; Princess, Santos, Nazely, Dana and Perlah all huddled together. Jack heads towards the staff room, but he stops when he hears your name.
āOh sheās got it badā, Santos says; āYou shouldāve seen her, she was absolutely flustered over seeing him shirtless. Poor girl canāt hide her crush if she tried.ā
Jack feels his heartbeat pick up.
āOur girlās got it for Abbot, huh?ā, Dana says, smiling to herself; āCanāt believe I didnāt see it.ā
Jackās heart stops at the mention of his nameāthen quickly picks back up. A smile spreads on his face before he can stop it, ducking and shaking his head as he pushes the door to the staff room open. He knew how he felt about you, but hearing you felt the same way towards him? His entire shift just got a whole lot better.
He keeps it to himself during handoffs, even during his beginning of shift speech as everyone gathers around him. His eyes flick to you once; standing between Cruz and Ellis. His smile doesnāt falter, a warm feeling fluttering behind his ribs.
He lets you go about your shift, getting swept into a few cases of his own. Itās nearing nine when he finally comes face to face with you; a much needed silence in the break room.
Heās leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee when you come in, stopping in your tracks when you see him.
āOh! Sorry, didnāt know you were in hereā, You say.
Jack scoffs a laugh; āWhat? You avoiding me now?ā
āNoā, You say, a little too quickly.
āGood.ā
He watches you cross the room, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. The noise of the can cracking open fills the room, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean up against the counter beside himāa little more space between you than usual.
Silence fills the air as you both drink, enjoying the few minutes of peace you might get before itās interrupted. Jack, as if sensing your calmādecides nowās the time to get you all riled up.
āSoā, He says, tracing the rim of his paper cup with his pointer finger; āI heard something interesting earlier.ā
You scoff; āOf course you did.ā
āWhatās that supposed to mean?ā, He asks, brow quirked and faking offense.
āJackā, You say; āDo you really want me to answer that?ā
āNoā, He shrugs, smiling to himself as he sets his cup on the counter behind him.
You shake your head, doing the same with your can; āLay it on me, Abbot.ā
Jack juts his chin out, scratching at his scruff.
āI heardā¦someone that works here has a crush on meā, He says.
You feel your stomach drop, embarrassment rushing to your cheeks and ears.
āSomething about āunfairly hot, so built it should be illegalāā, He says; āāHotter than McDreamy and Clooney?āā
āJack I-ā, You try to rush something out, but no words come out.
Your brain has shut down. You blink away the tears brimming your eyes.
But Jack just takes a step towards you, hands settling on your arms. His thumbs rub up and down, digging softly into your scrubs.
Then he hooks a finger under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. What he finds is a look he can only describe as guilty.
āHeyā, He says softly, ducking his head down to meet your eyeline.
āIām sorry, Jackā, You rush out; āItās highly inappropriate and I shouldnāt have said anything. I donāt want to make you uncomfortable, we can just forget this ever happened and go back to being friends. If you even still want to be my friend. Iām so sorryāā
āNoā, Jack says.
You freeze; āWhat?ā
āI donāt think I can do thatā, He says softly.
āIām so sorry Jackā¦ā, You mutter, fearing the worst.
āIām not.ā
You look up at him fully then, finding him gazing back at you fondlyāa soft crooked twitch of his lips taking over his face.
āYouāre notā¦?ā
āNoā, He says; āNot when itās you.ā
Your breath catches.
āSweetheart, Iāve felt the same way about you for so long.ā
Your mouth falls open. This time you canāt will it to shut again.
āGod, you drive me crazy, kid. Itās always been youā, He confesses, voice soft and deep.
Your chest is heaving by now, mouth dry and eyes wide.
But then you smile; āItās always been you too, Jack. For so long.ā
His smile widens to match yours; āCmere.ā
He pulls you in close, wrapping his strong arms around you. He doesnāt kiss you yet, not here; he doesnāt want the first time to be in the ED. Not when you deserve a real date, to be treated right.
He lets his lips ghost over your hair, pressing softly once against your crown. He rubs his hand up and down your back, before laying his cheek against your hair.
When he pulls away, his thumbs rest softly on your hips; digging in just enough to let you know heās still there. His smile hasnāt wavered, if anything itās only grown fonder.
āSo weāre ok?ā, You finally ask.
Jack laughs softly; āMore than ok, kid.ā
Quiet settles between you both again, comfortable and warm as you take each other in with new awareness on both sides. Then Jack shifts once; pushing himself off the counter.
āCāmonā, He says, pulling you with him.
āWhere?ā, You ask.
āThe roofā, He tells you; āGonna watch the fireworks. I know how much you like them.ā
You feel your heart melt with fondness, before the lingering concern for him creeps up behind it.
āJackā, You say softly, stopping him; āItās ok, we donāt have to. I donāt want you to be uncomfortable.ā
āIām notā, He says, offering you a smile and a small squeeze of his hand; āI want to watch them, with you.ā
So you follow him up the stairs to the roof, heart pounding loud enough to echoāletting him guide you with a steady hand on your lower back.
Most of the dayshift is already up there, gathered towards the railing of the roof. Jack finds a spot just in front of the doorway, leaning up against the brick wall. Away from the crowd and somehow seeming a little more private.
You settle in next to him, closer than you were in the break room. The first few fireworks go off, and for the first time; Jack doesnāt flinch. By the tenth, he reaches quietly for your hand; interlacing his fingers with your own.
Not out of fear or bad memories, just grounding himself. That makes you fold; you let your head drift down softly to rest against his shoulderāwatching the sparkles of blues and reds paint the sky above you.
Jack brushes his lips briefly against your hair again, pressing once before he turns his head backāsqueezing your hand softly. You stay like that; cuddled up against him in the back of the day shift crowdāa new, stronger feeling blossoming between you. Sweetly intimate and warm. Something existing just for the two of you.
āHappy fourth, Jackā, You hum, pressing your lips to his shoulder.
He squeezes your hand again, looking back at you as a sparkle of blue illuminates his face; āYou too, sweetheart.ā
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader (ft Michael Robinavitch)
Warnings: bloody angst, hurt, domestic accident, falling down stairs, blood, facial injuries, medical procedures, angry Abbot.
Summary: A routine task like doing laundry turns into a nightmare when a sudden slip makes you trip on the stairs. With a deep cut on your face and an injured knee, you try to downplay your clumsiness, but for your husband, Jack, the accident is anything but funny.
š based on this request š
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
You were trying to balance a mountain of folded laundry in your arms, hurrying to get back downstairs before the timers on the kitchen stove went off.
Jackās voice always echoed in your mind in these momentsāāStop running on the stairs, please.ā
But you rushed anyway.
Your foot caught the edge of the third step. The laundry flew from your grip, sending sheets and towels flying as your weight shifted violently forward.
You launched. Your knee slammed hard against one step, and before you could even register the ache there, the sharp edge another one scraped violently across your cheekbone.
For a second, the world just went completely quiet. You were crumpled on the steps, the breath knocked clear out of your lungs, staring down. The pain in your knee was loud and throbbing, and your face feltā¦ numb.
"Doll, what happened? Are you okay?"
Jackās voice broke the silence. You looked at him, his gaze sweeping over the scene. Because of his leg, he couldn't just drop to his knees or rush up the stairs to scoop you up; he had to take each step deliberately. The frustration of his own physical limitations was already written in the tight line of his jaw.
"I'm fine!" you managed, your voice sounding small. "Just... dropped the towels. And added another bruise to the collection." You tried to laugh, pulling yourself up to sit straight.
Jack reached the step just below you. "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are."
His tone was rigid. Stripped of all warmth.
"Jack, seriously, itās just a scrapeā"
"I said, don't move," he snapped, his fingers gently but firmly clamping onto your chin to tilt your face upward into the dim stairwell light.
That was when you felt it. A strange trickling sensation creeping down your cheek. Something dripped past your jawline. You reached up to touch it, but Jack caught your wrist mid air, holding it tightly away from your face.
But your fingers were already stained red.
"Oh," you whispered, the adrenaline suddenly spiking. "That's... blood." You tried to deflect with a nervous laugh. "Does the cut matches the bruise on my knee? A matching set for the collection. I'm keeping you in business, Doc."
Jack didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.
"Shut up," he said. "Don't make a joke out of this."
"Jack, I'm just trying toā"
"I don't care what you're trying to do." He snapped, letting go of your chin. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly against your cheek. "Apply pressure. Hold it there."
You took over, pressing the cloth to your face, the sting finally waking up beneath the numbness. "Don't talk to me like that. I just tripped."
"Because you were running! How many times do I have to ask you to slow down?" Jackās hands were trembling slightly. "You treat your own safety like itās a punchline. 'Another bruise to the collection.' Do you have any idea what itās like for me to hear a crash and know I can't run down there to catch you? Do you know what went through my head when I saw you lying here?"
His voice cut through your defense mechanism. You looked at him, he was angry and terrified. And, you knew, he was trapped by a body that wouldn't let him be the protector he desperately wanted to be.
"I wasn't trying to minimize it," you said softly. "I joke because I'm embarrassed, Jack. I'm clumsy, and I hate that I make you worry."
"I don't care about being worried," Jack replied. "I care about you being safe. I spend all day at the hospital patching up people who didn't see the accident coming. And you... you're rushing through our own home like you're invincible. And I can't... if something happens to you, I can't get to you fast enough. You know that."
The silence returned, heavier this time.
Jack gently reached out, taking your hand away from the handkerchief to check the bleeding. The edge of the cut was clean, but it was deep enough that it would probably need a few butterflies, if not a stitch or two.
"It needs to be cleaned properly," he murmured. "Can you stand?"
"Yeah," you whispered, wincing as you shifted your weight onto your bruised knee. "I can stand."
"Good." Jack took a deep breath. Once he was stable on his good leg, he offered you his hand. "Let's go fix you up. No more jokes."
"Okay. No more jokes," you agreed, letting him pull you up into the kitchen.
Jack guided you to a stool by the kitchen island. Without a word, he moved around, pulling a first-aid kit from the cabinet and grabbing a damp washcloth from the sink.
"Keep pressure on it," he ordered softly, setting the kit down.
When he turned back to you, he pulled up another stool, carefully positioning his stiff leg out to the side so he could sit close enough to work.
"Okay, take the cloth away. Let me look."
You pulled the blood soaked handkerchief from your cheek. Almost instantly, a fresh crimson stream welled up from the split in your skin, tracing a rapid path down your jaw and dripping onto your collarbone.
Jackās brow furrowed. He took the damp washcloth and gently tapped around the wound, trying to clear the area to see the actual depth of the laceration. "Hold still. I know it hurts."
The cold water hit the raw nerves, and you gasped, leaning back instinctively. "It stingsāgod, Jack."
"I know, I know. Don't pull away from me." His hand was firm on the back of your neck, holding you in place. But as he wiped a fresh layer of blood away, the wound immediately filled again, spilling over. The edge of the step had sliced deep, right over the prominent curve of your cheekbone where the skin was tight.
He waited a beat, pressing a clean piece of sterile gauze against it, counting silently under his breath. One minute. Two minutes. When he pulled it back to check, the blood welled up just as fast. It wasn't clotting. The edge of the cut was jagged, grinning open in a way that made his stomach do a sick flip.
Jack let out a frustrated breath. He didn't say anything, but the professional shift in his posture told you everything.
His ER doctor self had completely taken over.
"I-Is it bad?" you asked, your voice trembling.
"Itās deep," Jack said, his voice felt cold. "It tore right through the dermal layer. Itās too wide for butterflies, and because of the location on your face, itās going to keep opening every time you talk or blink. I can't close this here. It needs a layered suture, and it won't stop bleeding until it gets one."
He packed a thick stack of sterile gauze against your cheek, taking your hand and forcing your fingers to hold it there with heavy pressure.
"We're going to the hospital," he said, already standing up. The sudden movement made his brace click sharply.
"Jack, can't you just do it? You have a kit, you're a doctorā"
"I don't have a local anesthetic or the proper fine gauge monofilament sutures in the kitchen cabinet," he snapped, his voice cracking with sudden panic. He grabbed his car keys and his and your jacket from the hook by the door. "If I try to patch this up with what I have here, youāre going to end up with a massive scar on your face. Weāre going to the hospital. Now."
The drive was quiet. He kept his hand firmly on the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road, while you sat in the passenger seat, pressing the now heavy gauze to your face.
You looked over at his profile, his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle was jumping in his cheek.
"Jack," you whispered, the movement pulling painfully at the cut. "I'm sorry."
He didn't look at you, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Just keep pressure on the wound, please. We're almost there."
-
The doors of The Pitt hissed open, swallowing you both into the familiar air of the emergency department.
Tonight, you were the intake.
"Jack? What the hell happened?"
Robby said from behind the central desk, his eyes darting instantly from Jackās tense face down to you. He saw the blood soaked gauze you were holding tightly against your cheek and the dark stain on your collar.
"She took a fall on the stairs," Jack said, sounding entirely professional, though the tight grip he kept on your elbow betrayed him. "Laceration to the zygomatic arch. Itās deep. Itās been bleeding consistently for minutes. I couldnāt get it to clot at home."
"Alright, let's get her into Room 4, it's empty," Robby said, immediately stepping into gear, stepping beside you. "Can you walk okay? Did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?"
"My knee is a little banged up, but my head is fine," you muttered around the cloth, feeling a flush of embarrassment as a couple of nurses glanced your way. "Just... really clumsy."
Robby guided you onto the examination bed. "Letās take a look."
You layed down and slowly pulled the gauzes away. Without the constant pressure, a fresh bead of dark blood immediately welled up. Robby leaned in, using a piece of sterile gauze to gently dab the edges of the wound. He winced slightly, assessing the deep split over the bone.
"Yeah, you really did a number on this," Robby murmured. "Itās a clean tear but itās deep. Itās definitely going to need a few sutures. I'll get the lidocaine andā"
"I'll do it," Jack interrupted.
Robby paused, looking up at Jack, who was standing at the foot of the bed.
"Brother, you know the protocol," Robby said softly. "You don't treat family. Let me handle it. I'll make the lines clean, I promise."
"Itās my wife, Robby." Jack said, he stepped closer to the bedside, his eyes locked on the wound. "Iām doing the stitches. I need to do them."
The two doctors locked eyes for a long moment. Robby knew Jack, he knew his friend's frustrations, he knew how much Jack hated feeling helpless.
Letting Jack treat you wasn't standard, but Robby knew that forcing Jack to stand by and watch someone else patch you up would be worse.
Robby sighed, stepping back. "Fine. But I'm staying in the room to assist. And if your hands shake even a millimeter, I'm taking the needle."
"They won't shake," Jack said.
He moved to the side of the bed, carefully adjusting the stool so his rigid leg could extend comfortably.
Jack snap on a pair of sterile gloves, and when he pulled the tray of instruments closer, where a nurse put all the necessary.
"Look at me," Jack murmured softly. He picked up the syringe of lidocaine. "This is going to burn. A lot. Hold my knee if you need to. My good one."
You reached out, gripping his good knee tightly. He didn't flinch as your fingernails dug into his skin. "Okay, you're going to feel a little pinch."
The needle pierced the edge of the cut, and a sharp burning sensation flared across your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, gasping as the medicine flooded the tissue. Jackās was completely steady as he repositioned the needle to numb the entire perimeter of the wound.
Within a minute, the burning subsided into a heavy weight.
Jack worked in absolute silence. He used a small suction tip to clear the pooling blood, exposing the deep layer of tissue beneath. With a needle driver, he began the meticulous process of closing the deep dermal layer first.
You only could feel the gentle tugging of the thread as he pulled the edges of your skin back together. You watched his face. His brow was furrowed, his eyes entirely locked on the millimeters of flesh he was mending. The anger from the stairwell was gone, completely replaced by an aching tenderness.
Every movement of his hands was incredibly precise, deliberate, and gentle.
Robby stood by, cutting the sutures as Jack tied off each knot. "Nice tension," Robby commented quietly, validating his friend's work. "That's going to heal beautifully."
Jack didn't reply. He just kept sewing, treating your face like the most fragile and precious thing in the world.
By the time he tied off the final knot, the wound was closed, reduced to a thin black line across your cheekbone.
Before Jack could even reach for the dressing supplies, Robby quietly stepped into his line of sight, a non adherent telfa pad and a strip of medical tape already in his gloved hands. "I've got the dressing, Jack. Step back for a second."
Jack blinked, the sharp medical tunnel vision breaking as he looked up at his friend.
He didn't argue.
His hands were just starting to develop a microscopic tremor from the adrenaline crash, and he knew it.
Robby offered you a warm smile as he leaned over the bed. He placed the small protective gauze pad directly over the neat row of black stitches, securing it firmly to your cheek with the clear tape. "There you go. Thatāll keep it clean and protected. Excellent handiwork, by the way. You won't even be able to see the scar in a few months."
Jack dropped the instruments onto the tray. He pulled off his gloves, tossing them into the bin, and took a deep breath.
"All done, baby," he said softly. "You're okay."
"Thank you," you murmured, with an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.
The ride back home was calm. The dashboard clock glowed a late hour as Jack pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
"Let's get you inside," Jack said softly. He had the night off.
He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and offered you his hand. As you stood up, your leg wobbled, and Jack immediately caught you. He held you close, bearing your weight as he carefully guided you into the house.
He led you straight to the living room, easing you down onto the couch. He disappeared for a few minutes, and when he returned, he was carrying a plush blanket, a fresh ice pack, and a glass of water.
He carefully lowered his weight onto the couch beside you and draped the blanket over your lap, then gently held the ice pack against your bruised knee.
Looking at him, seeing the dark circles of exhaustion, the faint smear of dried blood on his forearm that he hadn't fully washed off, and his unconditional care, the dam broke.
Tears slipped down your cheeks.
"Hey," Jack murmured, his brow furrowing as he set the ice pack down and instantly reached for your face. "Hey, whatās wrong? Is the local anesthetic wearing off? Is it hurting?"
"No," you choked out, your voice thick and trembling. You shook your head, immediately regretting it as the movement pulled at the tight stitches. "No, it doesn't hurt. Jack, I'm so sorry."
"Sweetheart, you don't need to-"
"I do," you interrupted, a sob catching in your throat. You reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm so, so sorry. I know I make a joke out of being clumsy, but I hate that I frightened you. I hate that I made you feel... helpless. I know how much you want to protect me, and I was careless. I didn't think about how it would affect you to hear me fall and not be able to just run down there. I'm so sorry for being reckless with myself."
Jack stared at you, his eyes softening.
He reached out, his thumb gently catching the tears on your cheek, careful not to touch your wound. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne.
"Thank you for being honest with me" Jack whispered into your hair, his hand gently stroking your back. "But you don't have to carry that guilt. I was angry because I was terrified. When I'm at work, I can control things. I have a team. But when itās you... here... Seeing you hurt, and knowing my own body slows me down from getting to you... it scares me, baby."
He pulled back to look into your eyes.
"I know accidents happen," he said softly. "But I just need you to take care of yourself, because you are the most precious thing in my life. Okay?"
"Okay," you sniffled, wiping your nose with the edge of the blanket. "No more running on the stairs. I promise. I'll take them like a snail."
A smirk broke across Jackās face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was the first time he had smiled all night. "A snail might be a bit too slow, but I'll take it."
He leaned in, carefully placing a kiss on the uninjured side of your face, then another on the tip of your nose. "I love you, doll."
"I love you, my Jackie."
"Lay back, you need rest," he commanded gently, helping you settle on the couch. He placed the ice pack back on your knee and tucked the blanket securely around you. He picked up the TV remote and settled back against the cushions next to you.
As the soft sounds of a night time program filled the air, Jack's fingers gently stroked your head, lulling you to relax and close your eyes.
After a few seconds, you drifted off to sleep, feeling completely safe and secure in the tranquility of home.
Convincing Jack to dig out his old army uniform just so you can see it forā¦ research purposes!
The two of you are in Jackās attic, youāre standing near the doorway because he doesnāt want you to get sick from all the dusk up here. Youāre watching him as he pulls out old totes then brings them over to the doorway as he rummages through them.
Pulling out old picture frames with a large group of military personnel and heās holding it over to you
āthatās fromā¦ when was it ā96? Yeah ā96 I think.ā
Youāre just giggling to yourself as you look over the faces trying to find your Jackie. Youāve only seen about two photos when he was around about your age
Youāre pointing to one of the guys that you already know is him because itās the only one whoās got curly hair and a āmedicā patch on. Heās nodding and letting out a sigh
āYep, thatās meā¦ā
Then his digging around some more, pulling out another frame, this time itās just him. Dressed all nice and proper. Youāre smiling brightly, you feel so honored that heās able to even show you this stuff. It has to be very emotional for him. Some of these things he hasnāt seen since he was this age.
Heās looking over and handing you the photo youāre practicing dumbfounded that this is your same Jack Abbot. You run a finger over where his shoulder is in the photo as you look at it, his heart melts and he quickly musters up whatever he can.
āThat was ā95 I believeā¦ you werenāt even born yet.ā
You flash him a glare.
One he finally finds his box of old tactical gear itās game over. Youāve got on one of his jackets that he put on your shoulders and a pair of sunglasses that arenāt even silver anymore on your forehead that you pushed up after he placed them on your face.
Heās got old boots heās showing you. Youāve only seen just know youāve struck a gold mine. Because little does he knowā¦ what youāre conjuring up in that head of yours.
The both of you head back downstairs once youāve had your fill of nostalgia for the night. You excuse yourself to go get your pajamas on for bed while he starts pulling the covers back.
Thatās when you pop up behind him, cute frilly lingerie that looks like it belongs to a museum, and youāve got his jacket on. You feel like one of those sailorās girlfriends from the 40ās.
Heās immediately hardily chucking and throwing you onto the bed
āOh so was this the whole reason why you made me dig out those boxes?ā
He sounds so giddy as his hands trial all over your breast and slide under the hem of your bra, heās leaning down while he hovers over top of you and kissing you so harshly you fear he might be trying to bite your face off. He isnāt. He pulls pack and roams his hands over your body some more.
Sliding down to your panties and he smiles against your lips as he tugs the off in one swift motion
āyou sure do know how to make a soldier proud of his country.ā
Youāre laughing out loud but itās so quickly cut short by a very large gasp as heās placing his cock in you. You hadnāt even noticed what he was doing until it was too late and you were now being absolutely stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Each time he bucked his hips up into you a sound left your mouth. He wasnāt being polite tonight. He was being a ruthless animal, taking what he wanted without a second thought. Heās got you all messy. Covered in his cum, trembling as your nails dig into his back.
pairing: Michael āRobbyā Robinavitch x graphic designer!afab!reader
w/c: 8.3K words
summary: Eight days after your breakup with Robby, a kitchen accident leaves you needing stitches. The only thing worse than the injury is running into him at the Pitt (and seeing him with his ex).
warnings/tags: age gap (I imagined r around 27, but I didn't specify. Robby was her first serious relationship, though), jealous!r, angst, longing, language, r hurt herself catching a knife, r does not imagine herself having kids.
A/N: I hope you'll enjoy it! This wasn't originally supposed to be a multi-part story, but it ended up getting a little longer than I planned, so part 1 it is. Itās been a while since I last wrote anything, so Iām just hoping Iām not too rusty. Also, I have no medical background, so I apologize if the ER scenes aren't completely accurate. I hope the next part will come fastš¼ (I found the Robby pics on pinterest, so credits to the owners)
You knew you should have come straight to the Pitt, the same way you should have seen that his fear of commitment would eventually outweigh the little fantasy world you'd built together over the last few months. Yet you put it off, pretended not to see it, and ignored how much it actually hurt.
āCan you move your fingers?ā
You flexed them carefully, trying to look as unaffected as possible while the nurse unwrapped your improvised bandage. You weren't sure who she was. You'd heard about multiple doctors and nurses, but none of the descriptions seemed to fit her.
āYeah.ā
Unwrapping it hurts far more than the cut itself, anyway.
āOkay. Sit tight. We won't keep you waiting long.ā
You nod, rewrapping your hand and pressing down again, just like he taught you. And when the door opens a moment later, you see him.
It's not cinematic. There's no slow motion, no dramatic swell of music, no sudden zoom-in. Your brain just takes half a second too long to catch up.
Robby is across the hall, near the nurses' station, hugging Noelle.
Not a quick hug, either. They're standing too close, fitting together in a way that's painfully familiar.
Your stomach drops and you look away immediately, as if you've touched a hot stove. As if looking any longer might make it real.
But you're not surprised.
Hurt? Absolutely. Surprised? Not really.
You knew about Noelle. Knew enough to pretend it didn't bother you when it probably should have.
Still. Eight days.
Only eight days -as far as you know- and he's already back with her. So much for the seven-week itch. Somehow he'd made it a few months with you. Looking at him now, you weren't sure whether that was supposed to make you feel better or worse.
You shake your head, determined not to have a breakdown in front of thirty strangers waiting to be treated.
So you step outside.
You spend a few minutes drafting a message to your boss, explaining that you might need half a day tomorrow -or at least a few hours- because you have no idea how long it'll take before a doctor finally sees you.
You hit send, and less than a minute later, you swear you hear your name.
When you look up, you try not to frown.
It's Jack.
Then again, this is the ambulance bay. Any doctor could be here.
Still, he's not wearing scrubs, and he's way too early for the handover.
āWhat the hell happened?ā
āHi to you too,ā you say dryly, trying not to look affected.
You'd missed Jack. That was one of the less obvious downsides of the breakup. Somewhere along the way, he'd become one of your closest friends.
And seeing how worried he looks makes your throat tighten.
He steps closer, already reaching for your wrist.
āHow long has it been bleeding?ā
āNot that long.ā
He raises an eyebrow.
ā...Okay, like two hours,ā you admit.
āJesus Christ.ā
āIt wasn't that bad, I'm in triage. A really nice nurse already looked at it-ā
āNot anymore.ā
Or maybe that's what he says.
Before you can argue, he's steering you back toward the doors.
You barely register what happens next. As soon as you get past the triage, Jack says something to a nurse you vaguely recognize as Dana. She nods, glancing at a computer screen, and he asks her to page Langdon since he never clocked in for his shift.
You're not really listening. The image of Robby and Noelle is still haunting, replaying every time you blink. Their hug... the ease of it. The history in it. How easy it seemed to slip back into.
And for one awful second, you wonder if you've been looking at it all wrong.
Maybe you weren't the one who got replaced. Maybe, for a little while, you were the replacement. The pit stop. The distraction.
The room is too bright and everything is too loud. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting that harsh, clinical glow that always seems to make headaches worse. The exam table crackles beneath you when you shift, the thin paper sticking slightly to your skin. This is the last place you wanted to be.
Your hand is still wrapped, but the bandage is not doing much anymore. The gauze is damp, a dull red stain spreading through it while Jack stands nearby, arms crossed, glaring at it.
āYou really waited?ā he asks again, as if he still can't quite believe it.
āI didn't think it was-ā
āThat bad?ā he cuts in.
You shrug.
āI handled it.ā
āYou were bleeding for two hours.ā
āIt sounds worse when you say it like that. It wasn't that dramatic.ā
āYou're in the ER.ā
Before Jack can continue, Dr. Langdon steps in, already pulling on a pair of gloves. And honestly, you've never been more grateful for an interruption.
Because you know Jack... or at least, you think you do. He wouldn't let it go. He'd ask why you waited so long. Why you didn't call Robby. He'd keep pulling at the loose threads until he got to the truth, and right now you're not sure you can survive another person looking at you too closely. Or worse, with pity.
You know Jack never liked whatever was going on between Robby and Noelle. Maybe Robby kept the details to himself. Maybe Jack has no idea that the same girl who came before you apparently came after you, too.
Or maybe he knows.
āAlright,ā Dr. Langdon says, flashing an easy smile.
Truth be told, he's even more charming than Robby described. There's something boyish about him, softened by confidence and experience. It's a dangerous combination.
And no wedding band. Interesting!
āLet's take a look at Abbot's VIP.ā
So he knows who you are.
You immediately offer your hand, asking him to call you by your name.
You thank him, too. You know he must be busy. Hell, the whole department seems one bad shift away from complete chaos.
Langdon smiles and starts unwrapping the bandage, and as the cool air hits the cut, you hiss through your teeth.
Beside you, Jack leans forward despite himself, and Langdon shoots him a look.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
āOkay,ā Langdon says as he studies the wound for another second. āYeah. That's deep.ā
āOh, I love hearing that,ā you mutter playfully.
Langdon doesn't react, though. He just adjusts the overhead light, angling it directly over your hand. It makes everything look far more detailed than you'd like.
āCan you move your fingers for me?ā
You don't hesitate, so you slowly curl them inward.
The skin pulls tight around the cut. It's an uncomfortable stretching sensation that makes your jaw clench, but everything moves the way it should.
āAgain.ā
You repeat the motion.
āGood. Now straighten them.ā
You do.
āAny numbness?ā Langdon asks.
āNo.ā
He takes a piece of gauze and lightly brushes it across your fingertips, then along the edges of the wound.
āTell me if this feels the same.ā
You nod.
āIt does.ā
Langdon glances at Jack.
āAlright.ā A small nod towards Jack. āNo nerve involvement.ā
āYour last tetanus vaccine?ā Jack asks without looking up.
"Three years ago.ā
Another nod.
āYou're fine.ā
You smile nervously as Langdon reaches for a syringe.
āThis part's going to sting.ā
āDefine sting.ā
Jack glances at you as you eye the needle. āIt's the worst part.ā
āGreat.ā
Langdon doesn't wait, and the next thing you feel is the needle sliding into the skin beside the cut.
And.
It.
FĆŗcking.
Burns.
āJesus-fĆŗck, that hurts.ā You suck in a sharp breath. āSorry.ā
That makes Langdon smile and shake his head. āThat's a healthy reaction. No need to apologize.ā
āBreathe,ā Jack adds, arms crossed.
To your surprise, he actually looks concerned.
āI am breathing,ā you say through clenched teeth. "It's not my fault this feels like hell."
Then it fades quite fast. Your palm starts to feel so heavy like itās been inflated from the inside, so you instinctively try to flex your fingers. It's such a weird sensation.
āTake a deep breath.ā
Another injection and another flare of that same burning pressure.
āYou'll feel some pressure,ā Jack says as Langdon trades the syringe for a larger one.
It's a good thing needles don't bother you much, because that one looks ridiculous.
Quickly, he positions it over the wound and presses, and you assume it's saline what shoots into the cut. And you flinch.
It doesn't exactly hurt, it's worse.
The sensation is deep and wrong, as if something is moving where nothing should be moving. You have to fight the urge to yank your hand away.
But you are a big girl. Instead, you watch how the fluid runs out pink at first, then gradually clears. It spills onto the blue pad beneath your hand, soaking into it.
Langdon repeats the process several times and despite yourself, your thoughts drift back to Robby.
How many times has he done this?
How many cases just like yours has he seen? Distracted people catching a knife with their palm while making dinner... How many wounds has he cleaned and stitched over the years? How many patients had come before you were even born?
āWhy does that feel worse than I expected?ā you ask, mostly to distract yourself. You don't even expect an answer; you just need something to focus on besides him.
āBecause it's inside the wound,ā Jack answers, still watching carefully.
You just know he's a good teacher.
He seems so patient and pulled together. And you're jealous.
You wish you could inspire that kind of confidence in people... make them feel safe.
āI hate this shit.ā
Langdon chuckles and makes a few jokes as he blots the area dry, inspecting it more closely while gently parting the edges of the cut.
But you refuse to watch.
Instead, you stare at the ceiling, counting tiles, then the lights.
Anything except your own hand.
āAlright,ā he says finally. āWeāre good to close it.ā
Once Jack gives an approving nod, Langdon opens a sterile suture kit.
You glance down.
Thread, needle, forceps.
Jack shifts his weight but doesn't leave.
āYou don't have to wait for me,ā you absently tell Jack. You're more than grateful, but you know he's busy. And so is Langdon "I'm sure you have actual patients to see. And if something urgent comes up, just let some newbie practice their stitching skills on-"
And maybe Robby doesn't have to be the center of every conversation.
āShut up,ā Jack cuts in, but thereās no bite to it. He is worried... he actually cares.
Maybe you can keep Jack.
You can watch tennis together, meet for coffee. Be friends.
Maybe he doesn't have to know how much it still hurts.
The first stitch isā¦ weird.
You don't feel the needle break the skin, but you feel the movement afterward: the tug, the pull.
Like someone's threading something through your hand from the inside.
Your fingers twitch instinctively.
āTry to keep it still,ā Langdon says, flashing you a smile that could probably solve half the hospital's complaints.
āI'm trying.ā You shake your head. āHow many?ā
You've never needed stitches before. Well, youāve also never caught a falling knife mid-air, so thereās that.
āSix or seven, probably.ā
āGreat, Iāll name them all. I saw that in a film.ā
āMy son did that once, too.ā Langdon says immediately, and Jack huffs a quiet laugh.
āFirst oneās Jack,ā you say, lips quirking into a smirk. You already know exactly how heāll take it, and you're happy that the mood has changed.
āAbsolutely not.ā
āToo late.ā
āOf course it is,ā he mutters, shaking his head, but thereās no real anger in it. He is used to you being a pain in the ass.
Langdon snorts, smiling again. āIād like to be excluded from this.ā
They continue to talk about the shift after that, careful not to wander into anything confidential with you sitting right there.
āYouāre definitely number two.ā
āWhy am I involved in this at all?ā Langdon asks dramatically, and you wink.
And somehow, it doesn't even hurt anymore.
Then the door opens.
You flinch so hard your hand nearly jerks.
You've always been easy to startle... too aware of everything around you.
Robby used to think it was funny. He'd appear out of nowhere and say ābooā when you were least expecting it, just to watch you jump. Back when things were easy, of course.
āHey, what do we have here?ā a voice asks. āAbbot, since when do you have a VIP?ā
Your stomach drops before you even turn around.
You know that voice far too well. Especially when it slips into that teasing tone... even if he isn't talking to you.
Your body goes still. You donāt even register Langdonās needle anymore.
Jack catches it immediately, his gaze flicking from your face to the doorway as Robby steps inside.
He looks once. Then again. And only then does it register.
You. Sitting on the exam table. Hand open. Stitches halfway done.
When you finally manage to change your expression into something polite and distant, you catch the shift in his face. But you really donāt know how to read him anymore.
āWhat the fĆŗck happened?ā
Heās already moving toward you before the question is even finished.
You swallow, keeping your voice steady. āKitchen accident.ā
No detail, no explanation.
He stops beside the bed, eyes immediately dropping to your hand. And youāre suddenly very aware of how close he is.
Langdon keeps working, unfazed, though the room feels tighter now, like it has less air in it than before.
Robbyās jaw tightens.
āWhen?ā he asks.
āEarlier.ā
āWhen?ā
You hesitate.
āTwo hours ago. Probably more.ā
You close your eyes for a second. āThank you, Jack.ā
āYou waited two hours?" Robby says, sharper now, like he canāt quite believe it.
āI was fine. I handled it. The nurse-ā
āThatās not okay,ā he cuts in.
āI assume you checked for nerve damage," he adds, already shifting his attention toward Langdon and Jack, trying to take control of the situation.
āCan we not-ā
āYou shouldāve called,ā he says, colder now and you canāt tell who itās meant for anymore.
Langdon clears his throat without looking up. āAlmost done.ā
But Robby barely reacts.
āJack found me in triage. And, as you can see, I'm in great hands.ā
Robbyās expression shifts again, while Jack raises an eyebrow but doesnāt comment. He looks like heās been pulled into a game he didnāt know had rules.
āDoes it hurt?ā Robby finally asks after a long moment of awkward silence, as if the question is an afterthought.
But it isnāt. You know it, so it lands differently. Dangerous in a quiet way.
You glance down at your hand as Langdon finishes the last stitch.
āNo,ā you say. āNot really.ā
It isnāt entirely clear what youāre answering.
āAlright. Thatās it,ā Langdon says with a small, professional smile.
He cuts the thread cleanly, leaving a neat row of stitches across your palm. Langdon presses gently along the edges of the wound, checking the closure, and in your peripheral vision you catch Robby nodding once, like heās confirming something to himself.
A final wipe of antiseptic follows, then a non-stick pad, then gauze wrapped carefully around your hand until it no longer looks like your hand at all.
āMove your fingers for me,ā you hear Robby gently ask you. And even though every single bone in your body wants to disobey him, you listen.
The movement works, but it feels strange... slightly delayed, as if your hand belongs to someone else for a moment. You wonder if this is exactly what Mary Shelley meant when she wrote Frankensteinās monster. You almost laugh at your own thoughts.
āAgain.ā
You flex them once more.
āGood. Make a fist.ā
You do.
Just in time to catch the small exhale Robby lets out. Relief, subtle but unmistakable... the kind only someone who knows him well would notice.
Unfortunately for you, though, you've spent enough time loving him to notice it.
āNo numbness or tingling?ā Langdon asks.
You shake your head. āNo.ā
āGood. No obvious nerve involvement. Tendons intact, sensation normal.ā He pauses, then adds lightly, āSense of humor intact too.ā
āObviously,ā Jack mutters from his spot against the wall.
āKeep it dry for forty-eight hours,ā Langdon continues, peeling off his gloves. āNo heavy lifting, no gripping if you can avoid it. Change the dressing as instructed. Iāll leave notes, but Iām sure Jack will fill you in.ā
Jack glances at you briefly, and something in your stomach twists -guilt, or something close to it-but you donāt know where to put it.
āAnd before you ask, no, youāre not magically healed because the stitches are in,ā Robby adds under his breath.
āI wasn't-ā
āYou were absolutely going to ask.ā
Jack snorts, and you choose not to defend yourself.
āTetanus shot is up to date,ā Langdon says, recapping for Robby as well. He doesnāt know exactly how close you two are, but itās obvious thereās history there. āSo no booster. Stitches out in ten to fourteen days.ā
Then he tosses the gloves into the bin, and just like that, the procedure is over.
No more reason for anyone to be hovering around your bed, no more reason for you to still be in his ER.
And somehow, thatās worse. Because now thereās nothing left to distract from the fact that Robby is still standing there.
The adrenaline drains out of you slowly, leaving behind exhaustion, and a small tremor runs through your fingers before you can stop it.
Jesus, you will never try to use a knife again.
Robby notices the change immediately.
Of course he does.
His eyes drop to your hand, then lift back to your face. The concern is brief, but enough to make your chest tighten anyway. FĆŗck him.
āShouldāve come in sooner,ā he says.
Not angry this time, just tired.
You let out a breath. Well, you're tired too.
āNoted.ā
āI'm serious.ā
āI know.ā
āTake ibuprofen or acetaminophen once the anesthetic wears off. Dana will bring your discharge paperwork,ā Langdon says, but Robby doesn't take his eyes off you as you gently thank your doctor before watching him go.
āYou shouldāve told me.ā
You finally meet his eyes, finding his tone almost unbearably clinical. Like a lecture... like something to be corrected.
āYou donāt get to be worried like that,ā you say firmly.
You're tired of this conversation, of him, of pretending this doesn't hurt more than your hand does... of this whole day.
You just want to go home, order takeout, and not think about any of it.
So you hope it lands harder than if you'd raised your voice.
He blinks. āWhat-ā
āYou have no right,ā you continue, just as quietly, and the room goes very still.
Beside you, Jack wisely says nothing as you adjust the bandage around your hand. You really hope the pain meds are going to be effective. You know this is going to hurt like a motherfĆŗcker.
āIām fine,ā you add, playing it cool. āSee? All patched up.ā
For a second, Robby just stares at you like heās trying to decide whether to argue.
But you step past him, with Jack following without uttering a word. Neither of you looks back immediately.
And when you finally do, just before the door swings shut, Robby is still standing exactly where you left him, staring at the empty space on the bed, jaw tight, something unsettled and unresolved sitting heavy in his chest.
Because youāre right.
And thatās the problem.
*
After they discharge you, Jack insists on walking you out. It's not like his shift has started yet anyway.
So you slow your pace, careful not to make it obvious that you're adjusting it for him. You don't know how uncomfortable it is to walk quickly with a prosthetic, and you don't want him to think you're pitying him.
āYou okay?ā he asks, and you flex your fingers slightly inside the bandage in response, which you end up regretting immediately as a dull, pulling ache shoots through your palm and up your arm.
āYeah. Just... feels weird.ā
āIt will,ā he says, still looking at your hand. āThat's why you shouldn't use it.ā
āNoted.ā
It's only half a lie, at least. You're gonna slow down. But you can't stop using it completely. How are you supposed to just stop working? Nobody can replace you for two weeks.
By the time you reach the ambulance bay, everything feels different. Quieter.
āYou got someone to take you home?ā
You can't help but snort.
āI'm not dying, Jack. It's just a cut.ā
āDidn't say you were.ā
āI can manage by myself. I'm a big girl.ā
He studies you for a second longer than necessary, and you know that look.
He's thinking about saying something... probably about Robby, or the disaster that is whatever exists between the two of you. And you're grateful when he decides against it. It's already been a long day: the knife accident, the ER, seeing Noelle, seeing Robby, talking to him.
You just want to go home.
āYeah. I know you can.ā
There's something in the words... Acknowledgment, maybe. Or acceptance or even pride. You're not sure, so you just smile.
āThanks. Really.ā
āFor what?ā
āFor helping me. For not letting me bleed out to death.ā
You add the last part just to make him smile. You know he loves drama as much as you do. Maybe even more.
And it works: a quiet laugh escapes him.
āNext time, come sooner.ā
āNext time? Hell, I'm never cooking again.ā
āGood plan.ā
You nod, trying not to look back at the entrance. What did you expect? For Robby to drop everything and come find you? The thought is embarrassing the second it appears. It's ridiculous.
āI really hope I'll see you around. You're a great guy, Abbot.ā
That earns you a crooked grin.
āI hope so. You're pretty fun to be around, even when you're bleeding.ā
A laugh slips out before you can stop it, and you lift your left hand in a wave.
āHave a good shift.ā
āYou too,ā he says automatically. Then he shakes his head. āActually, don't work at all.ā
āYeah. Don't.ā
You freeze.
Of course.
Inhale, exhale.
Robby is standing a few steps behind Jack.
At some point, he'd come outside, and you hadn't heard the door open.
So for a second, all you can do is stare. He looks different out here.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the department make him look untouchable. Outside, beneath the natural sunlight, he looks less composed... less untouchable. Exhausted.
Like whatever walls he keeps so carefully in place inside didn't quite make it through the doors with him.
His scrubs are wrinkled and a bit dirty. His hair is slightly messed up from running his hands through it, you're sure. And there are shadows beneath his eyes you don't remember noticing earlier.
Or maybe you did, and you just weren't letting yourself look for real. You used to kiss this man every morning. You used to bite his arms, caress his cheeks, and touch his hair as many times as you could.
āYou shouldn't be using it,ā he adds, nodding toward the bandaged hand tucked against your chest.
You shift instinctively.
āI'm not. And I've already said I won't.ā
The lie leaves your mouth before you can stop it. But he knows you better than that and he has more power over you than you'd like.
When Robby takes a step closer, the rest of the world seems to blur around the edges: the ambulance bay, the traffic... even Jack standing beside you. All of it fades into background noise.
And only later do you realize Jack is no longer there.
No goodbye, as if he'd taken one look at the two of you and quietly decided this conversation wasn't meant for him (once again).
He's not close enough to crowd you, but it's enough for you to smell the hospital soap and coffee.
Close enough to remember.
āYou really waited two hours?ā he asks again, quieter now as he brings his left hand to the back of his head, messing up his hair.
The disappointment in his voice catches you off guard, and you can't control the hollow feeling in your stomach. You've always wanted to be good for him. You never cared about what other people thought of you on the level that you cared about Robby's opinion. So your gaze slides past him toward the street.
āYeah. I didn't feel like sitting in an ER.ā
From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten. His gaze lingers on your face, searching, questioning, but you don't give in. You keep your eyes forward. You won't let him know just how much power he still has over you.
āYou should've called,ā he says.
There it is. Again.
A laugh escapes you.
His audacity...
āWhy?ā
āBecause I would've helped you.ā
You almost laugh.
Of course he would've. He would've shown up and made sure you were okay.
And then he would've gone right back to not choosing you.
Because I have a hero complex and I'd help you even though I can't stand being with you.
āYou don't get to help me anymore, Robby.ā
His expression flickers, like something in your gaze cuts deeper than the words themselves.
āI know you can take care of yourself, but I-ā
āI don't care,ā you interrupt, keeping your voice as steady as possible despite the tightness in your throat and the pressure building behind your eyes. āYou made it pretty clear you don't want me anymore. And I made it clear I'm not interested in being your friend. So no, I don't want your help.ā
The sounds of the ambulance bay drift around you. Doors opening. Tires rolling over pavement. Life continuing.
But neither of you moves.
Robby exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair while you keep your eyes fixed on the thick white bandage wrapped around your palm.
āIs it starting to hurt?ā he asks, and the sudden change of subject is almost funny.
Almost.
The anesthetic is wearing off slowly, and so is the adrenaline, but you'll survive until you get home.
āYeah.ā
You see it immediately. The way his shoulders straighten... the way his attention narrows.
Like every part of him is wired to respond to that answer.
He takes a step closer before he seems to realize he's doing it.
āAlternate ibuprofen and Tylenol when it starts throbbing. You shouldn't need anything stronger.ā
There he is. Not your Robby... Definitely not your Michael.
Dr. Robinavitch, the Chief of Emergency Medicine at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Safe territory.
āI'll take something when I get home.ā
His gaze lingers.
Not quite staring, but long enough that you're suddenly aware of everything: your posture, your messy hair, your tired eyes. The fact that you've probably got dried tears on your face.
He looks at you like he's trying to remember something.
He looks at you like he's trying to remember something, or maybe fix something... fix you.
Or both.
You're being ridiculous.
āYou should keep it dry,ā he says eventually. "At least a day. Two if you can.ā
āWow.ā
His eyebrows lift slightly.
āDidn't Dr. Langdon just tell me that? It's like you work here or something.ā
Usually, that would've earned at least a smirk. He used to love your bratty tone.
This time, it doesn't. His expression barely changes, and the silence that follows settles heavily between you.
Suddenly the joke doesn't feel funny anymore.
Because maybe he doesn't miss this... Maybe this isn't hard for him.
And maybe -just maybe- you were never what he wanted at all.
āJust be careful.ā
The words come out softer.
Not doctor-soft.
Dangerous-soft. Boyfriend-soft. The kind of soft that makes your chest hurt. That belongs to a life you don't have anymore.
You feel a fresh wave of frustration rise in your throat.
You can't do this.
āI will.ā
You look at him again, and a weird feeling hits you. For one stupid second, you think he's actually going to reach for you.
His hand shifts slightly at his side, then stills.
He doesn't.
You sigh, trying not to be disappointed. You hate yourself for even thinking about it.
What is wrong with you?
āText me when you get home.ā
The words slip out before he can stop them. Like they're instinctive.
You blink a couple of times before you can find the strength to open your mouth.
You need to get the hell out of here.
āNo.ā
The answer isn't cruel. That's not your intention. It even sounds less firm than you'd like, but it gets the point across.
And for a moment, something in his face falters.
āRight,ā he says quietly, as if he's just remembered the nature of your relationship.
Or the lack of it.
You adjust your bag on your shoulder, and the movement feels awkward with only one good hand.
āI'll be fine.ā
He nods.
āI know.ā
You turn away before he can say anything else. Before you can say something stupid, or even worse, tear up because he looks like he saw a ghost, yet somehow still has time to flirt with his casual ex-flings.
So as you walk, you don't look back.
But somehow you know he's still standing there watching you, just like he watched you leave the first time.
*
By the time you get home, your hand is throbbing in a steady rhythm.
You close the door with your elbow, careful not to put any pressure on the bandaged hand, and lean against it for a moment before making your way to the kitchen.
Everything suddenly feels like too much: the lights are too bright, the apartment is too quiet, and the mess. God, the mess!
The cutting board is still sitting on the counter. Half-chopped vegetables have started to dry at the edges, left exactly where you dropped everything and ran to wash your hand.
For a moment, you just stand there and stare. Then your gaze drops to the thick white bandage wrapped around your palm.
āFĆŗcking ridiculous,ā you mutter.
Whether you're talking about the injury or yourself, you're not entirely sure. You needed seven stitches because you were trying to make yourself dinner.
You make your way to the couch and sink into it carefully. The cushions dip beneath your weight, and that's when the quiet finally catches up with you.
No Jack or Langdon. No monitors beeping in the background.
Just you and the image of Robby standing in the ambulance bay... the look on his face when you told him no. The way he'd watched you leave.
And, despite everything, the memory that hurts the most: Robby's arm around Noelle.
You shift uncomfortably, as though you can physically move the thought away. But of course, it doesn't work.
Because itās not even about Noelle. Itās about being replaced so quickly while you're still trying to remember how to breathe around the empty space he left behind.
Your fingers curl slightly and the pain shoots through your palm and up your arm immediately.
You hiss through your teeth and force your hand open again. āGod, I'm a fĆŗcking idiot!ā
Like you were still someone he was allowed to be responsible for.
You knew he was emotionally unavailable, that he was an avoidant, that there was an age gap big enough for everyone to have an opinion about it. But you stayed. You fell in love... you trusted him.
You shake your head.
The worst part is how calm he was, how concerned he still looked.
Your eyes sting before you can stop it.
āNo,ā you say quietly.
Like that helps.
You pull your phone from your pocket and place it face down on the coffee table before you can do something stupid.
You could text him and tell him exactly what you think of him aka call him a coward and a fĆŗcking asshole. You could say all the things you refused to say eight days ago when he ended it.
You could do a lot of things.
Instead you just sit there, your bandaged hand still aching as something ugly and honest rises up in your chest.
Not sadness, something sharper. Something that needs somewhere to go.
Eventually, you force yourself off the couch in search of ibuprofen, and halfway to the kitchen, a laugh escapes you.
Humorless and pathetic, really.
Because despite everything you miss him.
His stupid, sad smile, his voice, his nose. The way he always stole your fries and pretended he wasn't doing it.
Ten days before you're free.
*
Two days later, itās worse in a different way.
Not the pain, which you got used to by now. It even became more manageable.
It's the tight, itchy pull under the skin that makes you want to do exactly what you're not supposed to do. To disobey him and prove to yourself you got the power.
You want to use your hand... to test it.
But you don't (except for a few hours when a project deadline leaves you no choice and you're back at your desk, using your hand far more than Langdon, Jack or Robby would've approved of).
You tell yourself it's necessary.
You always tell yourself a lot of things.
*
The message comes on the third day.
Robby: Come in tomorrow morning. Quick check.
No hello. No how are you. No are you available.
Just an instruction. So you stare at it for nearly a minute, then type:
I was told 10 days.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Disappears.
Appears again.
You hate that your pulse picks up.
Then:
Robby: I know. Just come in when the morning shift starts.
You stare at the message... at the familiar bluntness of it and the complete lack of explanation.
Then you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you as the podcast continues playing in the background.
You have absolutely no idea what they've been talking about for the last ten minutes.
*
You go anyway.
Partly because you're annoyed, and partly because refusing would mean admitting he's gotten under your skin.
The hospital smells exactly the same as it did three days ago: antiseptic and stale coffee.
Jack spots you before you've finished signing in.
āBack already?ā
You glance up.
āApparently I left such a strong impression the boss invited me back.ā
His eyes drop to the bandage.
āFollow-up?ā
āSo I've been told.ā
A smile flickers across his face, and you can't help but grin back. He has a kind of charm that disarms you.
āTry not to injure yourself on the way in. Or him. We can't run this hospital without the chief.ā
āNo promises.ā
He walks with you toward the exam rooms, matching your pace without comment. The conversation stays comfortably superficial: the weather, his shift, and the last show you watched - which you're grateful for.
At the nurses' station, he slows. Dana is halfway through updating a chart when she looks up. You exchange a few pleasantries while Jack leans against the counter, listening with a half-smile.
Then Dana's gaze flicks past you toward one of the exam rooms.
Something passes silently between her and Jack, and he straightens immediately.
āRoom six.ā
āThat's it? No dramatic goodbye?ā
āI figured you'd had enough medical attention for one week.ā
āFair.ā
āGood luck.ā
Before you can ask what that's supposed to mean, he's already turning away.
The traitor!
The room is empty when you step inside, but you barely have time to feel relieved before the door opens again.
Robby walks in carrying a chart, and for a second neither of you says anything.
Without the chaos of the emergency department around him, he looks strangely out of place.
Or maybe that's you.
āYou came.ā
You set your bag down on the chair beside you, keeping your expression neutral as he pumps sanitizer into his palms.
You remember how many times you had to remind him to moisturize his hands, his skin always so dry it looked like it might split open.
āYou summoned me via text.ā
Something flickers across his face. Annoyance or maybe amusement. You can't tell anymore.
āSit down.ā
There's no point arguing, so you do.
The paper covering the exam table crackles beneath you as you climb up, the sound reminding you of the last time you were here.
Robby pulls on a pair of gloves.
āLet me see it.ā
You offer your hand without comment, but for a moment, he doesn't take it.
His gaze drops to the bandage first, studying it like he's already looking for evidence of something worse.
Then his fingers close gently around your wrist as he starts unwrapping it.
The contact is professional, almost detached, but your stupid brain notices anyway.
Layer by layer, the dressing comes away, and he studies the wound in silence.
The stitches hold the edges together neatly now. The swelling has gone down, and the angry redness from the first day has faded into pink.
āAny increased pain?ā
āNo.ā
āDrainage?ā
āNo.ā
āFever?ā
You give him a look.
āNo.ā
His attention stays fixed on your palm, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
āYou've been using it.ā
You let out a short laugh.
āThat's a bold accusation.ā
When his gaze lifts to yours, you want to hit him. It's infuriating how quickly he sees through you.
āYou've been working despite our medical advice.ā
The certainty in his voice makes it clear it's not a guess.
You look away first.
āI had deadlines.ā
āI know.ā
Somehow those two words are more irritating than if he'd argued.
Because he does know.
He knows exactly how many hours you'll spend obsessing over a project. What a perfectionist you are. He knows you'll work through headaches, exhaustion, and apparently hand injuries if given the chance.
His thumb hovers near the base of your palm.
āThe swelling's worse here.ā
Damn it.
You say nothing, and Robby sighs softly- resigned, as though this outcome was entirely predictable.
āYou need to leave it alone for a few more days.ā
āYou sound like a doctor.ā
āI am your doctor.ā
The silence that follows is familiar, and Robby looks down and resumes wrapping the fresh dressing around your hand, carefully. Methodically. Giving both of you something else to focus on.
When he's finished, he smooths the edge of the bandage into place and steps back.
āYou're healing pretty well, despite the fact you haven't been listening.ā
You nod, because it should feel reassuring.
Instead, it leaves a hollow ache somewhere beneath your ribs. Healing implies moving on, and you're not sure you've figured out that part yet.
āYou'll come back in a week for removal.ā
āYes, doctor.ā
His mouth almost curves.
Almost.
You stand quickly and reach for your bag, but neither of you moves for a couple of seconds.
Then, before you can do something stupid, you turn toward the door.
You don't look back.
Not because you don't want to. But because you already know he'll be watching.
*
You try to work.
You really do. The laptop is open on the coffee table, a half-finished design staring back at you from the screen.
But after several minutes of pretending you're accomplishing something, you let your head fall back against the couch and close the laptop.
āGreat,ā you mutter to the empty apartment. āI'm completely useless. Fantastic!ā
Outside, a car passes. Somewhere upstairs, something heavy drops.
Life continues. Unfortunately, so does your brain.
The problem isn't that you keep replaying memories. It's that you keep replaying a sentence.
You can do better than me.
The same calm voice, the same careful expression. As though he'd handed you a gift instead of a goodbye.
Your jaw tightens.
āNo, that's bullshit.ā
You push yourself upright too quickly and immediately regret it when your injured hand protests. Pain flashes through your palm.
āShit.ā
You sink back into the cushions with a groan, but it's not your hand that's upsetting you.
It's the way he left, as though he was doing something responsible. Noble. As though loving you had been a mistake he was finally correcting.
Your phone lies face down beside you, and without thinking, you reach for it.
The screen lights up.
Nothing.
No messages except the family group chat.
No notifications, either.
You stare at it anyway, then open a message box.
I'm happy for you.
You stare at it for three seconds before deleting it.
I wish nothing-
Delete.
A frustrated laugh escapes you.
āGod.ā
The worst part is that neither statement is entirely false.
You do want him to be happy. You just wish you didn't have to witness it.
The music keeps playing in the background.
At some point, you stopped paying attention to the playlist.
Now it feels like the playlist is paying attention to you.
Alanis Morissette's voice fills the apartment: raw, messy, unapologetically angry.
An older version of meā¦
A bitter smile tugs at your mouth. Isn't that funny?
āYeah.ā
You rub your eyes.
āYou really thought that sounded noble, didn't you?ā
The memory of that conversation has somehow become more irritating with time.
Not less... because now you can hear everything he thought he was saying.
You are not a child, and he knows it. You could have handled him telling you he stopped loving you much better than what he actually said.
The song continues.
Did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?
That one almost makes you laugh.
āFĆŗcking hell.ā
You shift forward, resting your elbows on your knees, careful of your hand.
Everything is careful now.
The music keeps going and your mind drifts somewhere you don't want it to.
Toward Noelle. Toward possibilities. Toward images you never invited into your head.
Maybe they want the same things... Maybe he wants a baby with her.
You never really considered having kids. You can't imagine yourself in that position, and Robby knows it. You were honest from the get-go.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
āNope.ā
Your finger points at nothing.
āWe're not doing that.ā
But your imagination ignores you completely.
Of course it does.
A familiar laugh, a familiar smile, a mini-version of Robby... life continuing without you.
Your stomach tightens.
Not jealousy exactly.
Something uglier.
Much uglier.
I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother.
You've heard these a hundred times before, but now they feel like they were always about you.
And every time you speak her name
Does she know how you told me
You'd hold me until you died?
Is this what grieving a relationship feels like?
Because it's so humiliating it almost hurts more than the loss itself.
You don't want revenge or to see him miserable. You don't even want him back if being with you made him unhappy. If he truly thinks you're too young, too immature, too much of whatever it was that finally convinced him to walk away with no regrets.
You just want proof that you mattered. That he didn't walk away and immediately become -again- someone else's person. That somewhere beneath all that careful self-control and rational decision-making, there's still a place where you exist. A scar. A memory.
The thought settles heavily in your chest. Now you understand why you've been listening to this stupid song on repeat.
Beneath all that anger is a woman desperately trying to convince herself she wasn't forgettable. That she was loved.
It feels really pathetic.
You drag a hand over your face.
āGod, I sound insane.ā
But you reach for your phone anyway and hit replay.
*
The removal is simple and fast: clip, lift, pull.
Thereās no real pain, just a faint tugging beneath the skin, more memory than sensation.
So you watch him work. Not your hand. Him.
Because this version of him is always like this: controlled, in command, careful in a way that feels effortless.
And itās unfair how good he looks like this. Glasses on, focused, entirely elsewhere while still being right in front of you.
āYouāve been using it,ā he says without looking up.
There had been no real conversation before this, just the quiet logistics of being here. He was waiting at the nursesā station while Jack finished the handover, you assume.
When the last stitch is out, he doesnāt move immediately. Just checks the skin, thumb hovering near the edge as if confirming something only he can see.
Then he wraps it anyway.
Habit, maybe.
āYouāre healed,ā he says finally.
āIām free.ā
You donāt know what kind of freedom you mean.
A quiet exhale slips out of him... almost a laugh, before the silence settles again.
You flex your fingers once. Strange how quickly something that was broken can feel like it belongs to you again.
Like it never left at all.
Then you look at him, suddenly making up your mind. It feels like the last real chance to say whatās been sitting in your chest for days. You deserve better closure than silence... and better than what he gave you. You need to do this for your own peace.
āI want you to know something,ā you say.
His attention shifts fully now as he waits for you to continue.
āIām happy for you.ā
The words land exactly the way you expect them to. Something in his expression tightens... not surprise, not relief. Recognition.
āI wish you and Noelle nothing but the best,ā you add. āI guess she really made an impression on you. You ended up all cozy in the hospital barely a week after we broke up.ā
You hope this makes him feel like shit. Because it isnāt really about Noelle.
He exhales through his nose, controlled, and you can't read his expression. His shoulders tense, his expression being unreadable in a way that only makes you more certain youāve hit something real.
āWhat are you doing?ā
No denial. That alone tells you enough.
You were right.
āIām not quite as well,ā you say, your tone so even it almost sounds detached, like youāre commenting on the weather instead of opening your chest and handing him your heart once again.
And the moment it leaves your mouth, you regret it.
Because itās too honest and real, and it gives him something he doesnāt deserve anymore.
His jaw tightens.
āDonāt,ā he says.
He drags a hand through his hair, and you notice it now: the smallest crack in his control. Not panic exactly, just something closer to discomfort. Or guilt.
You almost smile as pick up your bag.
Then stop. Because if you leave now, it becomes clean.
And this isnāt clean, so you turn back.
āI thought you should know you were wrong,ā you say.
A beat.
āI didnāt need better than you.ā
Your voice stays steady, but something underneath it fractures anyway. You just needed your Michael.
āI just needed you to stay. Or if you were going to leave, you shouldāve said it properly. You shouldāve told me there was someone else. Or that you didnāt love me anymore. Notā¦ that.ā
The words leave you all at once, sharp and unfiltered, like thereās nothing left to protect anymore. You have nothing more to lose.
For a moment, he doesnāt respond at all. He continues to stare at the wall, then the floor, then your shoes before he finally meets your eyes.
Then, very quietly:
āYou should go.ā
And something in you almost laughs at how predictable it is. How final. How cleanly he can end things when it suits him.
Your throat tightens. It becomes hard to breathe in a way you canāt fully hide. Your eyes sting, that familiar pressure building behind them until your vision blurs at the edges.
You swallow hard, but it doesnāt go away. It just sits there: heavy, humiliating, like your body is betraying you for still caring.
A short, broken sound slips out of you before you give him what he asked for.
āWell then,ā you say, voice lower now, steadier in a different way. āEvery time I scratch my nails down someone elseās back.ā You pause, holding his gaze. āI hope you feel it.ā
The silence after that is immediate. But it's far from empty... it's charged as his expression shifts. Something in him stills completely.
He exhales slowly, tension pulling through his neck and jaw, a faint flush rising there.
When he speaks, his voice is lower now, colder.
āWeāre done here.ā
*
The next evening settles in too easily and that bothers you.
Like nothing important happened at all.
You tried to focus on work all day, but you can barely get anything done between meetings. Even music doesnāt fill the space properly anymore.
Eventually, you stop pretending it isnāt eating at you, and the phone is already in your hand before you realize you reached for it.
Your thumb rests over the screen as you tell yourself you donāt care what happens next.
But you do.
You think about yesterday, not the words exactly, but the tone.
Weāre done here.
Clean. Practiced. Efficient. Like you were just another patient he needed out of the room.
Did your relationship really mean nothing? Did you mean nothing?
The thought of Noelle slips in again, uninvited.
What did he see in her that he can't see in you? What is so special about her? What kind of power does he have to make you still think about him after everything?
Something shifts inside you subtly, almost quietly.
Permission.
He always said you were too kind.
Maybe today you are petty. Maybe you always were, just quieter about it before.
And maybe he deserves to feel all of it.
Your grip tightens around the phone.
āFĆŗcking asshole.ā
Your fingers move before you can think about his feelings and stop yourself.
SYNOPSIS: You died centuries ago and Sukuna never forgot. When he finds you reincarnated in the modern era, he knows immediately. Unfortunately for him, you think heās a creep.
WORD COUNT: 11.5k
The Heian era was a time of blood and gold.
Sorcerers carved their names into history with blades and curses, while lords and emperors hid behind paper screens and whispered prayers. In the shadow of those fragile thrones walked Ryomen Sukuna. With four arms, four eyes, tattoos like black flames across his skin, and a second mouth that laughed at every scream it tasted.
They called him the King of Curses. Calamity.
Everything except what he truly was to you.
Yours.
You were no trembling village girl offered as tribute. Your name already carried weight among the clans. Starfire chains, your inherited technique, could bind even the strongest cursed spirits, wrapping them in burning light until they shattered like glass. Clans had tried to marry you off for alliances. You had burned every proposal scroll in front of their envoys.
Then came the day the great Ryomen Sukuna arrived at the borders of your clanās territory, not to conquer, but to see the sorcerer who had single-handedly sealed a special-grade curse that had been terrorizing three provinces.
You met him in the open courtyard under a blood-red sunset.
He towered over every warrior present. Two arms crossed over his broad chest, the other two resting lazily on the hilts of his cleavers. His lower eyes watched the trembling guards while the upper pair fixed solely on you. The mouth on his abdomen grinned with too many teeth.
You walked forward without hesitation, bare feet silent on the stone, your crimson robes whispering against the ground. Your hair was long then, falling to your waist in loose waves, adorned with a simple gold circlet that caught the dying light.
Sukunaās voice rolled like distant thunder. āSo this is the little star who thinks she can chain what I would devour.ā
You stopped only a few paces away and looked up at all four eyes, all that raw power without flinching.
āI donāt think,ā you answered, voice clear and steady. āI do. And I choose who I stand beside.ā
A low chuckle escaped both mouths. The guards around you shifted, hands tightening on weapons they knew would be useless.
Sukuna leaned down slightly, one massive hand reaching out. Clawed fingers stopped just short of your chin, as if testing whether you would retreat.
You didnāt.
Instead, you stepped into his reach and tilted your head so his fingertips brushed your jaw.
āI choose you, Ryomen Sukuna,ā you said softly, but loud enough for every witness to hear. āNot because the world fears you. Because I donāt. Because something in you looksā¦ bored. And I want to see what happens when youāre not.ā
Silence fell across the courtyard like a blade.
Then Sukuna laughed. A full, rolling sound that vibrated through the air and made several lesser sorcerers drop to their knees. He straightened, but his hand did not leave your face. Instead, his thumb traced your lower lip with surprising care.
āBold,ā he murmured. āFoolish. Intriguing.ā His lower eyes narrowed with dark amusement. āVery well, little star. Come with me. Weāll see how long that fire lasts before it burns out.ā
You smiled. āIt wonāt.ā
That night you left your clanās compound without looking back. No forced marriage, no chains, no fear. You walked beside him willingly, your hand resting lightly on one of his lower arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The first time he took you to his domain. A ruined temple he had claimed as his own, the air tasted of incense and old blood. He watched you explore the halls with four unblinking eyes.
You stopped in front of the great throne of carved bone and gold, then turned to face him.
āEveryone says you destroy everything you touch,ā you said quietly.
Sukunaās grin was sharp. āTheyāre usually right.ā
You crossed the distance between you, robes sliding from your shoulders until they pooled at your feet. Naked, unafraid, you looked up at the King of Curses and traced the black markings that ran across his chest with gentle fingers.
āThen touch me,ā you whispered. āAnd letās see what happens.ā
Four hands descended on you at once.
Two pinned your wrists above your head against the cold stone wall. One gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. The last cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head so he could claim your mouth in a kiss that tasted of smoke and iron and something dangerously close to hunger.
He was not gentle. Sukuna had never needed to be.
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall. The mouth on his stomach opened, teeth grazing your collarbone while his main mouth bit down on your shoulder, drawing a sharp gasp from you.
āYouāre smaller than you look when youāre burning things,ā he growled against your skin, voice rough with want. One of his hands slid between your thighs, fingers teasing until you were trembling. āBut you feel just as fierce.ā
When he finally pushed inside youāthick, hot, unrelentingāyou moaned his name like a challenge. He fucked you against the wall with deep, powerful strokes, four arms holding you exactly where he wanted you, the second mouth licking and sucking at your breasts until you cried out.
You came hard, nails raking down his back, starfire flickering at your fingertips and leaving faint glowing marks on his skin that healed almost instantly.
Sukuna followed with a low groan that vibrated through both his mouths, spilling deep inside you as if marking territory no one else would ever claim.
Afterward, he did not let you go.
He carried you to the furs piled near his throne and laid you down, surprisingly careful. Two arms wrapped around you, the other two resting possessively over your waist and thigh. For the first time anyone had ever seen, the King of Curses lookedā¦ at ease.
You traced the tattoos on his chest with lazy fingers.
āI told you,ā you murmured sleepily. āMy fire doesnāt burn out.ā
Sukunaās lower eyes closed. The upper pair watched you with something dangerously close to fondness.
āWeāll see, little queen,ā he rumbled. āWeāll see.ā
Outside the temple, the world already whispered in fear.
The monster had taken a bride.
And she had chosen him back.
The months that followed your choice blurred into a rhythm of violence and intimacy that no one else in the Heian world could have understood.
You rode beside Sukuna on campaigns that turned rivers red. While lesser sorcerers hid behind barriers and chanted protective sutras, you stood at his right hand on the battlefield. Your starfire chains lashed out alongside his cleavers, binding groups of enemies so he could carve through them with leisurely precision. He never ordered you to stay back. He never treated you like fragile porcelain.
Instead, he watched you fight with open amusement and something darkerāpride.
One particular skirmish against a coalition of rival clans remains burned into your memory.
The valley was narrow, hemmed in by steep cliffs. Three hundred warriors and sorcerers had gathered under a false banner of ārighteous purification,ā thinking numbers and a hastily constructed anti-domain barrier would be enough. Sukuna had laughed when the scouts reported it.
Now the air reeked of smoke and opened bodies.
Sukuna stood at the center of the carnage in his full glory. Four arms moving like separate instruments of death. Two cleavers sang through armor and bone. One hand summoned slashes of cursed energy that bisected men mid-scream. The fourth hand occasionally flicked away arrows as if they were annoying insects.
You fought at his flank, crimson robes stained darker with blood that was not yours. Your chains of starfire whipped through the air, glowing white-hot. They wrapped around a cluster of archers, tightening until their bows snapped and their screams cut short as the flames consumed them from the inside.
A spearman broke through the chaos and lunged at your unprotected side.
Before you could react, one of Sukunaās lower arms shot out, massive hand closing around the manās head like a vice. With casual strength he crushed the skull and tossed the body aside.
āCareful, little star,ā Sukuna called over the din, voice carrying easily. āIād hate to have to replace you so soon.ā
You laughed, it was bright and unafraid. Sending a chain lashing toward a sorcerer who was trying to weave a binding vow. āThen stop talking and keep up, my king.ā
His answering grin was feral.
When the last enemy fell, the valley had become a slaughter yard. Crows already circled overhead. Sukuna wiped blood from his cleavers on a fallen banner and turned to you.
You were breathing hard, hair wild, a shallow cut across your forearm already clotting. Without hesitation you stepped over corpses until you stood directly in front of him. Two of his hands settled on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto a broken stone pillar so you were closer to eye level.
āYou enjoyed that,ā he observed, lower eyes half-lidded.
āI enjoyed watching you,ā you corrected. Your fingers rose, tracing the black markings that ran down the side of his face. The touch was gentle, familiar. No one else alive would have dared. āYou move like the world is too slow for you.ā
Sukunaās main mouth curved. The stomach mouth opened slightly, teeth glinting. āEverything is too slow except you.ā
He leaned in and kissed you right there among the dead. Deep, claiming, tasting of iron and victory. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back. Another slid beneath your robes to rest possessively against the bare skin of your lower back. The kiss was not soft. It never was. It was heat and teeth and the promise that whatever came next, you would face it together.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment. Four eyes closed, a rare moment of stillness.
That night you returned to the ruined temple he had claimed as his seat of power.
The great hall was lit only by braziers and moonlight filtering through cracks in the ancient roof. Sukuna dismissed his few remaining followers with a lazy wave. The moment the heavy doors closed, the air between you shifted.
You barely had time to loosen your blood-stained robes before four hands were on you again.
He lifted you onto the wide stone altar that served as his makeshift throne platform. Your back met cool rock as he loomed over you, tattoos stark in the firelight.
āStrip,ā he ordered, voice low and rough.
You obeyed slowly, deliberately, enjoying the way all four eyes tracked every inch of revealed skin. When you were bare beneath him, he pausedājust watching.
āYouāre the only thing Iāve ever wanted to keep,ā he said quietly. It was as close to a confession as the King of Curses ever came.
Then he descended.
Two hands pinned your wrists above your head. One large palm spread your thighs wide. The fourth hand traced lazy circles on your stomach, claws lightly scraping. His main mouth claimed yours again while the mouth on his abdomen moved lower, hot breath ghosting over your inner thigh before the tongue. Longer and more dexterous than any humanās, licked a slow stripe up your center.
You arched with a sharp cry.
Sukuna chuckled against your lips. āStill so responsive. Even after painting a valley red.ā
He didnāt tease for long. The second mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and licking with relentless focus while two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling just right. The stretch burned beautifully. You moaned his name like a prayer and a challenge at the same time.
When you were trembling on the edge, he withdrew.
You whined in protest.
He positioned himself between your spread legs, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance. In this form he was largeāalmost too muchābut your body remembered him, opened for him.
He sank in with one slow, powerful thrust, bottoming out as you gasped.
āFuckāRyomenāā
āThatās it,ā he growled, voice layered. āSay my name while I remind you who you belong to.ā
He set a brutal pace. Deep, punishing strokes that rocked your entire body. The altar creaked beneath you. Four hands held you open and pinned, allowing no escape, no mercy. The stomach mouth continued its work, licking at your breasts, teeth grazing nipples until they ached.
You came first. Hard, vision whiting out, starfire flickering uncontrollably at your fingertips and leaving glowing trails across his shoulders that faded slowly.
Sukuna followed with a low, guttural sound, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, marking you from the inside out.
Afterward he did not pull away immediately. He stayed buried within you, arms wrapping around your smaller frame, holding you against his chest as if you were something infinitely precious.
You traced idle patterns on his skin, fingers following the black tattoos you knew by heart.
āThey will come for me one day,ā you whispered into the quiet. It was not fear but simply fact. āBecause they cannot kill you directly.ā
Sukunaās grip tightened fractionally. āLet them try. I will burn the world before I let them take you.ā
You pressed a kiss to the mouth on his stomach. It nipped your lip gently in response.
āI know,ā you said. āBut if they ever succeedā¦ remember this. Remember how I chose you. How I looked at you without fear.ā
He was silent for a long moment.
Then, so quietly you almost missed it: āI will not forget.ā
The fire in the braziers crackled. Outside, the night wind carried distant screams. Remnants of the dayās work.
Inside the temple, the King of Curses held his queen close, four arms a cage no enemy had yet breached.
But the world was already whispering.
They could not defeat the monster.
So they would target the one thing he refused to lose.
Winter came early that year, cloaking the Heian provinces in frost and silence. The ruined temple you shared with Sukuna felt warmer for it. Braziers burned hotter, furs piled thicker, and the air carried the constant scent of incense mixed with the faint metallic tang of recent blood.
Your days settled into a dangerous rhythm of power and peace.
Mornings often began with strategy. Sukuna would lounge on his throne of bone and gold while you sat cross-legged on the wide stone steps below him, maps of rival territories spread across your lap. Your starfire technique allowed you to sense cursed energy signatures from miles away, so you marked weak points with glowing embers that hovered in the air like tiny stars.
Sukuna listened.
That alone was a miracle. Generals who had served him for decades were cut down for speaking out of turn. You spoke freely, challenging his plans, suggesting subtler approaches when brute force would waste energy.
āYou could take the eastern pass without leveling the entire village,ā you said one frost-bitten morning, pointing at the map. āLeave the survivors to spread stories. Fear is a better weapon than ash sometimes.ā
One of his upper eyes narrowed in amusement. The lower pair watched you with lazy heat. āSince when did my queen become merciful?ā
āNot merciful,ā you corrected, rising to your feet and stepping between his spread thighs. Two of his hands automatically settled on your hips, claws pricking lightly through your robes. āStrategic. Dead men tell no tales. Terrified men tell exaggerated ones.ā
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and the mouth on his stomach. āYouāre getting dangerous, little star.ā
You leaned in, brushing your lips against the black marking on his cheek. āGood. You were getting bored.ā
That evening he rewarded your cleverness in the way he knew best.
The templeās inner sanctum was lit only by moonlight and a single brazier. Sukuna had you on your knees on the thick furs, your upper body draped over a low wooden bench. Your wrists were bound behind your back with one of his spare sashes ā not because you couldnāt escape, but because you both enjoyed the illusion of restraint.
He knelt behind you, four hands mapping every inch of your bare skin.
Two palms smoothed up your spine, pressing you down. One hand gripped your hip, holding you steady. The last traced slow circles over the curve of your ass before delivering a sharp, stinging slap that made you gasp.
āStill so responsive,ā he murmured, voice rough with approval. āEven when you play at politics all day.ā
His fingers slid between your thighs, finding you already wet. He teased your entrance with two thick digits, pumping slowly while the mouth on his abdomen licked a hot stripe up your spine.
You moaned, pushing back against his hand. āRyomenā¦ stop teasing.ā
He laughed darkly. āYou forget who gives the orders here.ā
But he obeyed anyway, because it was you.
He replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, pushing in with one long, relentless thrust until he was seated to the hilt. The stretch was perfect, bordering on too much, and you cried out in pleasure-pain.
Sukuna set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the stone walls. Every thrust drove you harder against the bench. His lower hands kept your hips angled exactly how he wanted, while his upper hands reached forward to cup your breasts, rolling your nipples between clawed fingers.
The second mouth joined in, its tongue flicking teasingly over the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulders, occasionally biting down just hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days.
You came first. Walls clenching around him as starfire flickered uncontrollably at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing patterns on the furs beneath you.
Sukuna followed with a low growl that shook the air, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, hot and endless.
Afterward he untied your wrists and pulled you into his lap, four arms wrapping around you like a living cage. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady, inhuman rhythm of his heartbeat.
āI love you,ā you whispered into the quiet. It was the first time you had said the words so plainly.
Sukuna was silent for a long moment. Then one hand stroked through your hair with surprising gentleness.
āYou are the only creature I have ever allowed to speak those words and live,ā he said finally. āThat should be answer enough.ā
You smiled against his skin and traced the tattoos over his heart. āIt is.ā
But peace never lasted long in the Heian era.
The first whispers reached you during a rare journey to a neutral hot spring valley. A place even rival clans respected as temporary ground for negotiation.
You and Sukuna traveled with only a small escort of his most loyal (and terrified) followers. The springs were steaming under a clear winter sky, the water rich with minerals that soothed cursed energy fatigue.
That night, while Sukuna soaked in the largest pool with three arms draped lazily over the rocks, you lingered at the edge, letting the heat seep into your muscles.
A young sorcerer from a minor clan approached under the guise of offering scented oils. His hands shook as he bowed.
āMy lady,ā he whispered when Sukunaās eyes were half-closed in apparent relaxation. āThere are those who fear what you have become. A queen to the King of Cursesā¦ it upsets the balance. Some speak ofā¦ removing the attachment. For the good of all sorcerers.ā
You turned your head slowly, eyes sharp. āAnd you bring this message to me?ā
The boy swallowed. āAs a warning. Leave him. Return to your clan. Or they will make you leave.ā
Before you could respond, Sukunaās voice cut through the steam like a blade.
āBold of you to threaten my queen in my presence, insect.ā
Four eyes opened fully. In an instant the boy was lifted into the air by an invisible slash of cursed energy, dangling helplessly.
You placed a hand on Sukunaās arm, the one closest to you. āLet him go. Heās just a messenger.ā
Sukunaās jaw tightened, but he released the boy, who scrambled away into the darkness, sobbing.
You turned back to Sukuna, water lapping at your waist. āTheyāre starting to realize they canāt kill you directly.ā
He reached out with two hands, pulling you through the water until you straddled his lap. The other two arms wrapped around your back, holding you flush against his chest.
āLet them plot,ā he growled against your throat. āThey will die screaming for their arrogance.ā
You kissed him softly, tasting mineral water and restrained violence. āIām not afraid. But promise me something.ā
āAnything.ā
āIf they ever come for meā¦ donāt hesitate because of me. Burn them all.ā
Sukunaās grip tightened possessively. āI would burn the heavens themselves before I let them take you from me.ā
You believed him.
But the whispers grew louder in the following weeks.
Messengers arrived with false offers of alliance. Minor clans sent gifts wrapped in protective charms. Once, during a solo scouting mission you insisted on taking alone, you found a letter nailed to a tree with a cursed dagger:
āThe monsterās weakness must be excised. For the sake of the world, the star must fall.ā
You burned the letter to ash and said nothing to Sukuna when you returned.
He noticed anyway.
One night, as you lay tangled together on the furs. Your body still humming from the way he had taken you twice, slow and deep, whispering filthy praise against your skin. Sukuna traced the gold circlet in your hair with one claw.
āYouāre hiding something,ā he said quietly. It wasnāt a question.
You sighed, pressing closer to his warmth. āTheyāre planning something. Targeting me to hurt you. But I can handle it. Iām not fragile, Ryomen.ā
His four arms tightened around you. āYou are the only thing I refuse to lose. If they touch youā¦ā
You silenced him with a kiss, then guided one of his hands between your thighs again, distracting him the best way you knew how.
āI know,ā you whispered as he rolled you beneath him once more. āNow remind me who I belong to.ā
He did. Thoroughly, possessively, until the only sounds in the temple were your shared moans and the crackle of dying braziers.
But in the quiet hours before dawn, when Sukunaās eyes finally closed in rare rest, you lay awake staring at the ceiling.
You understood the danger.
They couldnāt defeat the King of Curses in open battle.
So they would try to break his heart.
And you had already decided: if it came to that, you would make sure they paid for every second of his pain.
Spring thawed the frost, but the whispers did not melt away. They grew sharper, more coordinated, like blades being honed in secret forges across the provinces.
You felt the shift in the cursed energy of the land itself. Subtle tremors in the web of power that connected every sorcerer and spirit in the Heian era. Your starfire technique made you sensitive to such things; faint resonances of binding vows being woven in hidden mountain shrines, alliances forming between clans that had once been bitter enemies.
Sukuna noticed your distraction during a quiet afternoon in the temple courtyard. Cherry blossomsāsomehow surviving in the shadow of his domainādrifted lazily on the breeze. He lounged against a pillar, two arms folded behind his head, the other two idly spinning one of his cleavers like a childās toy. The mouth on his stomach hummed an old, bloody war chant.
āYouāre thinking too loudly, little star,ā he rumbled without opening his eyes. āSpeak it before I get bored and make you.ā
You sat on the edge of the stone fountain, trailing your fingers through the cool water. Droplets glowed faintly where your cursed energy brushed them. āTheyāre getting bolder. Not attacking you outright, they know better. But messages keep coming. āTemporary truces.ā āShared threats from rogue curses.ā All of them mention me by name. āThe Star Queen must mediate.ā āOnly she can seal the threat without escalation.āā
Sukunaās cleaver stopped spinning. All four eyes opened, fixing on you with predatory focus. āLet them send their pretty lies. Iāll decorate the temple steps with their spines.ā
You smiled, but it didnāt reach your eyes. āIf I ignore them, theyāll claim Iām hiding behind you. Weakening your image. If I goā¦ā You let the thought hang.
He sat up slowly, massive frame casting a long shadow over you. One lower hand reached out, claws gentle as they tilted your chin up. āYou will not go alone.ā
āI know,ā you said softly, leaning into his touch. āBut rushing in with full force gives them the excuse they want. Proof that the King of Curses cannot be negotiated with. That his queen is just a leash.ā
Sukunaās jaw tightened. The stomach mouth snarled silently. āSince when do we care about their excuses?ā
āSince they started targeting the one thing that makes you hesitate,ā you answered, voice steady. You rose and stepped between his spread legs, placing both hands on his broad chest, tracing the familiar black tattoos with your thumbs. āIām not fragile, Ryomen. My chains can bind armies. And I have you. But let me play their game for a little while. Gather information. Make them reveal their hands.ā
He stared down at you for a long moment. Four crimson eyes searching your face as if memorizing every detail. Then, with a low growl, he pulled you flush against him. Two arms wrapped around your waist. The other two cupped your face.
āYou test my patience more than any enemy ever has,ā he muttered against your lips. āIf anything feels wrong, anything, you burn the entire negotiation site to glass and return to me.ā
āI promise,ā you whispered.
āBe careful,ā he said, so softly it almost didnāt sound like him. āThe world can burn. But not you.ā
You kissed the corner of his mouth, then the marking beneath his lower eye. āIāll come back to you. I always do.ā
The next morning, the false alliance message arrived via a trembling envoy from the Fujiwara-adjacent clans.
A rogue special-grade curse has manifested near the northern border, threatening trade routes vital to multiple provinces. Only the Star Queenās unique sealing technique can contain it without unnecessary bloodshed. We request your mediation under a flag of temporary truce. No weapons. No armies. Neutral ground at the Valley of White Mist.
You read the scroll aloud to Sukuna, who listened with a bored expression that didnāt hide the murderous glint in all four eyes.
āItās a trap,ā he stated flatly.
āObviously,ā you agreed, rolling the scroll. āBut if I refuse, they paint me as the tyrantās consort who dooms innocents. If I go with force, they scream that Sukuna cannot control his queen. Let me go. Take a small escort if it eases you. Iāll assess their strength, then return.ā
He didnāt like it. The air grew heavy with his cursed energy, shrine-like pressure making the braziers flicker.
But he trusted you, the only person alive he truly did.
āTake my cleaver,ā he said finally, pressing the smaller of his two into your hands. āAnd this.ā He removed the thin gold circlet from your hair, kissed it once, then placed it back. āCome back wearing it. Or I will paint the valley red searching for you.ā
You smiled, rising on your toes to kiss him deeply. āI will. Wait for me, my king.ā
As you rode out with a handful of his most loyal (and disposable) followers, Sukuna stood at the temple gates, four arms crossed, watching until you disappeared over the horizon.
The Valley of White Mist waited.
And somewhere in the shadows, a hundred sorcerers bound by a desperate collective vow sharpened their techniques, ready to excise the King of Cursesā only weakness.
The journey to the Valley of White Mist took three days on horseback. You rode at the head of the small escort Sukuna had grudgingly allowed. Six of his most hardened retainers, men who had survived enough battles to know when silence was wiser than questions. They kept their distance, eyes darting nervously between the road and the gold circlet still gleaming in your hair.
You felt the shift in cursed energy long before the valley came into view. The air grew thick, heavier, like breathing through wet silk. Your starfire technique hummed beneath your skin in warning, the chains coiled invisibly around your wrists and ankles ready to manifest at a thought. The cleaver Sukuna had given you rested at your hip, its weight a comforting reminder of him.
The valley itself was deceptively beautiful. Thick white mist rolled between ancient cedar trees, glowing faintly under a pale spring sun. A wide clearing had been prepared in the center. Flat ground ringed by stone lanterns that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Representatives from three minor clans and one major Fujiwara offshoot waited there, dressed in formal robes, faces carefully blank.
No obvious weapons. No large army in sight.
You dismounted, crimson robes brushing the dew-wet grass. Your escort stayed mounted behind you, hands hovering near their blades.
The lead negotiator, an older sorcerer with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that betrayed nothing, bowed low.
āLady Star Queen,ā he intoned. āWe are grateful you answered our plea. The rogue curse has grown stronger than anticipated. Your unique binding technique is our only hope for a bloodless resolution.ā
You studied him calmly, letting your senses expand. Beneath the polite words, the cursed energy in the valley pulsed like a living thing. Layered, synchronized, bound by a complex vow. Not one curse. Many.
āI see,ā you said, voice even. āShow me the curse, then. Quickly. My king grows impatient when I am away too long.ā
They led you deeper into the mist.
The trap sprang the moment the trees closed behind your escort.
White light erupted from the ground in perfect geometric patterns. A massive collective domain, not quite a full expansion but something worse: a binding cage amplified by a hundred linked sorcerers hidden in the treeline and behind illusion barriers. The mist thickened into opaque walls. Your escortās screams were cut short as slashes of cursed energy tore through them like paper.
You reacted instantly.
Starfire chains exploded outward in a blazing lattice, burning through the nearest bindings and shattering three stone lanterns. The air filled with the scent of scorched cedar and blood. You moved like you had on a hundred battlefields beside Sukunaāgraceful, ruthless, unafraid.
But they had planned for you.
Dozens of sorcerers emerged from the mist, their techniques synchronized into a single overwhelming assault. Binding chains of their ownāweaker than yours but multipliedāwrapped around your limbs. Anti-domain stakes drove into the ground, suppressing your output. Spears of condensed cursed energy pierced your side, your shoulder, your thigh.
You didnāt scream.
You laughed instead, low and bitter, as blood soaked the front of your crimson robes.
āSo this is it,ā you said, voice steady despite the pain. Your chains still lashed out, snapping necks and burning limbs, but they kept coming. āThey cannot kill him, so they kill what he loves. Pathetic.ā
A particularly strong binding vow slammed into your chest, cracking ribs. You staggered but stayed on your feet, cleaver in hand, slashing through two attackers in one fluid motion. Sukunaās weapon sang with his residual cursed energy, cutting deeper than any ordinary blade.
Yet the numbers were too great. The cage too tight.
You realized too late how perfectly they had timed it. Far enough from the temple that even Sukunaās speed might not save you in time, close enough that he would feel every second through the bond of cursed energy that had grown between you over the months.
āTheyāre trying to break him,ā you whispered to yourself as another spear grazed your cheek, drawing a hot line of blood. Your vision blurred at the edges, but your hands never stopped moving. Starfire flared brighter, desperate. āFools. He will burn the world for this.ā
The final blow came from behind. A cursed technique designed to pierce the core, not kill instantly but ensure a slow, agonizing death. It drove through your back and out your chest, just missing your heart but shredding everything vital around it.
You dropped to your knees in the blood-soaked grass.
The mist began to thin as the sorcerers stepped closer, faces triumphant and terrified at once.
You lifted your head, gold circlet still somehow intact, now stained crimson. Your breathing came in shallow, wet gasps, but your eyes glowed bright with starfire even now held no panic. No begging.
Only calm understanding.
In the distance, the sky tore open.
Black shrine gates manifested like jagged teeth against the clouds. Malevolent energy rolled across the valley like a tidal wave. Sukuna had arrived.
He landed in the center of the clearing with earth-shaking force, four arms already in motion. Cleavers flashed. Dismantle and Cleave shredded the air itself. The collective domain shattered like glass under the weight of his true domain expansion, Malevolent Shrine, painting the sky red and black.
But it was too late for the trap.
It was too late for you.
Sukunaās lower eyes found you instantly. The upper pair widened fractionally. The closest thing to shock the King of Curses had shown in centuries.
He crossed the distance in two strides, dropping to one knee beside you. Two massive hands cradled your face with a gentleness that would have stunned anyone watching. One pressed desperately over the gaping wound in your chest, trying to stem the blood that wouldnāt stop. The fourth gripped your hand so tightly your bones creaked.
The remaining sorcerers tried to flee. They didnāt get far. Invisible slashes turned them into red mist before they could take three steps.
You looked up at him. Four crimson eyes, tattoos stark against his skin, the face you had chosen without fear, and smiled through bloodied lips.
āRyomenā¦ā Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried. Your free hand rose, trembling, to trace the black markings beneath his lower eyes exactly as you always had. The touch was weak but sure. āEven nowā¦ you came.ā
He snarled, but the sound cracked. āYou promised you would return. You lied to me, little star.ā
A wet, broken laugh escaped you. āIām sorryā¦ but they needed to learn. They thoughtā¦ taking me would break you.ā Your fingers slid down to rest over the mouth on his stomach. It opened, teeth gentle against your palm for the first time. āDonāt let them win that way. Remember how I looked at you. How I chose you. Not out of fearā¦ but because you were worth choosing.ā
Blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your starfire flickered once, twice, then began to fade.
āI would find you again,ā you breathed, eyes locking with all four of his. āIn any life. Any form. My kingā¦ my equalā¦ I loāā
The light left your eyes.
Your hand slipped from his face and fell limp into the grass.
For one endless second, the valley was silent except for the distant crackle of dying flames.
Then Sukuna roared.
It was not grief in any human sense. It was annihilation given voice.
Malevolent Shrine expanded to its full radius. Shrine gates manifested in endless rows. Every surviving sorcerer in the valley. Every hidden ally, every coward who had planned this was torn apart at the atomic level. The trees turned to ash. The mist evaporated in screams of steam. The ground itself cracked and blackened as if the earth were bleeding.
He destroyed everything.
When the rage finally ebbed into something colder, sharper, Sukuna remained kneeling in the crater that had once been a valley. The gold circlet, somehow untouched amid the devastation, lay beside your body. He picked it up with one bloodied hand, then carefully removed it from your hair and wrapped it around the hilt of his cleaver, tying it with a strip of your torn robe.
He lifted your body with all four arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing.
The King of Curses walked back toward his temple alone, leaving nothing but silence and ruin behind him.
For the first time in his long, bloody existence, Ryomen Sukuna carried something he could not conquer.
Something he could not get back.
Centuries passed like ash on the wind.
The Heian era crumbled into legend. Sorcerers rose and fell. Curses evolved. The world forgot the exact shape of the King of Cursesā wrath, but the scars remained. Craters where mountains once stood, blood-soaked soil that still refused to grow anything pure.
Ryomen Sukuna endured.
He sealed himself away in pieces, scattered across fingers and artifacts, waiting. Plotting. Remembering.
He kept the gold circlet wrapped around the hilt of his favored cleaver. Sometimes, in the long stretches of boredom between hosts, he would run a clawed thumb over the thin band of metal and feel the faint echo of starfire still clinging to it. Your final words haunted the empty spaces inside him.
āI would find you againā¦ In any life. Any form.ā
He never spoke them aloud. But they anchored him the way nothing else ever had.
A relatively new graduate from Jujutsu Techās hidden curriculum, assigned to the Tokyo branch under Gojo Satoruās loose supervision. Your cursed energy was unusually potent for someone so young: bright, burning, instinctive. Instructors called it āstarfire-adjacentā in hushed tones when they thought you couldnāt hear. You had no memories of the Heian era. No recollection of four arms, black tattoos, or the taste of blood and incense on your tongue.
Yet some things refused to stay buried.
You never flinched in the face of special-grade curses. When others hesitated, you stepped forward as if you belonged at the front lineābeside power, not behind it. You fought with a quiet fearlessness that made veterans raise eyebrows. And sometimes, late at night in your small apartment in Shinjuku, you would catch yourself tracing invisible patterns on your own armsāblack, looping marks that werenāt there.
Dreams came more frequently now.
Blood-soaked valleys. Gold catching moonlight. A deep, layered voice calling you ālittle star.ā Four crimson eyes watching you with something between hunger and devotion. You always woke with your heart pounding and a strange ache low in your belly, as if your body remembered pleasure your mind had forgotten.
You chalked it up to stress.
Todayās mission was routine on paper: investigate a localized curse outbreak in an abandoned subway station beneath Shibuya. Grade 1 at worst. You were paired with a second-year student who kept glancing at you nervously.
āStay behind me,ā he muttered as you descended the stairs, flashlights cutting through the dark.
You ignored him and moved ahead, chains of glowing starfire already flickering at your fingertips. Your technique had manifested as luminescent binding links that could seal or burn on command. The cursed spirit that lunged at you was fast, but you were faster. One chain whipped out, wrapping its torso and igniting. It shrieked and dissolved into black smoke.
āShow-off,ā the student grumbled.
You smirked. āJust efficient.ā
The platform was quiet after that. Too quiet.
Then the air changed.
A heavy, ancient cursed energy rolled through the tunnels like smoke from a distant fire. It tasted of iron and old incense. Your pulse quickened for reasons you couldnāt name.
A figure stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the platform.
Pink hair. Dark tattoos crawling across his face, neck, and bare arms. He wore a casual hoodie and pants that looked borrowed, but the energy radiating off him belonged to something far older than any teenager. Two eyes glowed with lazy malice, but you sworeā¦ for a split second, you saw the flicker of two more.
He stopped a few meters away, head tilted, studying you like a puzzle he already knew the answer to.
You raised your chains instinctively, glowing bright. āIdentify yourself. Now.ā
The boyāno, the thing inside the boyāgrinned. It was too sharp, too knowing.
āYouāve gotten smaller,ā he said, voice low and rough, carrying an echo that vibrated through your bones. āAnd your hairās shorter. I liked it longer. Easier to wrap around my fist.ā
Your stomach dropped. The words sounded insane, yet they landed somewhere deep inside you, stirring half-remembered heat.
āWho the hell are you?ā you demanded, stepping forward despite your partnerās frantic tugging at your sleeve.
He took one step closer, hands in his pockets, utterly unbothered by the glowing chains pointed at his chest. āYou used to look at me without fear. Still do, apparently. Good. Some things donāt change.ā
Your partner summoned a weak technique and tried to step between you. āBack off, curse userāā
The pink-haired stranger flicked two fingers. The student flew backward into the wall, unconscious but alive.
Now it was just the two of you under flickering fluorescent lights.
He studied your face again, all fourāno, twoāeyes narrowing with something dangerously close to fondness. āStill burning bright, little star. Even if you donāt remember why.ā
The nickname hit like a physical blow.
Little star.
Your chains faltered for half a second. Memories that werenāt memories flashed. Strong hands on your hips, a second mouth dragging across your skin, the sound of your own voice moaning a name you couldnāt quite recall.
You shook it off and strengthened your stance. āI donāt know you. And if you donāt stop talking like a delusional creep, Iāll seal you right here.ā
His grin widened. āYou always did threaten me when you were flustered.ā
He vanished in a swirl of red mist before you could strike, leaving only the faint scent of blood and incense behind.
Your partner groaned as he came to. āWhatā¦ what was that?ā
You stared at the empty platform, heart hammering. āI have no idea.ā
But your body remembered.
And somewhere deep inside the pink-haired vessel, Ryomen Sukuna leaned back in his makeshift throne of consciousness and laughedālow, dark, and triumphant.
The queen had returned.
She just didnāt know it yet.
That night you barely slept.
The dreams were clearer than ever.
A ruined temple. Braziers casting golden light on black tattoos. Four arms holding you close after battle, after pleasure, after everything. A voice rumbling against your ear: āYou are the only thing in this rotting world I donāt get bored of.ā
You woke gasping, skin flushed, thighs pressed together against an ache you couldnāt explain.
In the mirror, you traced the faint, phantom lines on your arms again.
And for the first time, you whispered to your reflection:
āWho are youā¦ and why do I miss you?ā
The encounters didnāt stop.
If anything, they escalated.
Over the next two weeks, the pink-haired curse userāwho still hadnāt given you a proper nameābecame a walking, talking migraine wrapped in tattoos and smug arrogance.
First incident: the convenience store at 2 a.m.
You had dragged yourself there after a long night exorcising low-grade curses near Roppongi. Your hair was messy, your jacket smelled like burnt curse residue, and all you wanted was strawberry milk and something fried. You were reaching for the last onigiri when a familiar voice spoke right behind your ear.
āStill eating like youāre about to march into battle. Some habits never die.ā
You spun around so fast the milk carton nearly slipped from your hand.
He was leaning against the ramune fridge, arms crossed. The tattoos stood out stark under the fluorescent lights. Two eyes watched you with lazy amusement, but you swore you could feel the weight of two more.
āYou again,ā you hissed, keeping your voice low so the sleepy cashier wouldnāt call security. āWhat is your problem? Personal space exists for a reason.ā
He tilted his head, grin widening. āYou used to let me closer than this. Much closer. Naked, usually.ā
Your face burned. A customer two aisles over dropped their basket.
āCreep,ā you snapped, slamming the onigiri into your basket. āI donāt know you. I donāt want to know you. Stop following me or Iāll exorcise that smug look off your face.ā
He laughedālow, rolling, far too pleased. āThere she is. That fire. You threatened me with chains the first time we met too. Ended up wrapped in them for entirely different reasons.ā
You marched to the counter, paid, and left without looking back. But the entire walk home you felt eyes on your back, and the phantom scent of blood and incense lingered in the night air.
Second incident: the training grounds at Jujutsu High.
You were sparring with Maki when the air pressure shifted. A figure appeared on the rooftop overlooking the fieldālounging against the railing like he owned the school. Pink hair ruffled by the wind. Tattoos visible even from a distance.
Maki paused mid-strike. āWho the hell is that?ā
You didnāt answer. You just raised your hand and sent a warning chain of starfire whipping toward the roof.
He caught it.
With one hand.
The glowing link wrapped around his wrist and he tugged playfully, as if testing its strength. āCute. But you used to bind me with a lot more enthusiasm, little star.ā
Makiās eyes narrowed. āFriend of yours?ā
āAbsolutely not,ā you growled.
Before you could launch a proper attack, he vanished again, leaving only a faint chuckle echoing across the field.
Third incident: your apartment balcony.
You had just stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around you, when you sensed him. You yanked the sliding door open, starfire already blazing between your fingers.
He was sitting on the railing like it was a throne, fourāno, twoāarms resting casually. In the dim city light his tattoos looked alive.
āYouāve gotten even smaller when youāre half-naked,ā he observed, eyes raking over you slowly. āI approve. Easier to carry.ā
āGet the fuck off my balcony!ā you shouted, launching a chain that shattered the railing inches from where he sat.
He didnāt even flinch. āStill shy after all this time? You used to ride me on a stone altar while the temple burned around us. Literally.ā
Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Heat flooded your faceāhalf embarrassment, half something dangerously warmer. āIām calling the police.ā
He actually laughed out loud, the sound rich and mocking. āThe police? Me? The King of Curses reduced to a suspicious individual? How the mighty have fallen.ā
Then he disappeared in red mist, still chuckling.
You stood there dripping wet, towel slipping, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
The dreams got worse after that.
Every night you saw fragments: strong hands pinning you down, a second mouth dragging hot and wet across your stomach, four eyes watching you come undone with something like worship. You woke up aching, thighs slick, whispering a name you couldnāt quite remember into your pillow.
By the end of the second week you were done.
You marched into the local police station with your arms crossed and determination in your eyes. The officer behind the desk looked half-asleep.
āI need to report a stalker,ā you said firmly.
The officer sighed and pulled out a form. āDescription?ā
āMale. Early twenties appearance. Pink hair. Face and body covered in black tattoos. Extremely rude. Keeps saying delusional shit like āyouāve gotten smallerā and āyou used to ride me on an altar.ā He appears out of nowhere like rooftops, my balcony, convenience stores. Heās insane.ā
The officer scribbled slowly. āHas he touched you?ā
āNot yet. But he keeps implying he has. In detail.ā
Just as the officer asked for your contact information, the station door exploded inward with a casual kick.
Every head turned.
There he stood. Pink hair, tattoos, hands in his pockets, looking deeply unimpressed with the entire metropolitan police force. The cursed energy rolling off him made the lights flicker.
The room went dead silent.
You pointed. āThatās him!ā
The pink-haired man sighed, the sound of someone who had toppled empires and was now dealing with paperwork. āReally? The police? I annihilate bloodlines and you file a formal complaint?ā
One brave officer reached for his gun. āHands where I can see them!ā
The man raised an eyebrow. Two extra spectral arms flickered into existence for half a secondāenough to make the entire precinct freezeāthen vanished. āSheās my wife. Reincarnated. Itās complicated.ā He glanced at the trembling officer holding the form. āYouāre going to ignore this, right? Good. Saves me the cleanup.ā
He looked straight at you, eyes softening with dark amusement. āStill fighting me at every turn. Adorable. Youāll remember eventually.ā
Then he walked out as casually as he had entered, leaving the door hanging off its hinges.
The station erupted into chaos.
You stood there, face burning, fists clenched. āI am not his wife.ā
But your voice shook.
And deep down, something ancient and hungry stirred at the word.
That night the dreams returned stronger than ever.
You saw yourself in crimson robes, sitting beside a four-armed king on a throne of bone. You saw four hands on your bodyāpinning, claiming, worshipping. You heard your own voice moaning āRyomenā like a prayer.
You woke up gasping, fingers pressed between your thighs, chasing a release that felt centuries overdue.
In the darkness of your room, you whispered to the empty air:
āWho are youā¦ and why does my body remember you better than my mind does?ā
Miles away, Ryomen Sukuna smirked in the shared mental space.
āSoon, little star,ā he murmured to no one but himself. āYouāll remember. And then Iām dragging you back where you belong.ā
The police report accomplished exactly nothing.
No one at the station wanted to touch the case after the pink-haired intruder casually kicked the door off its hinges and called you his wife in front of twenty witnesses. The report was āmisplaced.ā The officers suddenly developed convenient amnesia. Even the security footage developed mysterious glitches.
You were on your own.
And he knew it.
Sukunaās approach changed after that day. The casual, taunting appearances gave way to something more intentional. More predatory. He no longer popped up for cheap shocks. He watched. He tested. He closed the distance.
First came the rooftop again, but this time he didnāt stay at a distance.
You were finishing a solo mission near an old shrine on the outskirts of Tokyo, wiping cursed energy residue from your hands, when you felt him behind you. Not the playful flare of cursed energy from before. This was heavier. Closer. Ancient.
You turned slowly.
He stood only a few feet away, pink hair tousled by the night wind, tattoos stark under the moonlight. He looked deceptively relaxed, hands in his pockets, but the aura rolling off him pressed against your skin like a physical weight.
āYou stopped running,ā he observed, voice lower than usual. Rougher. It slid down your spine like warm velvet dragged over gravel.
āIām not running,ā you replied, summoning a single glowing chain that hovered between you like a warning. āIām deciding whether to seal you or hear you out. Talk. Who are you really?ā
He took one step closer. Then another. You didnāt back away. Something in you refused to.
āIāve told you pieces,ā he said, stopping close enough that you could smell that faint trace of blood and incense again. āYou used to sit beside me on battlefields. You used to trace these marks with your fingers while I was still inside you.ā One hand lifted slowly, as if giving you time to flinch. When you didnāt, he brushed a thumb along the side of your jaw. āYou used to call me yours.ā
Your breath hitched. The touch sent sparks through your nerves. Not fear, but recognition. Heat bloomed low in your belly. The phantom memory of four hands holding you open flashed behind your eyes.
You slapped his hand away, but there was no real force behind it. āStop saying things like that. Itās insane.ā
āIs it?ā He leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur that vibrated against your ear. āThen why does your body remember? Your pulse is racing. Your cursed energy is flaring brighter. Youāre not afraid of me. You never were.ā
You swallowed hard. He was right. The fear you should have felt was absent. In its place was something far more dangerous. Curiosity, longing, a pull you couldnāt name.
āBack off,ā you whispered, but your chains had lowered without you realizing.
He didnāt back off. Instead he stepped even closer until your back met the shrineās wooden pillar. One hand braced beside your head. The other hovered near your waist, not quite touching.
āYouāre starting to dream again, arenāt you?ā he asked softly. āBlood. Gold. Me. Not this borrowed face, the real one. Four arms. Four eyes. The mouth that used to taste every inch of you.ā
Your knees weakened. A vivid flash hit you: strong hands pinning your wrists, a second mouth licking a hot trail down your stomach, a deep voice growling āMineā while you came apart beneath him.
You shoved at his chest. He didnāt budge.
āI donāt know what youāre talking about,ā you lied, voice breathy.
He chuckled, the sound dark and intimate. āLiar. But thatās all right. I can wait. Iāve waited a thousand years already.ā
Then he was gone again, leaving you trembling against the pillar, thighs pressed together, cursed energy flickering uncontrollably around your fingers.
The dreams intensified after that night.
They were no longer fragments. They were memories wearing the skin of dreams.
You saw yourself in a ruined temple, crimson robes pooled at your feet. Four massive hands lifted you onto a stone altar. Black tattoos shifted under firelight as he moved above youāinside youādeep, relentless thrusts that made you cry out his name. āRyomenāā The second mouth on his abdomen sucked marks into your breasts while the main one bit your shoulder hard enough to bruise. You came screaming, starfire exploding from your hands and painting his skin with temporary glowing brands.
You woke up every night gasping, sheets soaked with sweat and something far more embarrassing. Your fingers would find their way between your thighs before you could stop yourself, chasing the echo of a pleasure that felt centuries old.
Each time he got closer. Each time his voice dropped lower. Each time your resistance frayed a little more.
You stopped reporting him.
You stopped trying to exorcise him on sight.
Instead you started looking for him.
One rainy evening, you found him waiting on the rooftop of your apartment building again. The city lights glittered below like scattered stars. Rain plastered his pink hair to his forehead and made his tattoos glisten.
You stepped out under the downpour without an umbrella, chains dormant at your sides.
āWhy me?ā you asked, voice barely audible over the rain. āWhy do you keep coming back?ā
He turned to face you fully. For once the smirk was gone. In its place was something rawer. Hungrier.
āBecause you chose me when no one else would,ā he said simply. āBecause you sat at my right hand and never trembled. Because even when they killed you to break me, you looked up at me with those same eyes and told me youād find me again.ā
He took a slow step forward, rain streaming down his face.
āAnd because this body is only a vessel. When you remember, truly remember, Iāll show you the real me again. The one you loved. The one with four arms that used to hold you like the world could burn and it wouldnāt matter.ā
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Another flash hit you: gold circlet in your hair, four hands on your body, a second mouth growling your name like worship while he spilled deep inside you.
You didnāt run.
You stepped closer instead, until you stood directly in front of him, rain soaking both of you.
āI donāt understand any of this,ā you whispered. āButā¦ Iām not afraid of you. Not anymore.ā
His hand rose slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didnāt, he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing rain from your lower lip.
āGood,ā he murmured, voice rough with centuries of waiting. āBecause Iām done being patient, little star.ā
He leaned in, lips hovering just above yours. You felt the heat of him, the ancient power coiled beneath borrowed skin. Your eyes fluttered half-closed.
But he didnāt kiss you.
Not yet.
Instead he pulled back with visible effort, a dark promise in his eyes.
āSoon. When you see me I wonāt stop at almost.ā
Then he vanished into red mist, leaving you alone in the rain with trembling legs and a heart that no longer felt like it belonged entirely to this life.
That night the dreams changed again.
This time, when you woke gasping his name āRyomenā it didnāt feel like a question.
It felt like the beginning of an answer.
You called in sick to Jujutsu High the next morning.
Instead you wandered the rainy streets, hood up, starfire flickering restlessly at your fingertips. Every shadow felt like it might hide him. Every gust of wind carried the faint scent of blood and incense.
He found you near the old shrine where you had first properly confronted him weeks ago.
This time he didnāt hide on the rooftop. He stepped out of the torii gate like he belonged there, pink hair dark with rain, tattoos glistening. He wore no hoodie tonight. Just a simple black shirt that clung to Yujiās muscled frame and revealed more of the black markings crawling across his skin.
You stopped in the middle of the stone path. Rain poured down around you both.
He didnāt speak at first. He simply walked forward until only an armās length separated you.
āYou look like you havenāt slept,ā he said quietly. No taunt this time. Just raw observation.
āI havenāt,ā you admitted. Your voice shook. āThe dreamsā¦ theyāre not dreams anymore. I see blood. I see gold. I seeā¦ you. But not like this.ā You gestured at his current form. āFour arms. Four eyes. A mouth thatā¦ that used toā¦ā Heat flooded your face.
Sukunaās expression darkened with hunger. He closed the remaining distance in one step, one hand rising to cradle the back of your neck. The touch was firm, possessive, but he held backāwaiting.
āSay the name,ā he murmured, voice dropping to that low, layered register that made your knees weak. āThe one you whispered in your sleep last night.ā
Your lips parted. Rain streamed down your face.
āRyomen,ā you breathed.
Something in him snapped.
He pulled you against him, mouth crashing down on yours in a kiss that tasted of centuries of waiting. It wasnāt gentle. It was claimingāteeth and tongue and raw need. One hand fisted in your wet hair while the other gripped your waist hard enough to bruise. For a moment you swore you felt two extra spectral arms wrap around your back, holding you tighter.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, hands sliding up his chest, nails digging into his shoulders. Starfire flickered at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing marks on his skin that healed almost instantly.
When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.
āYouāre close,ā he growled against your lips. āSo close to seeing me. The real me.ā
You stared up at him, chest heaving. āShow me.ā
His eyes flashed. For a heartbeat the vessel cracked. Pink hair darkened, tattoos spread further, two extra arms manifested fully, and four crimson eyes burned down at you.
The sight hit you like lightning.
The rooftop dream. The temple. The valley. The way those four hands had held you. The way those four eyes had looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth keeping.
Recognition slammed into you all at once.
You didnāt recoil.
Instead your hands rose, trembling, to cup the sides of his face. Tracing the markings exactly as you had in every memory, every dream, every lifetime.
āItās you,ā you whispered, voice breaking. Tears mixed with rain on your cheeks. āRyomen Sukuna. My king. I only knew your true formā¦ I didnāt recognize you in this vessel. But itās you.ā
A sound tore from his throatāhalf growl, half laugh, pure relief and obsession.
He lifted you effortlessly with all four arms now fully manifested, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the nearest torii pillar. Rain poured down, but neither of you cared.
āFinally,ā he snarled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. āMy queen. My star. Youāre mine again.ā
You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, starfire and cursed energy mingling in the air around you.
āI remember,ā you gasped as one of his lower hands slid beneath your soaked shirt, claws lightly scraping your skin. āI remember everything. The battles. The nights. The way you held me when the world tried to tear us apart.ā
His forehead pressed to yours, four eyes blazing with centuries of devotion and hunger.
āThen let me remind you of the rest,ā he growled, voice rough with promise. āRight now.ā
The rain continued to fall, washing away the last fragments of your old life.
But in the shelter of four arms and four burning eyes, you had finally come home.
The torii gate groaned under the sudden surge of cursed energy as Sukunaās true form tore fully through the borrowed vessel.
He was massive again. Towering. The real Ryomen Sukuna you had loved in the Heian era.
And between his hips, where the vessel had hidden it, two thick cocks stood hard and heavy, already leaking at the tips from the sheer force of recognition. The upper one curved slightly, ridged along the underside. The lower sat heavier, thicker at the base, both flushed dark and pulsing with cursed energy that made the air around them shimmer.
You didnāt flinch. You had never flinched from him.
Instead you reached up with both hands, fingers tracing the black markings across his chest exactly as you had done a thousand years ago. Starfire flickered at your fingertips, leaving faint glowing trails that faded almost instantly.
āItās really you,ā you whispered, voice thick with emotion and need. āMy king. My monster. I only knew this formā¦ I didnāt recognize the boyās face. But these marksā¦ these eyesā¦ this body that used to ruin me so perfectly.ā
A low, guttural sound rumbled from both his mouths. The main one curving into a feral grin, the one on his stomach opening to drag a hot, wet tongue across your collarbone.
āMine,ā he growled, voice layered and rough, echoing with the weight of every lonely century. āYou kept me waiting, little star. Centuries of nothing but ash and memory. Now Iām taking back whatās mine.ā
Four hands moved at once.
Two pinned your wrists above your head against the rain-slick torii pillar. One gripped your hip, claws shredding through your soaked clothes with casual ease until they fell away in wet ribbons. The last cupped your jaw, tilting your face up so he could claim your mouth in a bruising kiss.
His tongueālonger, rougherāinvaded without mercy, tasting every gasp and whimper. The stomach mouth latched onto your neck, sucking a dark mark while its tongue flicked over your pulse.
You moaned into the kiss, arching against him. Rain poured down your bare skin, but the heat rolling off his body made you burn. When he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips.
āRyomenā¦ please,ā you breathed. āI remember how you felt. Both of them. I need you.ā
His laugh was dark and triumphant. āGreedy little queen. You always were.ā
He lifted you effortlessly with the two lower arms, spreading your thighs wide around his waist. The upper two kept your wrists pinned while one hand slid between your legs, thick fingers parting your folds and finding you already drippingānot just from rain.
āSo wet for me already,ā he rumbled, two fingers pushing inside you without warning, curling hard against that spot that made your vision spark. āThis cunt still remembers its king. Clenching like it missed me.ā
You cried out, hips rocking desperately against his hand. The stretch was familiar, perfect. Starfire flickered wildly around your fingers, painting glowing patterns across his forearms.
He pumped his fingers faster, scissoring them, stretching you open while the stomach mouth moved lower to latch onto one of your breasts. Sharp teeth grazed your nipple before the tongue soothed the sting, sucking hard until you were trembling.
When you were shaking on the edge, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the heads of both cocks.
The upper one nudged your entrance first, thick and insistent. The lower pressed just below it, sliding against your clit with every shallow thrust.
āLook at me,ā he commanded, all four eyes blazing. āWatch whoās claiming you again.ā
You locked eyes with him as he pushed in. Slow, relentless, both cocks stretching you open at once. The burn was exquisite. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the dual invasion, the ridges and thickness dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. He bottomed out with a shared groan, hips flush against yours, both cocks buried to the hilt.
āFuckāRyomenāso fullāā
āThatās it,ā he snarled, voice rough. āTake both of them like the queen you are. This pussy was made for me. Only me.ā
He didnāt give you time to adjust. He started moving. Deep, powerful thrusts that rocked your entire body against the pillar. Rain streamed down your joined bodies, making every slide wetter, filthier. The dual stretch was overwhelming in the best way; every thrust dragged both cocks against your walls, the lower one grinding perfectly against that spot inside while the upper rubbed your clit from the inside with every withdrawal.
Four hands held you exactly where he wanted youāopen, pinned, claimed.
The stomach mouth continued its assault on your breasts, licking, sucking, biting until your nipples ached deliciously. His main mouth crashed against yours again, swallowing every moan and scream.
You came first, hard and sudden. walls spasming around both cocks as starfire exploded outward in a brilliant lattice, wrapping around both of you like glowing chains. Your vision whited out, a broken cry of his name tearing from your throat.
Sukuna followed with a guttural roar that shook the shrine grounds. His hips stuttered, burying both cocks as deep as they would go while he spilled inside you. Hot, thick pulses from both lengths, filling you until it leaked out around him despite how tightly you were stretched.
He didnāt pull out.
Instead he kept you impaled on both cocks, four arms wrapping fully around your smaller frame as he carried you away from the pillar. He laid you down on the wet grass beneath the torii, still buried deep, covering you with his massive body like a living shield.
Rain continued to fall, but his heat kept you warm.
You reached up, tracing the markings on his face with gentle fingers, tears mixing with rain on your cheeks.
āI remember everything now,ā you whispered. āThe battles. The nights. The way they tried to break you by taking me. I told you Iād find you againā¦ and I did.ā
Sukunaās forehead pressed to yours, all four eyes half-lidded with something dangerously close to tenderness beneath the raw hunger.
āYou kept your promise, little star,ā he murmured, voice rough but softer than you had ever heard it. One hand stroked through your wet hair while another rested possessively over your lower stomach, where you could still feel both cocks twitching inside you. āNow you wear my crown again. Rule beside me. The world once tried to separate us. It failed.ā
You smiled, pulling him down into another deep kiss.
āThen remind me one more time tonight,ā you whispered against his lips, rolling your hips to feel both cocks shift inside you. āMake me scream your name until the whole city hears who I belong to.ā
His grin was feral.
āGladly.ā
He started moving again. Slower this time, deep and deliberate, both cocks dragging against every oversensitive inch. Four hands explored every curve, every mark he left behind. The stomach mouth licked the rainwater from your skin while he fucked you through another orgasm, then another, until you were sobbing with pleasure beneath him.
Only when the rain finally began to ease did he spill inside you a second time, both cocks pulsing as he marked you from the inside out.
Afterward he pulled you against his chest with all four arms, the gold circlet. Somehow still with him after all this time, now resting once more in your damp hair.
You traced idle patterns on his skin, fingers following the black tattoos you had memorized lifetimes ago.
āI chose you then,ā you said softly. āI choose you again. In this life. In every life.ā
Sukunaās arms tightened around you, possessive and eternal.
āAnd I will burn every world that tries to take you from me,ā he vowed.
The King of Curses and his Queen lay together beneath the clearing sky, two bodies. One ancient and monstrous, one reborn in starfire, finally whole again.
synopsis the boys accidentally reveal your relationship when they message a group chat instead of privately
characters gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, ino, yuji, megumi
warnings nsfw in a few, secret(ish) relationships - minors and ageless blogs dni
a/n thank you again to @tojislovergirl and @luubug for helping out with some of the ideas
people with venus as a chart ruler often recieve romantic attention even when they're not asking for it.
people with sagittarius or capricorn rising attract attention bc of their build. they're usually tall or have a big bone structure and move in a way that attracts attention.
underdeveloped leo placements especially sun or mercury are attention seekers and would do anything for validation.
leo rising and gemini rising typically have an it factor that is noticeable by others at first glance.
capricorn and aries rising are intimidating in an unapproachable way while scorpio rising are intimidating bc they seem like they're judging you.
pisces rising are typically unaware of the way they're perceived, they're living in their own version of the world.
aquarius placements especially sun mercury and rising enjoy attention but only a particular type of attention, they're not the "all attention is good attention" type and wouldn't enjoy ppl focusing on them too much.
jupiter in 10th house are noticeable by ppl wherever they go and ppl just listen to them.
aries placements can go unnoticed a lot but once they're in the spotlight they're unforgettable.
this one is shorter but I'm trying to get back into making these. apologies for any mistakes I'm not a native speaker.
the placements that make people wish they had your emotional depth
scorpio moon
your heart is an old ocean and your feelings have a physical gravity that makes everyone elseās emotions look like a light breeze. you donāt do the airy or polite version of a mood; you want the raw bone and the marrow of the truth. people are addicted to your presence because you are the only one brave enough to sit in the silence and not blink when the shadows start to move. they envy your depth because you look like the only person who actually knows how to survive the fire without losing your soul. they stay in your orbit because they are starving for a connection that isn't a performance.
moon in the 12th house
you walk through reality with no skin and you absorb the unspoken grief of every room you enter. your spirit is tuned to a frequency that handles the invisible threads and the hidden magic that most people are too loud to ever hear. others wish they had your depth because you see the secret poetry in the things they call mundane. you carry an aura of sea water and smoke and they envy the way you can find a profound meaning in a single dream or a long silence. they stay fixated on you because you look like a homecoming they didn't think was possible in this world.
moon aspecting pluto
your emotional world is forged in a furnace and your identity is a constant act of total self reinvention. whether it is a square or a conjunction you carry a level of intensity that acts like a high voltage current. people envy your depth because you have looked into the abyss and decided to stay there until you found the jewels. they see how you rise from the ashes of every transformation and they realize your strength is a hard won victory that they are too afraid to even try. you are the only one who doesn't hide from the raw truth and that makes you untouchable.
venus in the 8th house
you fall for the scars and the secrets long before you ever care about the social mask or the resume. people wish they had your depth because you make love feel like a sacred contract instead of a casual hang. you see the value in the broken parts that everyone else is trying to hide and you give others the nerve to finally show their real face. they are addicted to the way you want a total soul merger and they realize that being loved by you is a transformation they could never find on the surface. you ruin every shallow connection for them forever.
moon at the 29th degree
you carry the weary wisdom of a veteran who has already felt every kind of heartbreak lifetimes ago. there is a quiet and heavy depth in your eyes that makes everyone else look like a child. they envy your perspective because you provide an emotional frequency that makes their current crisis feel shallow and temporary. you know the end of the story before the first chapter is even finished and your presence suggests a mastery of the heart that people are desperate to own. you are the teacher who doesn't need to speak to be understood.
pisces rising or neptune on an angle
you move through the world like a dream that someone is finally having with their eyes wide open. your edges are blurry and you pick up on the hidden moods of every building you enter like a psychic sensor. people wish they had your depth because you possess a blurry and beautiful kind of empathy that makes them feel like they aren't alone in the dark. they envy your way of seeing the magic in the wreckage and they stay in your orbit because your presence is a prayer that they forgot the lyrics to.
planets on the imum coeli or a heavy scorpio presence on the 4th house
your roots are buried in a deep psychological soil and you carry the family ghosts in your bones. people wish they had your depth because you look like someone who actually knows what they are made of. you make any room feel like a safe harbor just by sitting in it and others realize their secrets are finally in a place where they will be protected instead of used. they envy the emotional foundation you have built in the dark and they want to be part of the story you are keeping behind locked doors.
heavy water stellium
your spirit is a psychic sponge for the collective sadness and the secret joy of the world. having three or more planets in cancer scorpio or pisces means you possess a heart with no boundaries. you nurture people into existence before they even know they are hurting and people wish they had your depth because you look like the secret healer they have been searching for in every song. you show them that having a heart is the highest form of power and you give them the permission to be as messy and human as they actually feel.
jupiter in the 8th or 12th house
you find your luck in the deep end and your spirit refuses to be satisfied with a shallow belief system. people wish they had your depth because you find the gold in the places where they are too afraid to look. you possess a natural optimism that is forged in the fire and you show everyone that a miracle is just a new morning that starts after a total collapse. they are addicted to your spiritual strength and they wish they had your unshakeable faith in the unseen threads of the universe.
in which; ryomen sukuna is stubborn and completely obsessed with his ex. he canāt seem to understand why sheās so angry with him, and why she wonāt take him back. one thing he knows for sure though, is that despite her anger; heās still not blocked. what was that saying his mother used to say again; closed mouths donāt get fed? thatās for certain, ryomenās mouth is open and begging y/n to take him back.
cw!: none, just a text fic. (i feel like sukunaās ooc, but itās hard to apply a character like him into a modern setting. i think heās a very interesting character and thereās alot of his qualities you could focus on rather than just the fact thatās heās angry, heās definitely a character who fixates on something when he wants it (his obsession with megumi, for example.))
āā this aspect can indicate difficulties surrounding one's ability to effectively connect with those around them. the native may communicate in a way that is "elusive" to others, resulting in feeling misunderstood or isolated. this can also indicate a very literal barrier in terms of language or one's speaking abilities, or struggling in neurotypical learning environments. this doesn't mean that the native is unintelligent, or intentionally trying to come across as deceptive to others. rather, their understanding of the world and reality as a whole is vastly different than the average person. they tend to be very imaginative and artistic individuals, and as a result they usually have a "spiritual" or poetic way of interpreting and explaining things.
āā it would benefit these natives to take on habits or practices that grant them the ability to stay grounded, all the while holding space for their need to escape to the imaginative worlds they create for themselves. they may need to work towards developing the ability to remain practical in situations that call for objectivity, rather than being too passive. despite their hardships, when these natives maintain balance between self-discipline and their creativity, they're able utilize both of these skills to to navigate life and excel in their endeavors. in terms of spirituality, they tend to manifest things very easily, and typically encounter messages in the astral realm that provide clarity to the things that they experience in their reality.
āā this is one of the most difficult aspects in astrology, in my personal opinion. these natives tend to struggle with a significant amount of emotional turmoil as a result of challenges in their childhood, and/or strife between themselves and their mothers (or any relevant maternal figures). due to a lack of control in their youth, they can come across as authoritative or domineering to others. they tend to exhibit this behavior so as to not feel like they're being subjected to the same "coldness" they encountered growing up. this can manifest in the opposite way, where the native could struggle with self-compassion, and adopt extremely codependent, self-destructive habits as a means to find it through other people.
āā these natives could benefit from having mentors, or older, wise figures they can look to for guidance and clarity in times of strife. they tend to encounter situations in adulthood that call for them to unlearn the unhealthy mindsets they developed as children. it's not an easy process, but it's crucial that these natives grow and evolve to a point where they can feel and express their emotions without feelings of fear, shame, or guilt. as doing so will lead to far more fulfilling relationships, both with others and with themselves.
āā those with this aspect tend to have a very enthusiastic, open-minded approach to life. these natives usually have an innate interest in all things unorthodox, and seek to research and learn about more unconventional matters. their lifestyle could also revolve heavily around technology in some way shape or form. the quote, "being right too soon is socially unacceptable," by Robert Heinlein could be applicable to their lives, as their ideals tend to be very progressive in nature as a result of their extremely strong foresight. they can carry themselves in a way that others may deem contentious, but with the harmony of the trine, this could be a trait that is actually deemed admirable by others, and they may even be viewed as pioneers of their generation as a result.
āā these natives tend to attract the attention of others by default, even if it's not necessarily their intent. they have a way of expressing their individuality that innately draws people in. as a result of their independent nature, coupled with their ability to be optimistic in the face of whatever it is that life throws at them, they could find themselves in positions of leadership. their creativity lends itself in their favor in times of crisis, as they are more likely to view hardships as opportunities, rather than challenges.
āā these natives are typically viewed by others as clever, quick-witted individuals. even if they're more on the reserved side, their intelligence is usually something that doesn't go unnoticed by others. they tend to be excellent communicators, and may have a habit of being very expressive, specifically with their hands and arms. their ability to articulate their thoughts and ideas to others is probably their most favorable characteristic, alongside their ability to adapt when collaborating with other people. they could also have a knack for reading others through their body language as well.
āā understanding new or unfamiliar information usually comes easy to them due to their open-minded, optimistic outlook on life. they tend to have a habit of jumping from idea to idea and have the capacity to see things from every perspective. while this could manifest as a sense of restlessness or anxiousness (depending on the full context of the chart), the sextile here provides an ease to this mercurial energy. while these natives may have to work towards developing the ability to focus on the bigger picture rather than the minutia, their need to tend to the latter still works in their favor more often than not, and is typically lends itself as more of a skill rather than a detriment.
āā this aspect provides the native with an extremely strong-willed approach to their goals. they tend to have a very prominent sense of ambition and determination, but these tend to be underlying characteristics that the native holds close to themselves. despite their reserved nature, this energy is usually something that others are able to pick up on very easily. these natives usually find that others tend to be very receptive in cases where they assert themselves, and it could even be something that others find attractive as well. there's a prominent sex appeal that these natives tend to have that they're able to utilize in order to achieve their goals, and their sexuality generally may be of great importance to them. they tend to have a lot of stamina when it comes to intimacy, and they usually seek a partner that can match that energy.
āā power struggles can be prevalent with this aspect, but these struggles typically don't manifest as negatively as they would with the square or opposition. mars/pluto natives tend to push back against authoritative behavior from others and don't react kindly when put in situations where others seek to control them. with the trine, there's usually more of a constructive approach to the expression of the energy between these planets. a healthy manifestation of this aspect would appear as dedicating this intense, persistent energy towards self-transformation. these natives need to ensure that they're using their power as a means to heal, rather than exerting it upon others as a means for control.
āā natives with this aspect tend to have a pretty good grasp on how to maintain harmony between their need for expansion and their need for structure. if the full context of the natal chart points to this aspect manifesting positively, this can indicate that the native will reap the benefits of their hard work and dedication to attaining the life that they aspire to have, typically later in life or post their first saturn return. they tend to have very grand dreams and desires, and saturn's influence here forges a stable, structured pathway to achieve them. on the contrary, if jupiter or saturn are afflicted, this can indicate struggling with feelings of restlessness or apprehensiveness. they can struggle at times with overestimating their capacity to get things done, or struggle with being too immovable and stuck in their ways.
āā these natives typically have to work towards maintaining equilibrium between their optimistic, open-minded nature, alongside their rational, more objective side. generally, these natives tend to excel as mentors and teachers, due to their innate fascination of knowledge and disciplined approach to learning. philosophy specifically could be of great interest to them, as well as religion and spirituality. they tend to be very dedicated to living life by the ideals that they believe in. this can also indicate inheritance through death as well.
āā with this aspect, there tends to be a lack of discernment in terms of taking action. they can stumble their way through trying to reach their goals, if they even get to taking the first steps at all. they may struggle at times with having an illusionary approach to life, and grow resentful or self-victimizing when they inevitability come face to face with reality. they can have difficulties surrounding their self-image, and as a result struggle with asserting themselves, addictive tendencies, or feelings of internalized shame. in conflict, others may view them as passive aggressive or vindictive. those around them can suspect them as having covert motives or being dishonest, even if that isn't indicative of their true behavior. this can also manifest in the opposite way, where they struggle to recognize the true intentions of others.
āā these natives benefit greatly by implementing habits into their daily routines that keep them grounded. exercising, yoga (tantric specifically), or any practice where they're able to move their bodies and enter a meditative state could be beneficial to their mental and physical well being. journaling can be of value to them as well, as it grants them the ability to put words to their feelings and keep track of their emotions. having a creative outlet can help as well, as this is an aspect that grants the native with an innate artistic streak that they're able to express themselves through. they would also benefit from having reliable people around them who motivate them feel self-assured, to be accountable, and to stay on course to accomplish their goals.
āā natives with this aspect tend to be very charismatic and determined in relationships (both platonic and romantic). they're typically very dedicated, protective lovers, and can definitely have something of a "jealous streak", but this typically doesn't manifest in a detrimental way like the venus/mars square or opposition. this can indicate having an energy that others find attractive and benevolent, which can benefit the native not only in terms of romance, but also in terms of business partnerships. this aspect can lean itself to aiding the native in terms of work and career opportunities, as this indicates getting on well with their peers and social circle. their sexuality tends to be a significant aspect of their lives, and they may struggle at times to remain in long-term relationships where sex is mundane or boring, as they require excitability and stimulation when it comes to intimacy.
āā if venus or mars are conflicted in the natal chart, and depending on the planetary ruler of the 7H, there could be difficulties with codependent and/or domineering behavior. in this case, the native must work towards finding harmony between their venusian and martian energy. typically, the relationship that the native had with the opposite sex parent growing up plays a significant role in how they show up in relationships as an adult, and it may be useful to look towards that dynamic to unpack what parts of themselves need to be healed in order to have healthy, functional relationships in adulthood.
āā with this aspect, there is innate tension between the head and the heart. these natives struggle to find unity between what it is that they need to feel accomplished and what it is that they need in order to feel safe. there may have been tension between the parents, or tension between themselves and either (or both) of their parents that had a major impact on their identity and confidence. they may be perceived at times as emotionally unstable by others, and struggle at times to rein in their feelings and act from a place of objectivity. these difficulties can also have a negative impact on the native's personal relationships, and ultimately influence self-sabotaging behavior.
āā these natives typically need to work towards unpacking their inner turmoil and where this tension stems from, so that they can approach conflict in their everyday life from a place that is rational rather than reactive. through growth and acceptance, they can attain harmony between their need for independence and their need to feel emotionally secure. regardless of their hardships, these natives have the determination and strength that grants them the ability to power through whatever obstacle life throws their way.
āā this aspect can indicate being perceived as someone who is very knowledgable, responsible, and perhaps too rigid at times. these natives tend to have an air of authority to them, and because of this people can be inclined to turn to them for leadership or assistance in times of crisis. while this isn't inherently as negative as the square or opposition, these natives may grow to feel overburdened with taking accountability for others if they don't implement boundaries in their relationships. they typically have a very measured approach to life, and are usually respected for their ability to focus and remain on track in high-stake situations.
āā saturn on the ascendant can provide something akin to a "mask" when it comes to the native's emotions, due to this they can come off as aloof or distant to those around them. they may find that they get on easier with authority figures, mentors, or older people rather than their peers as a result of their more mature or "serious" demeanor. in terms of physicality, their bones/tendons/ligaments, teeth, skin, etc. can be prominent in terms of both vitality and appearance. personally, i've noticed that saturn/ascendant natives tend to have issues with their back, and/or start greying younger than most.
āā these natives tend to have very agile, fast-paced minds. they can be somewhat blunt when communicating with others, but this tendency is usually perceived more so as honesty rather than aggression. they also have a charm to them that allows them to get away with more than someone with the opposition/square between these planets could. they typically view knowledge as an extremely valuable tool, which is why they usually take joy in debates and intellectual spars with others. these natives may also have a flirtatious nature about them, or simply appear that way to others whether they intend to or not.
āā while there can be a difficulty for them to focus at times, their restless nature can work in their favor more often than not, as they are typically very inspired and ambitious in their pursuit of learning and processing new information. this, paired with their risk-taking nature, can lead them to positions of power and leadership. they may have to work towards not being too self aggrandizing, and recognize the value in what they can learn from those around them and how much they can benefit from working alongside others.
āā with this aspect, misjudgment can be a prominent, recurring theme in the natives life. with sun/jupiter placements, there's typically an innate ease when it comes to manifesting one's desires, with the square, difficulties can arise with overconsumption, and more specifically, with overestimating one's abilities. as i've said before, jupiter is a planet that will match your energy, which is why it's important to have moderation and self-control when it's aspecting a personal planet. with the sun square jupiter, pride and gluttony can have disastrous effects to the native's life and relationships with others.
āā these natives may struggle with seeking affirmation and approval from others when it comes to their talents and accomplishments. it's important for these natives to recognize that their worth is not derivative of materialism or external praise, rather, it's something that is innate, that you have to find within yourself. this can also manifest as a stubborn, over-dedication to one's ideals or spiritual beliefs that can cause friction in their day to day lives. ultimately, it's important for these natives to recognize the importance in approaching life from a place tact and objectivity. this doesn't mean that they must dilute their optimistic, jovial nature. rather, they need to find balance, and know when to take off the rose-colored lenses and take a more rational approach.
[this is a generational aspect, meaning the people born under this transit will collectively share this energy. the "relevance" it has in your chart will be reflected by how tight the orb is, as well as where uranus and pluto fall in your houses, and what personal planets they're aspecting.]
āā these natives tend to be very radical and unconventional in their approach to life. they can encounter a lot of transformative experiences in their lives that push them towards growth and self-actualization. in turn, they wish to see the collective as a whole evolve for the better, and due to their strong foresight, they're able to visualize the steps that must be taken in order to bring change to our reality. what others may view as being disruption or chaos, these natives view as opportunities for development.
āā if this is a prominent aspect in one's natal chart, it can indicate that they will be something of a "pioneer" for their generation. the role they play will be related to dismantling and rebuilding traditional structures in order to make way for more relevant, updated means of living as a society. activism and humanitarian work can be of great importance to them, and they may excel in these fields due to their open-minded understanding of both themselves, and of others.
āā with this aspect, there tends to be an push and pull between one's desire to act and their need for structure. these natives may encounter their fair share of hardships on their path to success. a major lesson for these natives may be learning to approach these obstacles with a level head, rather than from a place from resentment and anger. if this is a prominent aspect in the natal chart, it's possible that these natives have a reputation for their temperament, due to their instinct to bottle up their feelings and hold on to residual discontent, which can result in outbursts that can have a negative impact on their character, relationships, and health.
āā it's crucial that they have outlets that allow them to release any pent up energy in a healthy, constructive way. in doing so, this also helps them to develop a sense of self-control and confidence. this is also an aspect that can struggle with others impeding upon their independence. it's important that these natives heal any wounds regarding authority, as the un-evolved energy of this aspect can lead to domineering behavior and control issues. when worked through, the energy of this aspect can lend itself to aid the native in effectively working towards and accomplishing their goals.
āā with this aspect, the domestic life and matters related to the family/maternal figures reveal what the native needs to let go of in order to evolve spiritually. there may be habits or beliefs passed down from one's family that restrict the native from connecting to their higher self. despite this, they tend to have a very strong intuition and are able to pick up on the emotions of others very easily, although, they may struggle at times with feelings of insecurity and not feeling stable. their childhood, or home life in general, could be where these feelings of anxiety stem from specifically.
āā if unchecked, this aspect can fester into feelings of codependency, or a "savior-complex", especially in romantic connections. it's crucial for these natives to sit with themselves and unpack their relationship to giving and receiving nourishment, as this will help in healing the turbulent, emotional wounds they house within themselves. they must work to recognize that their sensitivity is not a flaw or something to be ashamed of, rather, it's a characteristic that has the capacity to aid in their growth, rather than hinder them.
āā those with this aspect can encounter a fair amount of hardships regarding relationships and self-worth. they may have struggled with insecurities regarding their physical appearance in youth that follow them into adulthood, which can impact how they navigate romantic connections with others. they may attract partners that are domineering or controlling, or they may exhibit this behavior towards their partner themselves. it's also possible that these relationships are long-distance, or there is an age-gap present. with age and maturity, these natives may find more ease not only in romance, but in their relationship to themselves as well.
āā working with this aspect requires healing the parts of yourself that are deeper than the superficialities assigned to venus; you will not love or respect yourself more by adhering to unattainable beauty standards or over-consuming trending products and fashion. with venus square saturn, there is innate restriction placed upon one's values, specifically, the worth that the native assigns to themselves, resulting in depression or a pessimistic approach to life. to heal this aspect means to develop a sense of love and respect for oneself that is innate, rather than looking to material means or other people to provide it for them.
āā with this aspect, one's impulse and temperament can cause difficulties in their ability to grow towards the person that they need to become. these natives can be stubborn or immovable in how they approach their goals, and more specifically, how they engage with their personal growth and evolution. for these natives, it's important for them to practice patience, and to seek fulfillment through working with others, rather than prioritizing their independence.
āā it's usually with age that we're able to grow and evolve to a point where we can embrace the qualities that our north node pushes us towards. with mars square north node, the lesson to be learned here is understanding when a risk is worth being taken, versus knowing when to recede and step down. these natives must recognize the importance in expressing their passion from a place of determination, rather than resentment or rage.
āā this aspect can indicate having an tenacious, relentless approach to one's career. these natives can be perceived as polarizing by the public, or have a reputation that is somewhat controversial in nature. they may go through many changes in their professions, work in fields that are taboo in nature, or work with people who are deemed outcasts by society (e.g. social work, counseling, the occult, sex work, creative arts, psychology, research, etc.) these natives can find themselves in positions of power quite easily, as they tend to have a magnetic energy about them that they can use to their advantage.
āā their dedication to the careers can be obsessive in nature, and as a result they may need to work to implement balance between their work and home life. if pluto falls in the 10H, it's possible that these natives may have had a relationship to either of their parents (or any relevant authority figures in their youth) that was deeply transformative in nature, and shaped the way that they approach their professional lives and are received by the public and their peers. they have an innate understanding of the human psyche, and are able to utilize this knowledge to achieve goals in their career.
āā this placement can be indicative of experiencing a large amount of change in one's immediate environment. these natives may have moved around frequently growing up, changed schools a lot, or encountered frequent upheaval in their home lives, specifically related to any potential siblings. this can also manifest as a sense of "restlessness" regarding the native's immediate environment, they may struggle with having a mundane routine, and change their habits or travel frequently as a result.
āā this can also indicate that the native's sense of individuality is very important to them. specifically, they may have very unorthodox, innovative ways of thinking and communicating their ideas, and can struggle when they feel as though those ideas are not understood or being taken seriously. this is an issue that could've been more prevalent in their early education, specifically in regards to their relationship with teachers or authority figures. these natives benefit most when they're around fellow, like-minded people, and generally seek to implement new ideas and thought processes to further advance those around them and the collective as a whole.
ā¦āļ½”Ė Placements/aspects that can attract controlling or overly intense partners in a womanās chart Ėļ½”āā¦
this is not about blaming placements or saying anyone ācausesā behaviour, itās about patterns iāve noticed where people tend to attract partners who are more intense, emotionally dominant, possessive or controlling in relationships. a lot of this comes down to unconscious emotional dynamics, projection, attachment patterns and what feels familiar vs what is consciously chosen
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ venus in the 8th house this placement often attracts partners who want deep emotional access very quickly. relationships can feel intense early on, with a strong pull toward emotional closeness, exclusivity or merging energy. venus here experiences love in an all or nothing way, which can sometimes draw in partners who mirror that intensity or become emotionally consuming. there can be strong attachment patterns formed quickly, especially when emotional boundaries are not clearly defined
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ venus pluto aspects (conjunction, square, opposition) this creates very strong emotional chemistry and equally strong emotional entanglement potential. relationships here rarely feel casual. there can be themes of emotional intensity, jealousy, fixation or power dynamics showing up within relationships. attraction can feel magnetic and hard to detach from once formed, which can sometimes lead to partners who express intensity in ways that feel consuming or overwhelming
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ moon pluto aspects this placement often shows emotional depth that runs very intensely beneath the surface. emotional bonds form quickly and strongly, which can sometimes attract partners who are emotionally reactive, deeply attached or emotionally consuming in connection. there can be a strong desire for emotional safety, but also a tendency to experience emotional merging that makes boundaries harder to maintain when feelings are strong
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ mars pluto aspects this also along side with moon-pluto (conjunctions squares) are the most intense attraction signatures. it can create partners who are very strong-willed, emotionally driven or deeply reactive within relationships. there can be power dynamics that form through emotional intensity or desire, especially when attraction becomes very all-consuming. this energy tends to bring strong chemistry, but also strong emotional pressure if not consciously balanced
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ saturn in the 7th house this placement can attract serious, older, more mature or emotionally reserved partner energy. relationships may feel heavy with responsibility or emotional structure. in some cases it can attract controlling or emotionally distant partners early in life, often as a reflection of learning boundaries, self-worth and emotional independence in relationships. this energy usually improves with age and experience
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ venus saturn aspects this often shows love that feels serious, delayed or emotionally restricted. it can attract partners who are emotionally cautious, strict with boundaries or slow to open up. there can be lessons around emotional worthiness and learning not to accept less than mutual effort in relationships. once matured, this becomes one of the most stable and loyal love signatures
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ 7th house pluto / scorpio influence this brings intense relationship experiences where emotional depth and transformation are central. partners may feel very emotionally consuming or deeply bonded. if unbalanced, this can attract possessive or controlling dynamics through emotional fixation or trust issues. when healthy, it creates extremely loyal and deeply connected partnerships that feel life-changing rather than surface level
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ cancer placements (venus, moon, 4th house influence) this energy is deeply nurturing and emotionally receptive, which can sometimes attract partners who lean heavily into emotional dependence or emotional protection roles. in unhealthy dynamics, this can turn into overattachment or emotional over-responsibility. cancer energy gives a lot emotionally, which is why boundaries become very important in relationships with this placement
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ pisces placements (venus, moon, neptune influence, 7th house) pisces energy in relationships can attract partners who feel emotionally unclear, overwhelming or difficult to define. this is often due to strong empathy, emotional openness and projection energy. there can be a tendency to see potential rather than reality, which can create situations where emotional boundaries become blurred over time. partners may also project their own emotional needs onto the pisces person, which can create imbalance if not grounded in reality
when balanced, this is one of the most compassionate and emotionally intuitive relationship energies, but when unbalanced it can lead to emotional confusion, overgiving or staying in situations longer than necessary due to empathy and emotional attachment
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ neptune aspects to venus or moon this creates strong idealisation patterns in relationships. partners may be seen through a very emotional or romanticised lens, especially early on. this can sometimes attract emotionally unclear or inconsistent dynamics because boundaries are harder to define. there can be a strong emotional sensitivity to tone, behaviour and energy, which makes relationships feel very immersive
Ėāā§ź°į ā” ą»ź± ā§āĖ
ā§ final note
these placements do not cause controlling relationships. they simply describe emotional patterns where intensity, projection or attachment can be stronger than usual. awareness changes everything. the same placements that create vulnerability can also create the deepest emotional intelligence, loyalty and connection when handled consciously
summary: despite you and robby agreeing to keep your strictly physical relationship under wraps, you self-combust when your attending keeps calling you 'sweetheart'.
wc. 1k
notes.this is completely based off my lab partner calling me 'sweetheart' and me nearly breaking a vial. enjoy :)
Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Thanks, sweetheart.
It replays in your head like a cursed audio loop as you meander your way through the Pitt. You stay focused but your mind circles back to it. Sweetheart.
The nickname (petname? Term of endearment? The fucking key to the unraveling of your psyche?) continues to echo around your head that Dana mistakes your distracted countenance for exhaustion and hustles you to the break room with a protein bar in hand. You take the few minutes of reprieve in hopes to recalibrate your headspace, prep yourself for the remaining hours of your shift, but instead you chew on that small little instance that rocks the world beneath your feet instead.
Dr. Robby had called you sweetheart.
It's not the first time he's called you anything by your name, given the fact that the two of you have been sleeping together by the time your final year of residency kicked off a few months ago. But the two of you have been detached and professional outside of the bedroom, managing to find time even when you've been moved over to the night shift to avoid any suspicion.
Covering a double means seeing Robby and you didn't realize how it rearranges the neat order of your life to see him in daylight after your midnight trysts.
"Hey."
Speak of the devilā
"Hi," you wave your half eaten protein bar, already leaning forward to get to your feet from where you've been hiding in the break room. "Did you need me for something?"
He shakes his head, a warm hand pressing on your shoulder to sit you back down while he remains standing. The distance, the way your head tilts up to meet his gaze, makes his head shortcircuit. The image flickers and the hospital is replaced with his bedroom, your chair replaced with his floor as he gazes down at youā
He blinks and the hospital shifts back into view. "No, Dana told me you were in here takin' a breather. You okay?"
You nod and take another chomp of your bar. "Yeah, she said I got a little spacey. Oh, the woes of a double."
A chuckle rumbles through his chest as he absentmindedly tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. It's done casually, like he didn't even think about what he's doing. Second nature. "Make sure you get some sleep tonight, sweetheart. Did you need a ride?"
"Iā" Your lashes flutter, mouth parting slightly in shock. "Um. Yeah. Yes, please."
Something settles in his chest at your easy compliance. "Good. Meet me at the ambulance bay after handoffs then."
The door shuts behind him when he leaves you but you're still staring at the door in utter befuddlement. When did Dr. Robby get soā¦ boyfriend?
ā
The rest of the shift goes by smoothly, enough traumas (and even a degloved foot) to keep your mind on the fact that the attending you've been fucking has suddenly taken on the boyfriend mantle. It's disarming to say the least, garnering attention from the other day shift residents and nosy nurses whenever Robby hovers close enough to touch.
"Sweetheart, go finish charting," he interrupts your conversation with McKay, steering you away from chairs where you've been headed to help triage. "Your shift's almost over and you've been dead on your feet."
Exhaustion has you nodding in easy agreement as the older woman enlists Joy instead to help out but the familiar petname zaps you awake the moment you settle behind the computer.
Beside you, wheels scrape against linoleum floors and Trinity is immediately hissing in your ear in absolute giddyā "'Sweetheart'?"
You wince and shove her shoulder to push her off before glancing up to see Princess and Perlah nowhere to be seen. "Shut up."
"Since when did you and Dr. Grumpy make things official?"
The cursor blinks in front of you as you try to recall your last patient. "We didn't. And stop talking so loudā!"
"Pleaseā the entire department know you two have been messing around, I just didn't think he's been promoted to boyfriendā"
"Who got promoted to boyfriend?"
Your stomach drops and you peek over your shoulder to see the man in question, holding his bag and yours. Trinity's grin is downright villainous as she rises from her chair to make her exit. "Nothing, Dr. Robby. Have a good night, you two."
Your fingers fly across the screen to finish and submit before getting to your feet. When you reach up to grab your bag, he angles his shoulder away to stop you. "Dr. Robbyā"
"No, I got it. Come on, I took the car with me today."
You trail behind him in slight apprehension but upon feeling the curious looks from incoming night shift (as well as Dr. Abbot's amused stare), you scurry faster to walk beside Robby.
"Did I do something?" you blurt out before the two of you can get too far.
Robby pauses, chuckles and gives you a confused but easy smile. "Noā¦? Do you think you're in trouble, sweetheart?"
"That!" You jab a finger up at his lips, feeling the double hit you all at once; your brain to mouth filter is non-existent now. "Sweetheart! You don't call me that, you don't make me take breaks during a busy shift, you fuck me 'til I cry and give me coffee before I leave. Did I miss something important?"
His smile falls and dread creeps in. You ruined it now. "Iā¦ didn't realize it wasn't as smooth as a transition as I thought."
"What?"
He sets down the bags to hold you gently by the shoulders, slightly lowering himself to meet your eyes. The simple action makes something warm twist happily in your stomach. "I thought I could've started hinting at wanting more instead of just scaring you off by asking you out on a date."
"ā¦ what?"
Robby frowns now and he gently holds your cheek. His gaze is clinical and you realize he's trying to diagnose whatever the hell's wrong with you and not the fact that he's flipped your world upside down. "Did you hit your headā"
"No! I'm fine, I justā I didn't expect you toā¦ want more." You shrug, seeking out this newfound type of attention. "Your seven-week threshold for dating isn't exactly a secret. In fact, I was expecting you to start ghosting me."
A wry chuckle escapes him. "Sweetheart. We've been fooling around for nine weeks now."
"ā¦ oh."
"Mhm. So, you ready to head home and get some sleep?"
Y/N has been struggling to find the moment to have the big 'what are we' talk with Jack Abbot. The pair have been dating for a good while and things feel like they are growing into something real. An overheard conversation with Dr. Al Hashimi leads to a massive misunderstanding for an insecure Y/N. Y/N begins to question if Abbot was just passing his time with her until a catch like Al Hashimi came along.
Part One of Two
angst, idiots in love, men being clueless, Al Hashimi is innocent, insecurity from Reader. Just angst and two losers sucking at talking about their relationship like reasonable adults. Mentions of past suicide ideation. Discussion of losing a spouse.
The words seem like they should be so simple to say. They dance around in the back of her throat sliding forward to the tip of her tongue not getting caught up on her tonsils or her teeth as she stares up at him.
The words have been rehearsed a dozen times in her head like a recording that she just canāt skip.Ā
Sheās thought so much about the words she needs to say to express exactly what she feels for him.
I really like you. I have the best time with you. You make my days and nights seem brighter. Youāre all I think about in my quiet moments. Youāre the one I want to reach out to when everything feels awful, but youāre also my person when something wonderful happens. I am not seeing anyone else, so I really hope you arenāt either. I know weāve not discussed labels, but I really would like to. Weāve been out on several dates and have toothbrushes at each otherās places. Youāve seen sides of me that I rarely show another soul. You make me cum harder than anyone has managed to and you make me laugh so hard my ribs hurt. So, Iād like to make things official.
The words should be so easy to say, but life keeps getting in the way.
Sheād laid in bed by his side soaking up the afterglow of making love and felt the words form on her lips before dying on her tongue. Sheād sat by his side sharing coffee and bagels wanting so dearly to say the words but chickening out worried that breakfast time isnāt entirely a romantic atmosphere. Sheād sat across from him at romantic dinners parting her lips to say the words until a waiter interrupted them.
Working in different departments and lately on entirely different shifts makes it all the more difficult to find the time to say what she has been dying to say. They pass by one another in between opposing shifts with zero moment to exchange more than a rushed kiss and a āhave a good shift. Be safeā
Sheās fallen in love with Dr. Jack Samuel Abbot and every single time she attempts to tell him that she wants whatever has built between them to be serious, life rams its head in and stops her.
She doesnāt think anyone could blame her for falling for Jack Abbot.
When she accepted the offer of an attending physician position in the pediatric ward at PTMC she felt so blessed. She was finally done with her residency, finally done putting in a few years at a tiny little town in Minnesota at a little hospital that hired her and paid her enough to get her student loans down to a reasonable livable amount.
The offer to move to a highly regarded teaching hospital and take an attendant position in her thirties had felt like a dream come true. Even if sheād been shoved on alternating shifts , working both day and night shifts, it still felt like an incredible opportunity.
Sheād never anticipated that a trip down to do a consult in the emergency department for a boy with a severe asthma attack would lead her to meeting the man of her dreams.
Abbot had been a flirt right off the bat and though it had felt flattering sheād not paid too much mind to it. She had seen the type before a doctor with an ego and a flirty attitude.
Sure, sheād found him cute and a charmer, but she told herself she was well past the age of schoolgirl crushes on older guys.
A night out with friends from work had changed her initial opinion about Abbot. Some of the staff from the ED had been at the same bar sheād gone to and Abbot and she had chatted over beers and rum and cokes. Heād taught her to play darts. Theyād flirted over crappy alcohol, bar nuts, and darts.
Heād taken her to get a greasy breakfast at a 24 hr dinner when the bar had got too hectic and bar nuts and fried pub food seemed less than filling.
Heād asked to see her again and sheād accepted.Ā
A kiss had been sharedā¦more than one kiss and their relationship had led to the bedroom. They each had a drawer and a toothbrush at one anotherās places. Their lives felt intertwined.
It felt real.
Jack Abbot was a prince among men; intelligent, funny, compassionate, strong willed, and incredibly patient.
Y/N knew he was a complicated man thoughā¦he was resilient.
The resilience had been born out of trauma and loss.
The trauma of war from his time in the army. The loss of his leg from the knee down from an IED. The trauma of that loss and the end of his military career. The trauma of all the horrific things heād seen during his time as an Army medic. The traumas heād seen working in the medical field as a civilian. The sudden loss of his wife and the grief heād endured from her death.
Jack Abbot was a multifaceted man. His kindness joined hands with a sense of loss and pain no human should endure. His compassion was born from suffering. His intelligence bred from sacrifice. His humor learned from coping with grief.
Perhaps due to his complexity Y/N had also been inspired to keep her lips sealed when it came to spilling her heart to him?
He was a sensitive soul who had lived through a lot. She almost feared heād turn her love away, too afraid to risk exposing her to his traumas.
She was growing sick of holding back though. Sheād decided that once she got herself back on her usual schedule and their schedules became more aligned sheād grow a pair and say the words.
Wellā¦sheād been so brave until now.
Sheād not anticipated seeing Jack Abbot in full SWAT gear when she came down to the ED for a consult.
Heād of course reassured her he was fine just coming in with a guy from his SWAT crew whoād been shot. The guy would be fine and everything was okay.
Despite the worry sheād felt knowing heād literally been shot at, she felt a warm sense of adoration wash over her at how reassuring heād been when he spotted her worry.
Heād taken her aside and so sweetly spoken to her promising her that he was a-okay. Heād reassured her he was planning on cutting back on the SWAT shifts as he knew they worried her. Heād sworn to her that he was just fine.
Even when heād admitted a bullet had lightly grazed him, prompting her to react accordingly, heād insisted that she had nothing to worry about.
It was something she adored about himā¦the man had literally been shot at and he was more worried about her concern over him than his own injury.
That warm sense of adoration felt bitter and sour in her chest as she stood by the nurses station going over some lab orders sheād requested from the ten year old girl sheād been called down to do a consult on.
She listened to Jack Abbot chat with the attending physician whoād be replacing Robby while he took a sabbatical.
Dr. Baran Al Hashimi had seemed kind enough; clearly enthusiastic about the work sheād be doing filling in for Robby.
Y/N had been introduced to the doctor as they might cross paths during Robbyās planned time away.
Al Hashimi seemed polite and perfectly lovely if not a bit too enthusiastic about the promise of AI in the medical field when it came to charting.
Y/N could actually see herself enjoying working alongside the woman if Y/N were to find herself called down to the ED, despite Y/Nās less than favorable feelings about artificial intelligence.
Any sense that Al Hashimi seemed like someone Y/N would enjoy working with faded so quickly as she stood aside clearly able to hear Jack Abbot chatting with Al Hashimi.
Y/N felt bile rise in the back of her throat as she heard Abbot speak his voice far too flirtatious. āWe should grab a drink sometime. Swap war stories.ā
Although Y/N could not see Baran Al Hashimiās face a nasty voice in the back of her head snarled that the doctor was probably sending Abbot a flirty smile awestruck by his charm.
How could she not? Abbot was practically the Prince Charming of the Pitt.
Y/N felt her heart sink as Al Hashimi replied with a friendly āSure sounds great.ā
The words taunted Y/N āgrab a drink, swap war stories.ā
Of courseā¦
Her heart felt like it was cracking as it sunk all the further.
Y/N stared down at the iPad in her hand swallowing down her heartache.
She had been so hopeful that all those dates, all those kisses, all the lovemaking, the toothbrushes at one anotherās places had meant something.Ā
It had meant something to herā¦but the flirty tone and drink offer that had spilled from Abbotās lips directed to a woman who was not Y/N was a clear sign as any that all of those little things that sheād cherished and allowed herself to believe meant something meant nothing to Jack Abbot.
The horrible thing was that Y/N wasnāt even sure she could truly blame him.
Dr. Baran Al Hashimi was in her forties and a bit closer in age to Jack Abbotās near fifty than Y/Nās thirties.
She was a stunning woman. Intelligent and excited to work in the emergency department.
Her experience in the ED probably meant she would have more in common to discuss career wise with Abbot than Y/N with her pediatric experience.
Al Hashimi had worked in active war zones meaning she could relate to Abbot in that regard given his past as an Army medic.
The horror of war was something Y/N would never fully understand no matter how much she attempted to empathize and relate to Abbot with his trauma.
Al Hashimi more than likely had a deep enough understanding of the hell of war and could truly fully understand what Abbot had lived through.
Y/N felt her heart twist and ache telling herself that of course Abbot would pounce at the opportunity to woo someone like Al Hashimi.
A cruel voice in the back of her head told Y/N that it was only a matter of time until Abbot found a better option than her.
She had simply just been something to entertain him until something better had come along.
Y/N had been too anxious to broach the āwhat are weā dilemma, but Abbot had not taken the initiative either.
Perhaps heād not broached the subject because he was just waiting for the chance to let her down gently? Perhaps heād not asked her for something real because this was nothing to him but some casual fun.
She placed the iPad on the nurses station, turning on her heel wanting to get far from the man who had just destroyed her heart and the woman who was so obviously the better option.
She felt the tears flood her vision as she entered the elevator frantically pushing the close door button so relieved she was all alone.
She rested her head back against the cool metal wall of the elevator, her tears falling rapidly.
She reached up wiping at her face roughly the words spilling out to empty air saying what she so desperately wanted to say to Jack Abbot. āI hate you Jackā¦I love you and I hate you so much right now.ā
She felt her throat grow tight as her cell rang the name flashing across the screen. She picked it up trying to even out her breathing and sound anything less than miserable.Ā
āRobby, sorry. I didnāt get a chance to catch you before I got called back up to pedsā¦but your patient should be good. Her blood sugar is back in range. We can monitor her for a few more hours to make sure it doesnāt plummet again, but I don't think sheāll need to be admitted to my floor.ā
She was not shocked by the response she received. āAre you okay? I know Abbotās an idiot.ā
She felt her throat grow tight wondering if he too had witnessed Abbot practically tripping over himself to charm Al Hashimi.
Has everyone noticed? Was this all some kind of big joke on her? Poor Y/N in love with a man and unable to see he doesnāt feel the same, so pathetic.
Her paranoia tampered down as Robby spoke again. āI told him he needs to back off the SWAT hobby, but heās an adrenaline junkie to his core. Iām sure heās gonna be fine though. The man survived too much for a grazed gunshot wound to take him out.ā
She felt her throat grow tight, almost wishing the source of her pain was that simpleā¦just simple concern over the man she adoredā¦not her heart getting stomped on by realizing that the man she loved clearly did not feel the same.
She spoke knowing her voice was sharp anger easier to grasp on to than sorrow. āI need to let you go. I have to get back to pedsā
She ignored Robbyās well meaning reassurances and goodbyes, hanging up her cell and shoving it in her pocket, her stomach turning as she tried to ready herself to return to her own department.
She would make it though the rest of her day and then sheād go home and cry it out with a bottle of wine and some ice cream. She was a grown woman and she could survive this.
She put on a brave face as the elevator doors opening she returning to her own department ready to push back her heartbreak and endure.
She sighed as her cell phone chimed indicating a fresh text message.
She yanked it from her scrub pocket glaring down at the name on the screen, the sight offending her.
Jackie ā¤ļø: You hitting my place after your shift? Iāve got that leftover pizza in the fridge. Youāre welcome to it.ā
She resisted the urge to toss her phone across the hallway in rage. He was seriously texting her like everything was peachy and as though he hadnāt just asked someone else out on a date?
She gritted her jaw keeping her response short and to the point: Have a headache. Going back to my place. Sleeping it off.
She gritted her jaw all the more at the reply she received.
Jackie ā¤ļø: I could swing by your place.
She typed out her reply angrily: Probably not a good idea. Might be sick.
She felt her heart twist and her anger bloom at the flirty reply she received.
Jackie ā¤ļø: Alright, Sweetheart. Just do me a favor and get plenty of rest. Need my girl to feel better, doctors orders.
She resisted the urge to text by her ideal response āEnjoy your drinks with Baran you two timing piece of shit. I hope you get alcohol poisoning.ā
She instead shoved her phone back in her scrub pocket practically stomping her way towards the pediatric department.
She took a deep breath reminding herself; survive this shift. Go home, get drunk, eat ice cream, google how to place hexes on shitty almost-boyfriends.
She would survive this hurt. She just had to cry first.
āāāāāā
Y/N was avoiding him, that much was clear. The problem was Jack Abbot had zero clue what heād done to be subjected to the coldness?
He had spent three miserable days and nights rolling through every single interaction heās had with Y/N over the past week searching for clues on what he could have done to get such chilly indifference from her.
He struggled to place what he may have done to upset herā¦because clearly she seemed upset.Ā
She was not transparent about her annoyance but instead she seemed dismissive of his attempts to reach out and connect.
Heād assumed that she was in fact just getting sick so heād done the loving act of ubering soup, juice, Gatorade, and some Tylenol to her apartment.
Heād not received the response he had anticipated. He had almost feared the little care package heād put together for her had failed to arrive.
So, heād of course reached out to her, sending a text to check in and see if she got the package.
The only response heād gotten was a short clipped āYep, thanks.ā
Any attempts to prolong the interaction had been met with a simple. āIām exhausted. Going to turn in.ā
His adoring āSweet dreams, Honā had not received a reply.
Any further attempts to reach out were given the same reaction; short emotionless responses and claims of being tired.
Heād tried to ask if he could drop in on her but was met with insistence it would be a bad idea, she didnāt feel well.
Jack Abbot would be lying if he claimed he did not consider dropping in on her without warning, but had resisted too sure that showing up unannounced would be pushing at her boundaries.
He felt despondent over it all. It was frustrating being so uncertain of what heād done to be iced out by the girl heād worked so hard to charm.
Heād not anticipated finding love again, not after losing his wife.
When Anna Abbot had died in a car accident on the way to visit her family out west, it had felt like a cruel joke on Jack Abbot.
Heād lived through so much already, and Anna had been there through it all to hold his hand and offer gentle reassurance.
The world had ripped her away from Jack Abbot without warning. Sheād been halfway across the country dying alone on a dark desolate highway because some damn semi driver had fallen asleep at the wheel so determined to meet his destination that heād driven longer than he was supposed to.
Jack Abbot had wanted to die right there with Anna. Heād watched his beloved wife be lowered into the ground in a closed casket in the family plot her mother had insisted on, the one with no spot for Jack Abbot to rest at his wifeās side.His mother in law had never liked him and had seemed to choose her daughterās final resting spot to spite him. Anna was catholic and had been buried in a catholic cemetery where her husband who had never converted could be buried.
Looking back Abbot wished he had insisted on choosing his wifeās final resting place, picking somewhere he could be laid to rest at her side. Heād not had it in him to fight her mother on it though. Heād known heād lost a wife but her mother had lost a child.
The funeral had been awful; he felt numb barely able to even comprehend peopleās expressions of sympathy.
Heād stood at her gravesite feeling as though his heart was being lowered into that grave.
Ā Jack Abbot had wanted to throw himself in the ground with his wife. Heād wanted to be buried alive there on top of her casket. Life without her was not worth living.
Heād spent restless nights wishing heād not gotten rid of his guns after the worst of his PTSD when his therapist and heād agreed that he should not have access to weapons in his home.Ā
Heād envisioned going out and buying a gun and blowing his brains out. Heād thought of throwing himself off the roof of PTMC.Ā
His sister had been the one who had dragged him out of his thoughts of ending his life. Sheād practically moved in with him, sheād taken care of him and slowly but surely heād been able to see through the fog of depression and grief long enough to reach out to his therapist and seek help.
Jack Abbot had assumed that what heād shared with his late wife was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He could never replicate the sense of love heād felt for her. Anna had been an amazing woman. No one could compare to her.
Then Dr. Y/L/N had been hired up in pediatrics and heād eaten every word heād ever uttered about thinking loving again was not in the cards for him.
Y/N had walked into his life like a ray of sunshine and heād wanted to soak up the warmth he felt around her.
Somehow heād managed to charm her into a date which had turned into several dates and a sense of intimacy Jack Abbot had thought heād never experience with another soul ever again.Ā
Heād felt more at peace these past months of romancing her than heād felt in years.
Heād clearly done something to ruin that sense of peace though.
Heād once again found himself locked in an attempt to figure out just what heād done to wreck everything as he stood at the nurses station in the Pitt.
He did not even notice Robby as he approached him chattering about shift change.
Abbot was finally pulled out of his own thoughts as Robby spoke, giving his shoulder a nudge. āHey, Space Cadet, you listening to me?ā
Abbot raised a brow staring up from the spot heād been glaring at on the nurseās station finally meeting his old friendās eyes. āSorry, just thinking.ā
Robby raised a brow in return, Jack letting out a heavy sigh reluctant to spill his guts right here in the middle of the Pitt so close to the nurses station. He knew Pearla and Princess were notorious gossips and would yap if they overheard his personal business.
He threw caution to the wind deciding his misery was too heavy to carry on his own. āI think I screwed up.ā
Robby continued to stare at him one brow raised not replying with any smart responses he was tempted to blurt out.Ā
Abbot spoke again shifting in place the sock heād put over his residual limb a bit too stretched out that it kept sliding downwards. He knew it would be a pain in the ass later especially if it slid far down enough to allow his prosthetic to rub against the limb and make the sensitive skin and scarring raw.
āI did something to piss Y/N off, the only problem is I have zero clue what I did.ā
Robby scoffed at the comment thinking back to the abrupt way Y/N had ended the call. It was a bit out of character for the woman. She was almost as chatty as Abbot. Robby didnāt mind it. Heād grown a little fond of her in her time in Abbotās life, and not just because she seemed to make the night attendant clearly happy.Ā
Robby dared to say the words knowing it would earn him a glare from Abbot. āIt might be that you keep throwing yourself into the SWAT shit. Your hobby involves getting shot at, canāt leave much room for comfort for your girlfriend.ā
Abbot shot him the glare Robby was predicting the man quick to defend himself. āI talked to her about it. Iām gonna cut down on the SWAT shifts.ā
Robby rolled his eyes ever so slightly fast to point it out. āPretty sure sheād prefer you to stop it all together instead of just cutting back. You need to pick up a boring hobby, golf or tennis or something that doesnāt involve a bullet grazing you. Shit, pick up paint ball if you like getting shot at so much.ā
āI donāt like getting shot at. It was just a graze, just took some patching up. It was nothing serious. Y/N knows that. I talked her down.ā Abbot defended himself once again.
Robby shook his head fast to say it. āJust saying, brother. If I was Y/N Iād be pissed that the guy Iām dating thinks a good activity involves picking up SWAT medic shifts. She clearly wasnāt talked down too much if sheās pissed at you. She thought it was serious.āĀ
Abbot let out a deep sigh running his hand along his face, exhaustion painting his features. Heād not slept well by himself. Heād gotten accustomed to Reader being there, or at least knowing sheād be there in his bed even if it happened to be a day where they worked opposite shifts. āShit, Iāve got to fix it.ā
āBuy her some flowers, grovelā¦I know Iām not the best at giving advice on making a relationship last given my track record, but flowers and apologies are a good place to start.ā Robby offered Jack nodding his head his jaw tightening.
He spoke, shaking his head. āI sent her a care packageā¦Ubered it to her place. Thought it would show her I care since she told me she felt ill. She barely replied to me. Pretty sure if I send her flowers Iām gonna get the same response.ā
Robby let out a sigh shaking his own head. āFlowers are just a starting point, man. You grovel too. You donāt have to do it right this second. Listen, you got the night off tomorrow, hit the bar with me and a few of the ED crew. We figured weād take Al Hashimi out and have a get to know me session with a few of the day shift. Take a breath and weāll brainstorm a way for you to grovel appropriately. You can pick Dana and Al Hashimiās brains. They can give a womanās insight, tell you where you might have messed up if it wasnāt the SWAT thing. They might see something you didnāt. The bar is a bit more of an upscale joint, no rowdy drunks. Itās one of those tapa and wine places, Dana suggested it.ā
Jack rolled the offer through his head wanting to decline it. He didnāt want to turn his personal romantic life into a team building activity among his coworkers.
He let Robbyās suggestion roll through his head; get a womanās insight. It wasnāt the worst idea Robby ever had.
Abbot was tempted to say no and storm his way over to Y/Nās place, grovel at her feet and beg for her to tell him what idiotic thing heād done so he could fix it.
He pushed back the desire though certain with how cold sheād been lately that it would only make things worse.
Besides, wouldnāt admitting he had zero clue what exactly heād done to upset her just make things ten times worse?Ā
He should probably try to figure out what wrong move heād made before he tried to grovel.Ā
So, he pushed back his desire to figure this out himself and decided to swallow his pride and accept the offer of someone else giving his relationship woes a shot at figuring it out.
Y/N did not want to be out right now. In fact she wanted to hide away in her apartment like sheād done every single moment she was not at work, ignoring Jack Abbotās texts and drowning her sorrow in wine and take out.
She was out of wine though.Ā
She decided to forgo her car knowing that there was a decent liquor store in walking distance from her brownstone.
She told herself some fresh air would do her a world of good. She just wished sheād considered the rainy weather before deciding a brisk walk in fresh air would ease her sour mood.
The rain was pouring just enough to make her feel a chill and like the rocket scientist she was, she forgot her umbrella.
She sighed barely managing to dodge a passing car as it splashed dirty water up on the sidewalk almost soaking her.
She moved a little closer to the buildings she was walking alongside the busy area filled with bars and a few small bistros.
The area sheād moved to had plenty of dining options and a few nightlife options, not that she was a big barhopper, not since college. She appreciated the availability though in case she did decide to grab a drink and let off some steam.
She stopped in front of a bar, the rain heavy enough that she decided to seek shelter under an awning near a large window gazing into a more upscale little bar.
She didnāt mean to gawk through the window at the patrons and almost considered stepping into the bar to get a bit dry, but she was sure her sweat pants, a hoodie sheād had since undergrad, and uggs werenāt entirely fit for such a nice little wine bar.
She felt her stomach drop bile rise in her throat as she spotted them.
It was like life was kicking her while she was down and out.
Right there in the center of the bar sitting facing one another each with a glass of wine sat Dr. Baran Al Hashimi and the very man who had put Y/N into such a state of sorrow, Dr. Jack Abbot.
She felt the bile rise so far she almost vomited at the sight. The drink offer, her mind taunted her, Al Hashimi had taken it.
Of course heād brought her to a romantic little wine bar. The place was so the kind of joint youād take a woman you wanted to impress.
Jack Abbot had taken Y/N to a 24 hour diner with greasy hashbrowns and a waitress that sounded like she smoked a pack a day, on their first date.
It was clear where on the scale of attempts to impress Al Hashimi and herself sat.
This was just another sign that Jack Abbot was only biding his time with her, Y/N realized.
Why else would he take Dr. Al Hashimi to such a fancy first date?Ā
Y/N had gotten the little diner with sticky tables and runny eggs and Al Hashimi got the fancy bar with expensive wine and pricy tapas.
It was a clear sign as any that Jack Abbot could not take anything he had going on with Y/N seriously, but Al Hashimi was someone he wanted to put effort into.
A more reasonable voice in the back of her head insisted that Jack had taken her to nice places too.Ā
Heād taken her to eat sushi and to have dinner at a nice steakhouseā¦but a cruel voice told her that of course heād done thatā¦he had to throw her a bone to string her along.
He was getting his dick wet with herā¦so heād probably been trying to keep a good thing going while he could until something better came along.
She clenched her fists tempted to storm into the bar and give him a piece of her mind.
How could he do this to her? Heād laid in bed with Y/N holding her in his arms talking until they were both delirious with sleep, sharing their deepest secrets. Heād told her he felt connected to her, a feeling heād not had since his late wife.
Was that all bullshit? Was he just feeding her lines she wanted to hear to keep stringing her along and hanging on until she lost her novelty?
If that was the case why was he acting so needy and concerned about her lately? Was this some kind of sick game? Was he just keeping her on the backburner in case Al Hashimi didnāt pan out?
She stepped away from the window despite her desire to march into the bar and scream and yell and demand answers.
She refused to behave like the pissed off crazy girlfriend.Ā
She was certain if she pulled that stunt heād turn it against her. Wasnāt that what guys who cheated did? They made their partners into the bad guys to justify why they had to seek out affection someplace else?
Was this cheating a voice questioned in the back of her head?
They hadnāt placed a label on it after all.
She bit back the thought telling herself that though theyād not said the words his actions had hinted at it.Ā
She felt her eyes begin to water angry tears clouding her vision.
She spoke, spitting the words towards him though she knew he could not hear her. He had zero clue sheād caught him right in the act. āFuck you, Dr. Abbot.ā
She turned wiping her eyes ignoring the cold chill of the rain, the anger coursing through her too intense for her to focus on any minor discomfort.
If Jack Abbot was going to treat her like this then she was done with him.
He could seek out a better option and so could Y/N.Ā
She was worth more than this.Ā
She would show him that heād lost the best thing that he could have had, she told herself.
Jack Abbot would learn that there was no fury like a woman scorned.
CW: Ā Slight angst; idiots falling in love; drunken near-encounters but nothing explicit; vulgar language because let us be honest - it's Richie.
Word Count: Ā 2730
AN: Ā This was requested by the lovely @winchestershiresauce for the April Showers event!
Maybe Richie wouldnāt have said anything if you had just shut your mouth.
Maybe he would have gritted his teeth, manned the register, and dealt with the customers while you chattered away with Tina and Marcus in the back of the house.Ā Out front, in the bustle of the lunch hour, he could have ignored you, let your voice fade into the background.
But you donāt shut the fuck up.
Youāre talking a mile a minute because youāve met a new guy.Ā Some fancy asshole who works at the Merc, and Richie starts to get a headache as you talk this guy up.
āHe sells weather derivatives!ā he hears you say.Ā Thereās a clatter of pots, a whosh of flames lighting on the stove.Ā Ā
āWhatās that mean?āĀ Marcusās voice, now.
āIt has something to do with insurance and risk,ā you explain, and Richie canāt help but half-listen, judging how fucking stupid it sounds.Ā This new guy of yours deals in weather, and he makes a shit-ton of money doing it:Ā a condo with a lakeside view, a fancy car in the garageā¦
āHe sounds like an asshole,ā Richie scoffs from the pass-through window.
āYouād know.āĀ The retort is paired with you narrowing your eyes at him.
āHe soundsā¦nice,ā Tina tells you, but she pauses enough on the nice, glances at Richie long enough for him to know that sheās thinking the exact same thing he is, deep down.
This guy is going to break your heart.Ā Just like the last one, the tenure-track professor at Loyola.Ā And the one before, the electrician.Ā And all the others beforeāthe bartender, the dermatologist, the trust fund laze, the NGO founder.Ā At some point, Mr. Weather Asshole is going to hurt you terribly, and youāll come into the Beef in pieces that theyāll have to put back together.
Maybe Richie wouldnāt have said anything, but he fucking hates that he can see your future and you cannot.
āItās never gonna work out,ā he says.Ā āGuyās gonna break up with you.ā
You glare at him again.Ā āThanks for the vote of confidence.ā
āBet you he will.Ā It always happens, and youāre too stupid to see it.ā
āBet you he wonāt.āĀ You pause, stir the sauce you have simmering on the stove.Ā āHeās different than the others.ā
Richie sighs because he also knows that Mr. Weather Asshole isnāt different.Ā Heās probably exactly the same as the others, a user who will cut loose the moment heās done having fun with you.Ā It happens every time, and you have some goddamned amnesia about your own terrible love lifeā
āI wanna take that bet,ā he tells you.Ā He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, stares at you.Ā āEasy win for me.ā
You turn and face him, mirror his body language by crossing your arms too.Ā āAlright.Ā What are we betting?Ā Fifty?Ā A hundred?ā
Richie could take your money.Ā He knows itās a sure thing.Ā Some mean part of him, though, wants to make it hurt.Ā He wants some awareness to finally sink into your thick skull.Ā He wants you to be more careful, to guard your heart closer, to stop leaving yourself open to such hurt from such awful men.
āMake it interesting.Ā Mr. Weather Asshole dumps you within the month, I get your Def Leppard shirt.ā
Your eyes narrow to slits.Ā āWhich one?ā
āYou know which one.ā
The angry set of your frown tells him you know exactly which one he means.Ā He has no idea how it came into your possession, but you have a cherry vintage concert t-shirt from Def Leppardās 1983 Pyromania tour.Ā Richie isnāt that big a guy, not much bigger than you, really, and the one time he saw you wear it, it was just a shade too big.
It will fit him perfectly.
He watches the little twitch in your jawāyouāre clenching it, your teeth grinding.Ā āFine.Ā What do I get?ā
āWhat do you want?ā
Your face opens up, softens.Ā You smile and say, āokay, I want your Bruce album.ā
āWhich one?ā
āYou know which one,ā you reply, mimicking his voice, which makes Tina snort and shake her head.
Richie has a rare vinyl of the Japanese pressing of Bruce Springsteenās āTunnel of Love.āĀ He canāt even remember how you found out about it, but youāve pestered him in the past about how much it would cost you for him to part with itā
Itās a sure thing.Ā Thereās no way Richie is going to lose this bet, so he nods.Ā He uncrosses his arms and holds his hand out to shake.Ā
Itās your hand in his, your eyes crinkled as you smile at himā¦it makes him feel sad all of a sudden.Ā Youāre going to be hurt; he can see it as clearly as anything, and you canāt see it at all.
-----
Two weeks, nearly.Ā Twelve days, to be exact:Ā you march into the Beef, and Richie barely has enough time to realize itās your day off before you toss a plastic grocery bag down on the counter in front of him.
āHere,ā you spit out.Ā Youāre already turning on your heel and leaving, and you add over your shoulder as you wrench open the door, āI donāt want to hear a word about it, asshole.ā
He doesnāt need to, but he opens the bag anyway.Ā Inside is the concert t-shirt, neatly folded.Ā The spoils from him winning the bet that hinged on your broken heart.
āAh, fuck,ā he mutters.
-----
Richie knows where to find you that evening.Ā He helps Carmy close up, and then he makes his way to Kellyās.
The dive bar is below street level, dark and musty.Ā The beer is cheap, and the jukebox is stocked with a very specific slice of alternative rock beloved by Kellyās owner.Ā The vibe is grimy but safe, the perfect place for someone like you to drink away her sorrows and stumble out without too much risk.
Stillā¦Richie likes to keep an eye on you.Ā Just to be safe.
Kellyās is too small for him to hide from you, and he doesnāt bother to try.Ā He finds you belly up at the bar, slouched, and he takes the empty stool beside yours.
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye before you turn back to your drink.
āCome to gloat? You ask.
āNah.ā
āSay āI told you soā?ā
Richie shakes his head.Ā āIām not a complete asshole.ā
You sigh.Ā āWhat, then?ā
He holds up a hand to flag down the bartender, and he orders another for you and one for himself.Ā Then he turns in his stool at looks at you.
āWanted to make sure youāre okay,ā he replies, and he hopes it rings earnest to your ears because itās the truth.Ā Heās not a complete asshole but he is at least partially so, and he struggles with his delivery almost every time he tries to be nice to youā¦but he cares, and he wants to make sure you know it.
Whether you believe him or not, you donāt say.Ā You only tip him a nod in thanks for the drink, and the two of you fall into an evening together of mostly silent companionship and more than a little drinking.
-----
He wakes up fast and rough because he thinks heās about to puke.
He sits up quick, manages to calm his roiling, sour stomach with deep breaths through his nose.Ā Once the danger of vomiting has passed, he looks around at the strange room.
Itās not his room:Ā not the one in his apartment, and not the one he shared with Tiff when they were still married.Ā Itās a softer space; the sheets underneath him are silkier, nicer than his own.Ā The room smells different too, warm and spicy like something baked with cinnamon, and it takes his hungover brain a beat to realize where he knows that smellā¦
ā¦itās your smell.Ā It bothers him every time he has to work with you at the Beef; it seems to seep into his clothes under the smell of the sandwiches and fry grease.Ā He glances down at the figure stretched out in the bed beside him and sees you.Ā Youāre fast asleep, your face smushed into your pillow, lips parted as you breathe deep and even.
It takes his hungover brain two beats to realize that heās naked.Ā No, scratch thatāheās in his boxers only, heās shirtless, and when he studies you closer, he sees part of the reason why:Ā youāre in his t-shirt, the one with the typo that reads āThe Berf.ā
Richie scrubs a shaky hand over his stubbled face.Ā The evening comes back to him a little at a time.Ā The drinks that flowed too easily, the realization that you live only a few blocks from him.Ā The stumbling out together at last call, his arm around your waist as much to steady himself as to steady you.Ā Him walking you home, the booze hitting you hard and making you turn pathetic.Ā
Him turning to give you hell and seeing the pitiful way your lower lip trembled as your eyes filled with tears over Mr. Weather Asshole.Ā Richie getting pissed at that, wanting to say something meaningful that would lance through your alcohol-fog to make you understand that Mr. Weather Asshole wasnāt someone worth crying overā
Him failing to find the words and kissing you instead.Ā You kissing him back.Ā You kissing him back with an eagerness that surprised him, and he remembers going upstairs to your apartment with you.Ā
He remembers each of you stripping down to nearly nothing before it occurred to him that you werenāt in any shape to make any decisions, and he wasnāt much better off.Ā He remembers stopping you, taking your hands in his, slurring his words as he told you it was a bad idea.Ā He remembers you tearing up at that, misunderstanding him, feeling the rejection too personally.Ā
Maybe in some respects the alcohol was a boon, because Richie Bad News always fucks it up.Ā Richie Bad News always says all the wrong things.Ā Richie Bad News always manages to mistranslate the feelings in his heart with his stupid fucking mouth.
But Drunk Richie?Ā Drunk-but-Noble Richie who was able to gently turn down the opportunity to fuck you because you were too wasted to make good decisions?Ā That guy seemed to get it right.
He remembers telling you that you shouldnāt cry over him or Mr. Weather Asshole or any other loser who manages to disappoint and hurt you.Ā He remembers telling you what a catch you are, how lucky a guy would be to snag you.Ā He remembers telling you to be choosier, to be more wary of men, to trust them a little less and yourself a little more.
Mostly, he remembers telling you that you have the biggest heart of anyone he knows, and then he remembers saying he wishes youād guard it closer.
He remembers how you looked at him then, how you seemed to see him through the alcohol haze.Ā You seemed to figure him out in that moment, seemed to piece together all your time together at the Beef, all the frustration he had with his own terrible love life that he vented over Family meals as you listened.Ā You seemed to understand his own hurt, how he came in each day after his own awful dates the night before, how he looked at you on the sly as if he were measuring you against those women while he also measured himself against all those terrible men you dated.
Most of all, he remembers how you reached up and laid a gentle palm against the side of his face, and how he nuzzled into your touch.Ā You had looked him dead in the eyes, murmured his full name like you wanted him to know you really saw him.
āRichard Jerimovich,ā you had said.Ā āYou might be an asshole, but youāre a good man.ā
He remembers how you turned shy then, how you dropped your hand and your gaze, like you were suddenly aware that you were basically naked in front of him.Ā At your wordsāthat he maybe he wasnāt Richie Bad News but just an asshole and a good man bothāhe felt surer of himself.Ā More certain.Ā He had bent down and snagged his discarded t-shirt, and he had helped you pull it over your head.
āCāmon,ā he told you.Ā āLetās go to sleep.ā
And that was all the two of you did.Ā Drunk as you each were, he had kept it as above-board as he could, and you had fallen asleep snuggled against him.Ā
-----
Now heās awake and nauseous.Ā Itās still dark outside.Ā A quick glance at his phone says that itās only three in the morning, hours from dawn.Ā He hears what he thinks is a delivery truck rumbling past your building, but the sound is paired with a flash of blue-white lightning, and he realizes that thereās a storm rolling in.
He climbs out of your bed carefully, and he makes his way to your kitchen.Ā He pours a glass of water from the pitcher in your refrigerator, and he drains it in one go.Ā He feels his stomach calm.
Richie stands at your kitchen sink for long moments:Ā itās dark outside the window there, but each bolt of lightning illuminates the viewāthe brick wall of the building next door, the street below.Ā It looks lonely outside; the sky spits rain in fits and starts.
He could leave.Ā Maybe he should leave now, while youāre still asleep.Ā He has no idea how youāll wake up:Ā what if youāre angry at him, or embarrassed?Ā What if you wake up and remember him gently rejecting you and misunderstand it?Ā Because heād happily, gratefully take you to bed under any other circumstances, but not as your rebound and not with you as drunk as youād beenā¦but you may not realize that.
He probably should leave, but it looks miserable outside.Ā The storm makes him want to return to your warm bed, so thatās what he does.
Youāre still asleep.Ā He stands over you and looks his fill for a moment.Ā The flashes of lightning gild your face in its stark white light, but he thinks you look adorable.Ā Even with your makeup from last night smeared under your eyes and lines from your pillow etched across your cheek, Richie thinks you might be the cutest fucking thing heās ever seen.
He crawls back under the covers and rejoins you.Ā He tries to be careful about it, but the shifting of the mattress makes you stir.Ā You grumble beside him, and a moment later you open your eyes and fix him with a bleary look.
āRichie?Ā Whatāā
āItās fine.āĀ He whispers in reply.Ā āStill too early to get up.ā
āMmm.āĀ
āGo back to sleep.ā
You hum again, and maybe you arenāt completely sober yet or completely awakeābut heās glad he decided to stay, because you bridge the slight distance between you and snuggle up against him again.Ā You press your head against his shoulder, gently headbutting him until he huffs out a laugh and lifts his arm for you to cuddle in close.Ā He wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you nuzzle against his bare chest before you settle.
It doesnāt take long for you to fall back asleep despite the storm picking up in intensity outside.Ā Richie doesnāt fall back asleep at all, but heās comfortable, relaxed.Ā The rain lashes at the window of your bedroom, and thunder rumbles in the distance, but he feels cozy.
More than that, he feels hopeful.Ā Heās had such a shitty run of it.Ā The loss of Mikey, the loss of his marriage.Ā His ex-wife may consider him Richie Bad News, but heās been on the receiving end of plenty of shit too.Ā Heās at the lowest heās ever been in his life, but for the first time since everything went to hell, he finally feels a bit of hope.
It started with a bet that he won, and now heās in your bed with you snoring lightly in his arms while you wear his stupid fucking āBerfā t-shirt.
What comes next?Ā He has no idea, but he finally has hope that it might be something good.
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