I've got a birthday in 2 weeks and I'm not feeling very happy right now /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ Ultra Impact is shutting down 1 week before my birthday, I'm failing the only class I'm taking since I'm so burnt out from work, and my health and car insurance both decided to have issues or kick me off :( I'm in a bit of a depressed era right now, apologies for being so quiet lately
you guys i fear i am going to fail my spanish exam tomorrow it is an oral exam on a book i have not read and i am reading the sparknotes version rn and there are so many characters and i am so tired but not in the mood to take stimulants and i am just going to wing it
Thinking about Abbot x Ortho surgeon no bullshit reader I KNOOOOW that man has a competency kink. Seeing you come down from the OR ordering everyone around. Yea that gets him hard. Idk I’m just such a sucker for Baddie Careerwoman x some guy
The Natural Predator
summary: brendon park swam through the pitt with beady eyes and a blood lust. however, after he overstepped his territory, he finds out that there's a bigger fish in the water who's more than willing to put him in his place. and jack abbot loves nothing more than to watch his wife take down her prey.
tags: jack abbot x ortho!wife!reader, no large age gap (41/50), jack has a major competence kink, medical inaccuracies (making up some bullshit), way too much ocean imagery used, ED? we don't know her, jack is getting hard in the trauma room (hashtag praise kink), smut (fingering, dry humping, cumming in pants), 18+ NSFW MDNI
notes: thank you @in-ky for this request! this was yummy yummy to write and I hope it's up to your expectations! taglist is at the bottom, enjoy!
word count: 3.9k
The Pitt acted like the sea.
Busy hours and waning slow periods were the waves. Patients, nurses, and doctors walked as though they were fish, constantly swimming through the hoards of schools and catastrophes, not needing to keep their head above water because that's exactly where they thrived. They found purpose in bobbing and floating and flicking their tails to get from one room to another. It had its obstacles, seaweed hoards of poles and monitors and gurneys, but when night came, the Pitt settled into lapping motions instead of crashing roars.
However, the calmer waters meant it was primed for the bigger fish to swim cleanly, jaws chomping at whoever dared to get in their current.
Known to all, the Pitt had a few big fish to worry about. Victoria knew to steer clear of her mother, Dr. Shamsi, and her biting words. When Garcia got called down, Dennis turned heel and hid in triage (safety in numbers). Even Robby, the very top of the pecking order in the emergency department, vanished when he caught the hint of Gloria coming down the elevator.
Yet, like all oceans, some fish weren't lucky enough to swim away fast enough. In all instances, everyone never wanted to get caught by the PTMC's very own great white: Brendon Park.
"Look alive, Santos, we got an incoming," Jack stated as he passed the sleepy-looking R2, fresh from pulling the first half of her second night rotation.
Trinity blinked wearily before pushing up from the table. She'd been seated during a lull in waves that seemed to always happen between the hours of 1 and 3 am. Jack had warned that things got weird after the sun went down, but most she'd seen was a puking toddler and a man who came in complaining of sleep issues.
"What do we have?" she asked after finding a place next to the older attending. "And please tell me it's interesting, cause so far I haven't seen the weirdest or wildest cases come through. I'd hate to see that your little pep talk is full of errors."
Jack barked out a laugh. "Trust me; it only gets weirder from here."
"Don't jinx us, please," Ellis joined in, stopping on Jack's unoccupied side.
"Those don't exist!" Shen called out as he rounded a corner before disappearing back into a room.
Trinity's jaw popped as she yawned. "I need something fast paced or I'm going to fall asleep standing up."
"We can always have you organize the third storage room. I don't think it's been redone since I started here," Jack mentioned.
"So, like, way back in the medieval era?"
Parker raised her eyebrows and smirked at the brunette. "Ooo-hoo-hoo, Abbot you set yourself up for that one."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Try the third dynasty. Pretty sure I saw a rat go in there once and it never left."
"I'll take standing up, thank you."
"Incoming trauma goes straight into room 1," Lena announced.
The sliding doors to the ambulance bay brought a gust of cool wind before offering a patient and two paramedics to the small group of doctors. On the gurney laid a man in his thirties whose face had gone ashen, eyes not even visible.
"We got a thirty-two-year old male. Partial traumatic amputation, left lower extremity at the mid femur. Clean cut considering he was run over by roadside milling equipment approximately twenty-two minutes ago. Significant blood loss on scene," one of the paramedics said once they got within ear range. "Detached extremity is here. Packaged separately and wrapped in saline gauze, double bagged, transported on ice but not in direct contact."
Trinity noted the bag that sat near the patient's remaining foot. It reminded her of one of those goldfish bags you got for winning a fair game.
Jack stepped forward and grabbed the side of the gurney, helping roll the man straight into Trauma Room 1. Behind him, he heard the normal sounds of gloves snapping on before both Trinity and Parker joined him.
"On my count," he ordered. "One, two, three—" He grunted under the weight of the man as they slid him over onto the bed.
"The tourniquet was applied high and tight to the left thigh around 7 minutes after the accent. One CAT failed, second CAT secured on the way over. Hemorrhage controlled after the second application," the second paramedic stated while he began to wheel the gurney away.
Jack looked over the man. "What's his pressure?"
"Last manual was eighty-four over fifty. Heart rate one-forty-eight. Respiratory thirty-two. Sp-Oxygen ninety-four percent on fifteen liters non-rebreather. GCS fourteen. Lost consciousness on the way over."
"Fluids?"
"Minimal crystalloids. Two-fifty LR. We started whole blood—one unit in progress. One gram TXA given over ten minutes."
Jack smiled and nodded. "Excellent."
Trinity leaned over the man with her stethoscope already off and bell pressing into his chest. "Airway's intact. Breath sounds equal bilaterally."
"Femoral pulse right side weak," Parker called out, two fingers pressed into the man's right upper thigh before moving up to his wrist. "Radial's thready."
"Pressure's seventy-eight over forty-six," Mateo called out near the head of the bed.
"He's hemorrhagic until proven otherwise," Jack breathed, hands moving to gently pull back what was left of the man's pant legs. "Let's cut the tourniquet down enough for me to visualize."
"Dr. Abbot, you think they'd just cauterize the leg back in your day?" Trinity bit with a smirk.
"Nah," he argued, "they'd just wrap it and pray infection didn't set in before harvest."
Parker snipped slowly at the tourniquet, and blood instantly welled through the mess of flesh and bone.
"Back up and tighten it," Jack said, halting Parker from going any further. "That's arterial, and can someone page ortho? This looks like it'd be right up their alley."
"Please tell me Park's not on shift tonight," Trinity muttered, already walking over to the red phone mounted on the wall.
"Well, if you hear the Jaws theme song when they put you on hold, you'll know."
While Trinity talked with upstairs, Jack and Parker did their best to pack the stump as much as possible, combat gauze soaking up red as fast as they put it on.
It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when the hiss of the trauma room's doors filled the air, the automatic sensor holding long enough for whoever to slip through. Jack's heart beat wildly as he held the gauze, trying not to think about his own experience of being on the receiving end of the painful pressure.
"What do you have for me, Abbot?"
If the room could have groaned, it would have caused ripples by the sheer sound, because, of course, Brendon Park just had to be the one to swim through. Trinity glanced up at him, eyes tracking the way he immediately hovered over their work like a shark coasting around its prey.
"Partial traumatic amputation to his left leg. Whatever machine he got under cut clean through his femur. Leg was bagged on site, and blood flow is slightly waning under the gauze and consistent pressure."
Park didn't seem all that impressed, and his eye brow raised when he spotted the fair-fish bag full of amputated leg sitting on a tray to the side. He narrow eyed the way Jack's hands almost wrapped completely around the stump, gloves speckled with blood that managed to seep through.
"You're going to damage the vessels if you hold on that hard," he muttered. "Thought you attendings knew better."
Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The pressure is what's keeping this man from bleeding out. But by all means, I can lighten up if you want to play Legos and 'click the leg back in place' on a dead body."
"You're the ones who paged me," he bit, teeth chomping around the word. "Unfortunately we can't all be surgeons, or maybe this ER would know how to perfectly pack a partial traumatic amputation."
"Now, now, let's play nice, Park," a new voice joined over the hiss of the trauma doors. "Without the ER, we wouldn't be standing here now would we?"
Now, Jack's heart beat wildly for a different reason. In a small glance, his eyes settled on the familiar figure of the Pitt's stand-in night shift Orthopedic Surgeon when Walsh had the shift off.
"Oh, boy," Parker whispered beside him. She nudged Trinity slightly, body twisting so she could be near the R2's ear. "You asked for wild, and, well, it's about to get wild."
Trinity barely processed her words as she fixated on the woman who just walked in. She couldn't note how put together she looked with her hair tucked neatly, gray roots peaking through a very expensive looking hair dye. Her white coat was crisp, and Trinity could only guess that it had been tailored with the way it hugged perfectly at her shoulders and waist. If she let herself, Trinity would be drooling, yet, the glimmer of a pair of rings that could probably pay off her entire student debt held her back from sputtering out some illy planned pick-up line.
"Nice of you to join us," Park gritted out, clearly not happy with the new addition. "But I had this handled.
You hummed lowly while you looked over the leg yourself and the hands around it. "Sure you did if by having it handled you meant berating Dr. Abbot and his more than capable team."
"His pressure is way off, and if he keeps it up, the leg isn't going to be able to attach back perfectl—"
"Aht, aht, aht," you tutted like talking to a child. "You're done talking, because obviously you can't tell the right amount of pressure from the wrong."
You stepped closer to the bed and leaned over the railing, never hovering but making sure your presence was noted.
"If you'd taken a breath and took the chance to actually look at the patient instead of wondering if he could be another gold start to your chart," you stated calmly, "you'd find that Dr. Abbot is currently keeping the femoral artery at around—" You leaned in closer to see just how tightly Jack's fingers held the gauze in place. "—250 to 300 mmHgs of the standard pressure needed."
Jack had to keep himself from blushing under your praise and keep concentrating on, just as you said, the needed standard pressure. He guessed that Park would back off, however, the bigger man wasn't one to ever give up the last word.
"No offense—"
"None taken," you slyly interrupted.
Park huffed, visibly irritated the more he stood there. "But clearly, they should have paged me the moment this man was wheeled in instead of trying to play hero and cut off the bleeding." He crossed his arms and puffed his chest. "They're not surgeons; they're—"
You held up a hand. "I'll stop you right there, Brendon. Yes, they might not have the specialty experience we both have, but they are more than equipped and competent to handle a partial traumatic amputation." Your lip crinkled in a small sneer. "Dr. Abbot is also more knowledgeable about this type of injury than the both of us, or do I have to remind you that he's lived through something like this."
Elation bloomed in the pit of your stomach as you watched Park swallow thickly, but you were far from done.
"And, as someone who volunteers as a S.W.A.T medic after spending countless hours down here, Dr. Abbot has undergone thousands of hours of medical, tactical, and physical training. His muscles are earned through hard work, unlike the ones you like to boast on your Instagram after doing a few sit ups and curls to increase the blood flow of your arms that are more for aesthetics than actual strength."
Jack was hard.
He was so incredibly hard, cock already pushing against the front of his scrub pants. He just prayed that Parker and Trinity would continue looking at you with stars in their eyes and not down at his . . . predicament.
Without moving, you held out your hand, palm up towards the ceiling. "Can someone hand me the case tablet? I'm taking over this, and I will personally be scrubbing in myself."
Park blanched at that, body finally squirming under your unwavering eyes. "You can't—"
"I can't . . . what, exactly? Take over a case while I am currently your superior as the chief orthopedic attending on call?" you shot back while your fingers curled around the tablet Mateo handed over. "Because that's exactly what I'm doing." You glanced down at the screen before looking back up into Park's dark, blue eyes. “You're more than welcome to observe, Dr. Park, but please, never insult me or any of PTMC's doctors ever again, or I will make sure that you're stuck wrapping soft tissue sprains for months."
You turned around with a smile on your face, demeanor completely the opposite of what you'd just shown. "Thank you three for making sure this man didn't bleed out on the spot. We'll prep an operating theater and get him transferred up shortly. Best of luck for the rest of the night."
Your steps were light as you walked away, however you couldn't help but let out an Hoo-Ahh! over your shoulder.
Jack watched in deep satisfaction that Park didn't even attempt to say anything else, choosing to walk away while he still held the ability to operate in the future. The mechanical doors hissed and closed off the room from the rest of the Pitt.
Only the monitors kept beeping continually, filling the otherwise silent room. Jack tilted his head down and closed his eyes while he took a deep breath.
After a moment, Trinity was the first to speak. "Who the fuck was that? I think my world's been rocked."
Jack looked back up, hazel eyes trained in the direction that you disappeared off into. He swallowed the pooling saliva down in one gulp before answering. "My wife."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The surgical cap tied tightly around your forehead itched, hair underneath poking and being pulled an at odd angle as a result of your haste to put it on. Park had overstepped, and you needed to show him that he wasn't the biggest fish in the Pitt's ocean, because that title belonged to you.
Jack would probably laugh at it all later due to your enjoyment of underwater documentaries and fascination with orcas, especially with how they hunted and preyed upon sharks. You'd seen the way he had tried to not look at you for very long down in the trauma room. The thought of him being embarrassed quickly passed through your mind before you shook your head.
He was never one to be ashamed of being your husband, often boasting at the fact that he put a ring on your finger before anyone else could. He loved you fierce and hard but also soft and sweet, so him looking away had to be because he was focused on making sure the man didn't bleed out before you could get his leg put back together with ease.
The hall to the surgical room was empty as you stripped from your gown and gloves and pushed them down into the nearest hazard bin. Your footsteps echoed while you walked toward the elevator, wanting to go back down and at least give Parker and Dr. Santos the good news. However, the moment you passed by one of the empty recovery rooms, a hand reached out, grabbed hold of your arm and tugged you in.
"What the fuck!" you shouted, voice coming out in a screech.
To your right, the door shut, and the motion-sensor lights flickered on, revealing the person who had yanked you. You sighed in relief.
"Hi," Jack whispered, pinning you to the wall, chest pressed against yours.
"Jack, what the hell are you doing up here?" you hissed. "I always come down to give you the update."
He said nothing and tucked his face into your neck. His lips lightly grazed your pulse point before his tongue peeked out and ran hotly along your jaw. Your hands instantly flew up and sunk deep into his greying curls.
"Jack?" you questioned again. "Wha-what are you doing?"
"Just loving on my wife," he muttered, teeth now gently nipping at your skin. "Can't a husband do that?"
You barked out a laugh that quickly turned into a moan as he sucked harshly. "I mean, he can. But normally he doesn't until after we get home."
Jack's neediness sent questions washing through your body as he slotted his thick thigh between your legs. Another moan punched out at the feeling, your scrub material bunching in delicious pressure against your heat.
"Jack," you breathily sighed. "Baby, we have work; we can wait and pick this up later."
"Can't," he bit, lips and teeth still attacking whatever inch of your neck he could reach. "Can't wait. Been hard since you left."
"Since I left?" you echoed, mind spinning until it clicked. "Wait, Jack—"
He hummed in an answer.
"Don't tell me you got hard because I told off Park in the ER."
Jack stilled against you and sighed heavily. "Is it really surprising that I'm turned on because my incredibly hot wife knocked asshole Park the Shark down a couple of pegs while simultaneously singing my praises?"
He pulled back enough that your eyes met his, the hazel hues already swimming with heat. Internally, you battled the pros and cons of having letting Jack continue, but obviously the pros definitely outweighed the cons, and he noticed the moment all fight drained out of you.
"Fine," you gave in, "but you need to hurry before either you or I get paged, and you're left with blue balls for another four hours."
"Hurry is my middle name," he quipped, facing going back in to mauling your neck.
You rolled your eyes. "No it's Waynefucking jeez.," the comeback dying into a moan half-way up your throat.
Jack's right hand rested against the length of your throat while his left danced along the waistline of your pants, fingers teasingly dipping below and toying with the hem of your underwear. He drew another gasp from your lips when he pushed his thigh up higher, the muscle nesting against your core. Taking your open mouth to his advantage, his hot, slick tongue dipped deep between your teeth and licked around. His chest rumbled in a moan at the taste of you.
While he kept your mouth distracted, his hand went further down your underwear, knuckles brushing against your navel until his fingertips found exactly what they were looking for. He couldn't help but groan at the feeling of your wet, sticky arousal already pooling between your folds.
"You're already so fucking wet. How long have you been like this, sweetheart?" he panted after pulling back. "Did you like putting big ole Park in his place while your husband watched? Cause I enjoyed every minute of it."
To show his enjoyment, Jack thrusted up against your stomach, his hardness evident through his own pants. Your eyes widened at the size of his bulge, cunt clenching with the thought of him putting it right into you. You whimpered loudly into the air, head tilted back to rest against the wall.
His pointer finger circled around your throbbing clit in soft, minuscule motions and drew pleasured breaths from your lungs. When you started rocking back and forth, he reached a bit lower before sinking two fingers into your sopping, fluttering hole. The thick and sudden intrusion had you whining.
"Jack! Ooh-ohh-oooohhh," you sputtered as the tips of both fingers found your sweet spot with experience swiftness. Stars dotted your vision, and your stomach and thighs tightened. "Feels good shiittt."
"Yeah?" Jack asked as his hips continued thrusting up into your center, the band in his gut drawing tighter. He could practically feel the clenching of your cunt around his throbbing length when you tightened around his fingers. "You close, sweetheart?"
You nodded. "C-close. So, so, so, so close; you're gonna make me cum."
Your words had Jack whimpering against your neck, eyes pinching closed to not blow his load prematurely. He needed to make you cum before even thinking of letting go himself.
He withdrew his hand in order to push your scrubs and underwear down, giving him more room to thrust his fingers upward while thumbing at your clit. Without the extra layer, your slick arousal dripped down his hand and spotted his dark scrubs.
"There we goooo," he drew out, words raspy between his gasps. "Soaking my hand and my pants, sweetheart."
You were getting close, and your hips canted harder to meet his fingers. Your inner thighs clenched around his hand, and a high-pitched whine squeezed between your teeth.
"I'm gonna cum!" you keened. "Gonna-gonna-shitfuckfuckfuckfuck! Jack!"
Your stomach flipped as your walls clamped down tightly around Jack's fingers. To draw out your high, he continued to circle your bundle of nerves and shallowly push in his fingers. He, however, didn't stop grinding against you, and while you were focused on feeling every hot dip of pleasure from climax, Jack grunted twice before his hips stilled and his cum spilled from his leaking tip into his boxers, soaking though to stain his scrubs.
You sighed dreamily and held Jack's wrist to stop his motions, your core becoming too sensitive for him to continue. Your chest heaved against Jack's, and he leaned back into languidly kiss at your mouth.
"Never," you managed to get out between kisses. "Never thought my husband would have a competency kink. Learn something new every day."
"Like I said: it was hot," he said.
You smirked when he finally met his eyes. "Hot enough to make you cum in your pants, I guess. What are your doctors going to think when you go back down in different color scrubs than you had on before?"
Jack laughed loudly. "I think Trinity will be too distracted because you are definitely her type, and it won't be the worst thing Ellis has ever seen."
Heat flooded your cheeks at the remembering of the one time Parker caught you and Jack actually fucking in an on call room. She teased the two of you for months after you promised to help her out with getting a shot at a surgical fellowship.
Once your pants were back in place, you smooshed close back into Jack's chest, cheek squished against his pec while his hands rubbed up and down your back in slow motions. Aftercare in a recovery room could never be the same as snuggles in bed, but Jack would be damned if he let you go without a little post-coital hugging and kissing.
You had just gotten his lips back on yours when the pager at his side buzzed to life. He pulled back with a groan.
"Duty calls."
"Duty always has the worst timing," you grumbled. "See you in four hours and then round two at home?"
Jack smirked and tapped the side of your ass. "Maybe I'll make sure Park comes back down so you can yell at him again."
You snorted, hand coming up to slap at your nose. "Your foreplay preferences are so weird. Maybe I should yell at you. I think you'd like that, Dr. Abbot."
With that, you slipped out the door and back into the empty hallway, leaving Jack in yet another blushy mess and length twitching at the thought of you talking down at him like you did for Park.
Summary- Little boy, it was the nickname you gave Connie. He was the little kid on the block, the one who always got picked on, poor little Connie. So, of course, you were surprised when you came home to see that little Connie wasn't so little anymore.
A/n: When I processed I hadn't posted any Connie I had to get to work. So here's a little idea I had, enjoy!
CW- Mature content/ explicit sexual content, reader viewed as a stallion(not explicit), past bully! Reader, pet names & name calling(eg.., big head, Ma/mamas, pretty girl, etc), Spanish from google translate(unfortunately), not grammatically correct, ignore errors(im sleepy), dirty talk & praise(English & Spanish), mild build up, Connie w/ tattoos & a nose piercing, Connie w/ glasses, risky sex, public sex, backshots, condomless sex(wrap yo shit), P in V, rough sex, ass slapping, not the longest smut, slightly edited, etc.
“You ain't nothin’ little boy.” You’d tease Connie whenever you beat him at something, which was most things. He was a good sport even when you’d brag and taunt him every time he lost.
Your brother wasn't known as the cool boy on the block, making you the cool girl on the block. Using your brother's status as an advantage was already amazing, but the fact that you were taller than most boys on your block made you a reigning supremacy.
Out of the several kids, you chose Connie to tease the most. You couldn't recall the reason, maybe because he seemed the most vulnerable. He was the new kid in the neighborhood, the smallest, and most anxious of every other kid.
No matter the reason, you chose to pick at him the most, from how short he was to how bad he was at basketball, and never left a chance to tease him past you.
You’d push him down on the trampoline for the pure pleasure of it, claim the only swing he could get on for the pure pleasure of it, ruffle up his freshly cut hair for, you guessed it, the pure pleasure of it.
All your teasing was for the pure pleasure of feeling superior, was it toxic, and questionable? Yes, but that was your reason, to feel like the boss and it was easy to be the boss of Connie.
After six years of your torment, when you were both around thirteen your parents decided they were leaving for a better place for you and your brother to have better chances in life.
It wasn't a bizarre decision, your neighbor was beaten down, the streets laced with danger, the schools were barely holding themselves together, and crime rates were rising month by month. However, you and your brother didn't want to leave, you both protested for weeks, wanting your parents to cave and get rid of the decision but nothing worked, and you found yourself leaving your home of thirteen years.
“Guess you're leaving now, huh?” Connie walked up to where you were sitting, taking a seat on the concrete beside you.
“Yep.” You nodded, eyes pinned to the ground.
“Dang, who's gonna call me big head and tell me a suck at everything now?” His knee nudged yours, his sarcastic words being an attempt to cheer you up a bit.
You giggled, a smile cracking through your frown.
“I don't know, maybe one of the boys will take my place.” You tilted your head towards him and surprisingly, he looked disappointed himself.
“None of them will do it like you though.” He mumbled, locking eyes with you with a small pout on his lips.
“Nope, they won't. Can't do it like me.” You huffed out a laugh and he smiled.
“You know,” you started, “you need to stand up for yourself. I'm the only one allowed to push you around, don't let them do it. Got it?” He seemed surprised by your words, his eyes squinted in confusion for a second before he nodded.
“Got it.”
“Good.” You said with a shove of his shoulder. Yeah, you weren't going to change and maybe he liked that.
“{#}!” You moms voice rippled through the air.
“Gotta go to Virginia I guess. See you someday, ‘kay?” You stood up unwillingly, then holding out your hand for him to grab
“Yeah, someday.” He took your hand and lifted himself.
The silence fell over you two for a second, just eye contact with faint smiles tracing your lips. Hand in hand, eyes connected, and a silence that spoke for itself.
Then your mom shouted again.
With one last nod, you ran off to the truck. He watched the whole process carefully, never stepping away from his spot. He watched the car ride off, he watched you wave through the window one last time, he watched as you slowly turned back into your seat, and he watched the car fade in the distance till he couldn't see it.
Little Connie should have felt relief but he didn't, he felt like he had lost one of the only things important to him. Yeah, you were his bully but you were the only kid who actually spoke to him, even if you teased and poked at him, you were the only one he could spend time with.
So watching you ride off into the distance ached his heart in ways he had never felt before, he asked himself if it's what your heartbreaking felt like. Wondered what life would be like with you being miles and miles away from him, he couldn't bear the thought. So, he let go of the heavy feelings and ran back into his house, hoping to forget you.
When you rode out to your neighbor you couldn't help but drop one tear, just one. The only place you ever called home was vanishing right before your eyes, all your friends, your childhood home, and even Connie.
People always told you that you chose to bully Connie because you had a crush on him, you never believed it but as you felt that strange clenching feeling in your chest as you watched Connie’s face fade away told you otherwise. Maybe you did have a crush on him, is that why you chose to pick on him? To deny your feelings for him?
Even if that's what it was, it was too late.
You weren't ready to lose it all, everything you had ever known, and you were being dragged away from it. It was cruel and wrong, you spent weeks crying and begging to your parents to get that point across, trying to convince them that they couldn't take you away. It never worked, they wouldn't budge even when they saw the pain it brought you, you didn't believe their excuses, ‘it’s for the better’, ‘it’ll be good for you’. You didn't care, it was wrong and selfish, you could bet they were only doing it for their own pleasure.
That day you vowed, you’d be back one day.
—
You and your brother rode the streets of your old neighborhood, following the sound of the boisterous music blasting through the streets.
After your graduation, you and your brother arranged to visit your old neighborhood for the memories. It had been several years, both of you had finished college, both of you had jobs and were earning a good salary, which made you wonder what your old friends and family were up to.
As you rode down the street you gazed out of the window, the old corner store that was next to the liquor store, the random beaten-down old sheds, the small schools somehow still standing, your old house, your friends' houses, and Connie’s. Seeing his home, two cars still parked in front of it, made you wonder where’d he go in life. Did he take your advice, did grow a pair, what did he do all these years?
Your mind was flooded with questions, but it slowly began to drift when the music led you to a small gas station. The vibration of ‘Call Back’ by Don Toliver, pulsed through the ground. The area was lively, the constant motion of people dancing, the sounds of them chatting and singing with music lit the atmosphere.
Then you spotted him, or someone you thought was him. He was taller and lean, not short skin and bones, Connie. He had a white hood draped over his head with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, glasses with a small but noticeable tattoo under his eyes.
“Is that Connie?” You lifted to get a better look as your brother drove into the space.
“Who?” You piqued his interest.
“Standing by the door.” You pointed in his direction, and your brother's eyes darted over.
“Nah, Connie was little as fuck with a head twice his size.” He pulled the car to a stop and pushed his door open.
“Connie?!” Your brother called out to him, unable to catch his attention.
“See, not Connie.” He tried to prove.
“Hey, big head!” Connie's head lifted at the sound of your familiar voice and words, taking his earbuds out while squinting in your direction. You saw a small smile tease his lips when he got a good look at you, like he was happy to see you.
“Damn, guess it is him.” Your brother shrugged with his lips in a thin line before turning off to find his old friends and you proceeded to walk up to Connie.
“Connie?” You asked when you got in front of him.
“Yes?” He answered teasingly with a grin on his face.
“What the hell happened?” Your eyes ran over him, tattoos could be seen on his hands and on his neck, he was fit and more athletic than he ever was before.
“I don't know-” He was cut off by you pulling him into a hug, and he awkwardly stood there for a second, arms dangling on either side of you.
Noticing he wasn't hugging you back, you pulled back slightly looking up at him.
“What you forget how to hug, too cool for that?” He chuckled at your comment before wrapping his arms tight around your waist.
Feeling his muscular arms wrapped around you and his solid chest pressed against your was something unexpected that you weren't exactly mad about.
“Jesus, you used to be so little Connie!” You exclaimed as you both pulled out of the hug.
“Not anymore,” he paused for a second, eyes running over your body lustfully, “how ‘bout we catch up some mamas?” He nodded his head back and guided you to the back of the building.
—
How’d catching up turn into him hammering your insides relentlessly? You didn't know, it started with talking, then his hands were traveling up your thighs, then you were kissing, next you know, you were pinned against the wall letting him rock into you from behind.
The flesh of your ass slammed against his pelvis, with each pull back leaving trails of sticky fluids, your ass was sore from his merciless pounding and pace.
“Buena chica, así es.” He cooed in your ear, hands gripping your hips tightly as he hauled his length in and out of your opening. Your lubricated folds wrapped around his girth, the creamy barriers of your walls leaving him drenched and hard.
You felt one of his hands leave your hip and not long after you felt a slam against the meat of your ass.
Slap
The noise rippled through the air and you struggled to bite back your cries. You could feel your cilt pulsing and hole gaping, begging to be stuffed with milk.
“Con…fuuck, slow down!” You squealed in his ear, biting the corner of your lip in a desperate attempt to stay quiet.
“You got ma, take all of me, pretty girl.” He plowed himself deeper inside of you, his bulging tip pinned against your sensitive sweet spot. He groaned heavily in your ear, dragging himself back till you were clenching his cockhead, then slamming back into you colliding himself with your cervix.
His mushroom tip throbbed and twitched, drowned in your sappy cunt. The veins on his cock bulged, getting more sensitive each time he hammered into you.
He didn't slow down, he kept his pace merciless and full of momentum that knocked the air out of your lungs. You struggled to swallow back the whines spewing from you throat coming through your bitten lip as squeals.
Slap
Slap
Two more hard sticks the underside of your ass, the heavy fat jiggling from the clash between the meat and his hand. His heavy hits only resulted in you getting more excited and jolts through your back and pulsations in your desperate cilt.
Your tight walls embraced all of him, hugging each inch of his twitching cock, you clasped just right on the underside of his throbbing and sensitive vein of his cock causing groans to pour from his lips.
“Ordéñame, nena.” You heard his low desperate moan in your ear, and it triggered you to do exactly that.
One last clench caused him to twitch the shoot out hot loads of cum into you, stuffing you full and deep. His cream rode out of you and down onto himself, he crashed his head down onto your shoulder and panted.
Your hips jolted forward and your hole spasmed around him as you were long after. Choking on the moans that dared to spill from your lips, your juices spraying out of you and soaking both of you and the ground beneath you.
The aftermath flowed over you with pants and moans, sweat and fluid soaked clinging against each other, both disheveled and tired.
the way i would die for something ‘bad’ or stressful to happen to y/n and she calls him out of instinct to which he comes over immediately with no hesitation to help and comfort her wiping her tears away and them just having an intimate moment regardless of being divorced
YOU CALL ME
ex-husband!rafe x ex-wife!reader
summary: After a car accident, there's only one person you want to call.
word count: 4.1k
warnings: language. I don't own a car so maybe what I'm saying is all wrong?😭. car accident. (as always English is not my first language so apologies for any possible grammatical error). any errors would be edited if found.
author's note: hey!! I'm so glad you loved the first fic, I'm also obsessed w this trope 🤭. after the first fic did so well, I'm definitely feeling the pressure lmao but I hope you guys like this one as well.
update: I just posted the tag list for anyone who wants to be added!
EX-HUSBAND!RAFE MASTERLIST.
Wednesdays are always the longest day of the week when the kids are with you. You normally have meetings all day, you spend most of your time between phone calls and zoom meetings while the kids are at school while cleaning your entire house at the same time, planning what your next month is going to be like, where you are going to be and who you're going to be working with.
Parker has hockey practice twice a week and he finishes at 7 pm today, much to your despair. If it wasn't for it, you're day would be over at 4 pm after picking up Olivia from a little playdate with one of her friends. She's been... struggling for the past few months, so every chance she gets to do something different, you and Rafe always say yes to it, no matter how far is it, how late it can be, she's going.
So here you are now, with a sleepy Olivia on her side of the backseat and a grumpy Parker that was complaining about how one of the kids on the hockey team wouldn't pass him the puck right on time multiple times in just ten minutes. He reminds you of Rafe whenever he gets like this, he start puffing, he frowns and pulls that airy tone out of his lips when he's complaining, and he absolutely pouts. Something that Rafe always denied that he did.
The Outer Banks roads are mostly empty, it's a cold night despite the closeness of summer. The humidity is making everything ten times even harder, you feel heavier, everything's slower and the windshields aren't doing enough to keep you from going insane.
You stop at a red light, resting your arm in the window as you closed your eyes for a moment, thinking about how you have to defrost the steaks you'll have for dinner, how Parker has to be extra early at school on Friday and how Olivia enters at 9, the fact that you have to talk with Rafe about the next time you're leaving town and—
You feel a force pushing you forward, a sharp blow that definitely took the air out of your lungs, it's strong enough to feel like you almost broke your neck, your hands stopped you from face slamming the steering wheel. Then alarms, like a car has definitely been hit and it's definitely yours.
What the fuck?
The reactions are almost immediate, Olivia starts crying and Parker starts asking "Mom, mom?!" As he looks around, sounding desperate after the impact. You open your eyes widely, looking back to the rearview mirror next to you and the car behind that just fucking hit you at a red light like it was a free world.
You groan and touch your neck for the sudden impact and the way your head has been moved, especially since you were momentarily relaxed before it happened, you weren't prepared for it. You feel your chest tightening as your start hearing your kids mumbling in desperation.
"Hey, hey." You try to speak firmly around all the noise. "It's okay. Mom's okay," You took a moment to look at them and check for injuries before affirming. They have their hands against the seats, like they tried to stop themselves from hitting themselves with it. They look a little pale and shaken. "You're okay." You said to yourself more than to them before taking a big breath of air, trying to release the weight in your chest. "Wait here, guys." You came out of the car with your heart hammering.
"Hey!" You screamed, entitled to be the one under stress after your car just got hit. You can't even see the person driving the other car, they're front bumper was pretty much destroyed.
You have the chance to take a look to the back of your car, the rear bumper was almost destroyed, dented inwards and the back lights were cracked. The trunk lid had been affected as well. How did this car almost cracked the rear hatch glass?
"Holy shit." The other guy said, a few years younger than you, 25 and probably with his first real car. "What—" He said in shock as if he didn't drove his car into yours. "It was a greenlight!"
You scoffed, voice immediately going high with stress and frustration. "It was not a greenlight!" When he was about to interrupt again, you cut him off. "It wasn't." You said with that authority tone of your that you tend to use with your kids.
Your kids. Ugh, shit.
"Even if it was, why the fuck would you drive like that?! It's an empty road!" You dragged your hands down your
"It was a greenlight!"
“You hit us, that's the end of it. My kids are in the car—” You said, hand gripping your phone tightly with anxiety raising inside of you.
The man interrupts again, raising his hands on the air as a sign of innocence. “Don’t even try to pin this on me. You slammed on your brakes out of nowhere.”
"I was at a red light!" You screamed again, feeling how if this doesn't start to get into an actual logical conversation, you were about to rip your throat. "What was I supposed to do, huh?"
But the guy doesn’t let up. He looks like one of those frat boys that should have finished his major so long ago but he doesn't because he simply won't pass his finals and he wants to extend the experience of having a justification to not work. “Yeah, but you stopped too fast. You weren’t paying attention. You caused this.”
Is this guy for real or are you seriously going mental? "I was already stopped. What the fuck are you talking about? My kids watched it—"
"They're kids, they don't count for witnesses."
"Oh, my God—" You said in disbelief.
"I'm calling insurance. I'm not getting charged for this bullshit—" He said, hand already flying to his phone as if he was about to call daddy for the fifth time this month to get his mess fixed.
"Yeah, call them, please." You said sarcastically as you walked back to the your own car, breathing deeply.
"Mommy, what happened?" Parker said, peaking his head out the window.
"Just an accident, sweetie. Get inside." You said as you gently guided his head inside the car again.
"The police it's on its way—" You heard the guy say, bragging as if he already won this battle.
"Police?" You heard Olivia talking, she was already out of breath as she tried not to cry too much.
Opening the car door to talk to them, you kneeled so they could see your face better. "Everything's fine, nothing's gonna happen—"
"Moooom!" She cried.
"Olivia, everything's fine—" You said, but you knew no words would help right now.
You stood up again, throat closing as you tried to calm yourself. You watched the young man, so clearly in belief that he was entitled to do whatever the hell he wanted around the island. You know these kinds of guys, they believe they own half the island just because their dad is probably a lawyer. But they don't, Rafe probably does.
Rafe.
You looked down at your phone, and almost out of instinct your fingers were already moving to search for his contact. Chest going up and down like a wheel being inflated with how fast your nerves were raising.
You only waited one tone before he answered.
"Hey." You heard, voice husky and tired, he probably just got home. "What happened? You alright?" He immediately questioned, finding your call a little odd. You never call, not anymore.
"Rafe—" You panted, a hand going up to grab your temple. "I— A fucking car just hit us, I'm with the kids—"
"I'm on my way."
Immediate, instant, like lightning. He was already on his feet the moment you called him tho, sensing that you were calling for a reason and he was sadly right. Normally he would've been happy to hear your voice, he would've taken the chance to make you nervous or get a rinse out of you just to get the stimulation and motivation he needed for the rest of the week.
But not this. You sounded so nervous, so out of breath and like you definitely needed help.
"Send me your location. I'm on my way already." He said, sharp and steady, exactly what you needed right now in this moment of instability.
You only managed to whisper a little "Okay..." Closing your eyes again for a second.
"I'm on my way." He repeated again when he heard the tone in your voice, you could hear him grabbing his keys and walking around his own house. "Okay? I'll be there in five. Don't worry."
"Okay, okay." You nodded, breathing out slowly just to get your nerves on check. He hung up a moment later. With trembling fingers, you sent him your location. It wasn't far away from his house, probably twenty minutes; knowing Rafe, he will get there in less than ten.
And he did, right at the same time with the police. He slammed the door of his own car and sprinted outside to meet you. He still had a white shirt on, now tiredly opened on the top, like he clearly just got out of work and had two moments of peace before your call.
Olivia, who was waiting inside the car in anguish, gasped the moment she saw her dad. With an agility that should have you worried at a different time, she opened the door and got out of the car.
"Daddy!" She screamed, already running to him in desperation.
"Hey, hey." He grabbed her when she ran to him, climbing up to him the moment he kneeled down to pick her up. Her cheeks were red and wet with tears, the same way yours get whenever you used to cry. He hasn't seen that image in a long time (he's sort of grateful for it, usually when you used to cry it was because of him). "Hey, princess. You're okay?" He murmured while roughly kissing the top of her head, walking over to where you are as the little kid hid her face on his neck.
Almost barking to get your attention, he called out your name. "You're okay? What happened?" He carefully rested his arm around your frame to pull you closer, searching for your eyes that were on the ground.
You looked nervous, eyes wet with anxiety like they were glasses about to break. "Yeah, this dick hit us from behind—" You gestured to the guy a few feet away from you.
"I didn't hit you, you stopped too fast!" He had the nerve to interrupt.
"Rafe, I was at a red light—" You said, feeling the need to make him believe you. You weren't crazy but you needed his assurance, to make sure that it wasn't your fault you put your kids at such risk.
"I know, I believe you—" He shook his head, touching your face with his free big and rough hand. "Don't worry about it." He murmured only for you to hear, almost unconsciously turning his body just to push Olivia's little ears away from listening, trying to give you both some kind of intimacy. Something he craves to have in any kind of mundane moment.
"You're okay, right? Not a scratch?" He asked as he looked inside the car at the same, checking on Parker, who was sitting inside with a pout and his arms around himself. "Hey, bud. It's dad, you wanna come out?" He talked with the window down.
Parker shook his head, tightening his own grip around himself as he tried to make himself smaller and avoided Rafe's eyes. "P, everything's fine, bud. No one's hurt, it's just another car." He assured the young kid.
At his father's comfort, Parker bites the inside of his cheek before he finally nodded, deciding to come out after a second when Rafe opened the door for him. Showing just how scared he was when he wrapped his arms around his waist. "Relax, kid. You're okay." He said softly, cradling both of his kids.
You look at him, the way he immediately took the charge of the situation. The way he just has this protective side to him that starts working the moment a frown appears on any of your faces, the way he cares about your kids, how he still clearly cares about you and tries to handle the situation just so you don't have to.
The image gets your chest tightening, you place a hand on it, rubbing softly the way you always do when the heartache might just be a little too much.
Two officers got closer, coming out of they're patrolman, walking over with those heavy steps that made everyone nervous. "Mr. Cameron." One of them said, recognizing Rafe.
And of course that Rafe was going to use that to his advantage. Unwrapping his free arm out of Parker and securing his grip on Olivia, he shook the officer's hand when offered. "Sir."
"What do we have here, huh?" The man asked, already taking a look over the accident.
When the police got involved, you expressed you wanted to give a report just to have an official record of the accident, also claiming that you were in a red light, already stopped for a few seconds before your car got hit.
"That's not true!" The guy, that you now know his name Brad (of course he is). "She stopped out of nowhere, she just slammed the breaks."
"That literally makes no sense! You should've slowed down earlier anyways."
"I was doing totally fine." He assured, hands resting on his hips and those stupid ass khaki bermuda shorts that were making no one a favor. "Not my fault you don't know how to drive, sweetheart." He used that cocky tone that made your blood boil. Especially because it was you against him, and the way he was making you feel so small, a feeling you're not used to, is completely crushing you.
"Who are you talking to like that, huh?" Rafe rises to his full height, stepping forward without any kid on his arms now after Parker and Olivia completely secured on his car as the adults dealt with the mess. He means to intimidate, to scare the guy into saying something wrong again.
"Alright, let's all calm down." One of the officers intervened.
The night ended with just the same amount of frustrations. Everyone came to agree that the security cameras (if there was actually any on this side of the island) to check who provoked the accident, but they encouraged to call the insurance company already just get everything started.
You wanted to snap so badly as you saw the tow truck picking up your car to go get it fixed after this Brad guy absolutely destroyed it. You sighed, covering your face with your hands in exasperation. The day was already long enough as it is and now you feel like you have a hundred pounds over your shoulders.
"Rafe, I swear I was at a red light—" You said, throat closing with anguish as you now started to doubt your own narrative. "I mean, like, I closed my eyes for like, two seconds because my head was killing me—" You stuttered.
Rafe tsked, clenching his jaw as his tongue hit his teeth. He shook his head and looked down at you. "You don't gotta explain it to me, alright? I know you don't mess around." He knows how much of a careful driver you are. The time he had to teach you how to drive (so long ago) he was utterly exasperated at how carefully you drove around.
With one steady arm around your shoulders, gripping you like you're about to vanish, he made you get inside his own car. The whole thing had already being dragged out long enough and he hated the somber expression on your face, so he needed to get you out of there as soon as possible before he actually combusts.
After a very quiet ride back home, the kids went running back to their respective rooms once the door was opened. They were uncharacteristically silent during the whole ride, which made your heart break in half with guilt.
Rafe closed the door behind him, helping you to get the kids things inside. He left Parker's gym bag on the floor next to the entrance. "Thanks for coming." You said softly, all the usual annoyance and banter between had been erased by the exhaustion and the spook the accident had given you. "I'm sorry I called so late, I just didn't know who else to call—" Your voice broke with stress and pressure.
For someone who's such a careful and sometimes overprotective mother, this accident is definitely getting the worst reaction out of you. You were nervous, guilty, on edge and worried after everything that happened.
"Hey, no." He quickly cut you off and in two large strides he was in front of you, holding your arms. "It's fine, alright? Don't worry." He comforted you.
"You call me, do you hear me?" He put himself at your eye level, to make sure you were listening to him and actually getting the information inside that beautiful but so aggravating brain of yours, which usually doesn't hold onto the information he gives you. "You call me." He repeated again.
"I just—" You breathed out exhausted, tears willing up in your eyes. "I don't think it was my fault. I closed my eyes for two seconds, Rafe." You said, voice full of self doubt and insecurity. "What if—" you cleared your throat. "Maybe it was at a greenlight and it was my fault—"
"No, no." Rafe's reaction was immediate, purely out of instinct, the necessity to comfort you and to ease the ache in his own chest at seeing you under such stress. "I'm sure you're right. You did nothing wrong." He knows what you're talking about, the fear that this was all caused because of you and the irresponsibility you don't have. He knows you're already punishing yourself inside of your head.
"Parker wasn't wearing his belt, because—" Your voice gave out as a sob escaped out of your lips, complelr inevitable. "He was just throwing a fit and I was so tired so I let him..." You cried in his arms, hiding your face against his chest. "What if it was my fault and..." You breathed through your fast thinking. "It could've been much worse."
"It wasn't your fault. He crashed you, okay? Greenlight or not, he should've slowed down, gone to the other lean. He had space," He sighed at the way you looked and cradled your face. "C'mon, did you see him? He doesn't know shit. I'm sure his dad paid for his license." He smirked softly, trying to get your head out of the self punishment habit.
You shrugged, showing that you didn't care how stupid the other guy was, you just know that the accident had happened and it got the kids really scared and it got your blood pressure over the roof. For now, you just limit yourself to rest your forehead against his chest, allowing yourself to have this one thing. No matter how wrong it is, no matter how your heart was doing gymnastics tricks inside your chest at the feeling of being so close to Rafe all over again.
He let out a big breath again when nothing was working. So, for a few moments, he just rubbed your back, that space underneath your shoulders that he knows that always works with you. His palm was warm against the fabric of your clothes, it was safe and comfortable. And you almost hated (you really couldn't) that it felt like it was always meant to be there.
No one had touched you, comforted you like this in so long and you know no one else will because no one knows how to do it like this. It's a Rafe thing. Something that naturally comes to him after knowing each other for longer than fifteen years already, after an entire life together.
"You call me, alright?" He said again against your ear, voice low and velveted like always. "Whenever something happens, you need help, you call me." And when you moved like you were about to talk, he interrupted again, knowing what you were about to say. "With kids or not, if something happens you gotta call me. I'll go help you."
Because you would take a step back, placing the distance where it should be put. But no, he doesn't let it happen and takes one step further when he dares to say that it doesn't apply just to anything that revolves around the twins. It also applies to you.
"That's what I'm here for." He said now, more gruffly as if he's reprimanding himself. You look up, finally picking up your head from his chest and give him the honor of seeing your eyes. Still so beautiful and so red and tired from crying and worrying so much. "I want you to call me if something happens. Okay?" He asked, grabbing your cheeks with both of his hands now.
"We got a deal?" He asked carefully, softly touching your skin as he takes the liberty of cleaning the tears that stained your skin. So delicately that you almost don't recognize him. And you can't deny that you love it. He rubs his thumbs underneath your eyes, making sure not a single tear is left in there. Not a single drop of stress and pain has to be left, he doesn't want to see it anymore.
A pause settled between you, not heavy with old wounds or the sharp edges of what was left unsaid or with old unresolved resentments that made the feelings linger. For once, it wasn’t resentment that filled the silence, nor the ache of things that didn't work. It was softer than that.
It was just... tender.
"Yeah." You whispered.
And he knows he can't take it further. No matter how much he wants to, no matter how temptingly close you are, he will never do that now. Not when you always draw the line so clearly with a permanent marker, one that couldn't be erased. So, he wouldn't do it.
He contained a devastating sigh and took a step back, finalizing the moment with one last caress on your shoulder.
"I'll come early tomorrow and take them to school." He talked again, leaving no room for argument and you don't dare to do it either. "Rest and let me know what the insurance company says, alright?"
You're left a little bit speechless at what just happened. At what didn't. You don't even know what you were expecting either.
"Yeah, okay." You said softly, watching the way he walked back to the front door, taking the little piece of sanity you had with him.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Rest, don't worry about it." He opened the door and didn't give you much chance to say anything else, almost like he stopped himself from opening his mouth too much.
You didn't breathe after the door was closed, not after a few moments passed, you did it once you heard his car going out the driveway, as if you were scared that with the way he knows you, he might as well hear the way you sigh and you can't let that happen.
He can't be conscious of the way he still brings you up to the edge of the cliff, like he makes you want to jump into the absolute and intoxicating feeling of him.
Little did you know he's doing the same. He only finally lets out the biggest sigh ever after he turns around the first corner back to his own house. He wants to let you know, wants to make you snap and be aware of just how much you still have a grip on him. How he's the one at the edge of the cliff and how you're the one holding him back by grabbing his heart. You could squeeze hard enough or let go of it at any given point and destroy him. You don't even know the effect you have on people.
And you probably don't want to know either.
Your heart does warm up with tenderness the next day when he sends you a selfie of the kids in the backseat of his car, with bright smiles and clean school uniforms on them, just fifteen minutes later after he picked them up like he promised.
He does it to comfort you, because he knows you'll be worried.
SUMMARY: Derek, a tough, serious guy, impervious to any kind of emotions, turns out to have a weakness and it's not wolfsbane.
NOTE: My love for Teen Wolf has risen from the ashes. I love that show so much, I need them to make another movie or a spin-off with the same characters. I don't know what you think, but the only good thing about the movie was Eli. Also, reader name's Sage, I'm sorry it was more comfortable for me while writing if reader had a name xoxo
DAY OF ARRIVING LATE EVERYWHERE
mer day in Beacon Hills. You kicked off the sheets with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Throwing on your favorite denim miniskirt and a snug black tank top, you brushed your pitch-black hair quickly, letting it fall naturally over your shoulders. A quick check in the mirror — bright green eyes still sleepy but sharp — and you tugged on your chunky black boots. Comfortable and just rebellious enough for a Thursday.
The smell of coffee and toast hit you the second you stepped into the kitchen. Scott was already seated, fully dressed, motorcycle helmet resting securely on his arm like it was a part of his body. Melissa buzzed around the kitchen in her scrubs, clearly mid-rush.
“You know,” you said, grabbing a banana off the counter and tossing it in the air, “you don’t need to have your helmet on your arm while you eat breakfast.”
Scott didn’t look up, just took another bite of toast. “It’s cool.”
“Mmhm,” you replied, leaning back against the fridge. “If it’s so cool, maybe you could use your cool points to take me to school again.”
He raised a brow, chewing. “I take you every day. Why do you act like it’s some kind of favor?”
“Because one day, you’re gonna be too cool and leave me stranded.”
“Never gonna happen,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.
Melissa passed behind him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder. “Be nice to him,” she said playfully. “He’s your chauffeur and your brother this week.”
“I’m always nice to him,” you called out as she grabbed her keys.
Melissa gave you both a tired smile, already halfway out the door. “Try not to let the school burn down today. Or yourselves.”
“No promises,” you and Scott said in unison.
The motorcycle ride was smooth, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as you held onto Scott’s sides. The morning sun burned low on the horizon, golden and slow, and the streets of Beacon Hills rolled past in a blur of green trees and brick buildings.
When Scott parked in front of the school, it was still early. Students wandered across the lot in small groups, laughing, talking, and clinging to iced coffees. You slipped off the bike, smoothing your skirt and shaking out your hair, already sticking to your neck from the heat.
“Ugh, how is it this hot before third period?” you muttered.
“You wore boots in June,” Scott pointed out.
“Fashion before function,” you replied, brushing past him.
The two of you pushed through the front doors into the cool hallways of Beacon Hills High, the air conditioning a relief against your skin. That’s when Scott slowed beside you.
You noticed his shoulders tense.
“What?” you asked.
He sniffed once, subtly, then again. “Do you smell that?”
“Um. Hormones? Teen spirit? Whatever’s in the cafeteria?”
“No. It’s—” His eyes narrowed. “Wolves.”
You blinked. “Like, new wolves?”
Scott nodded once. “Strong scent. Close. And—” He paused. “Identical.”
You frowned. “Identical? Like… twins?”
He didn’t answer. Just scanned the hall ahead.
And then you saw them.
Two tall figures walked side by side down the opposite hallway — both broad-shouldered, clean-cut, confident. Like they were born to take up space. One of them glanced your way as they passed, his eyes flicking over you with the casual ease of someone used to being looked at. You turned your head fast, cheeks warm.
“Okay,” you muttered, “you were right.”
Scott didn’t reply, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.
-
By third period, the whole school was buzzing. You, Scott, and Stiles sat at your usual table outside the science lab, sharing theories and leftover chips.
“I’m telling you,” Stiles said, eyes wide, “they’re not just new guys. They’re like... evil Abercrombie clones.”
“Clones?” you laughed.
“Have you seen them? No human has cheekbones that sharp naturally. It’s unholy.”
Scott still looked uneasy. “They’re wolves. I’m sure of it. The way they move… and that scent.”
Stiles leaned in. “Okay, but like… alphas? Betas? Omegas?”
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just hope they’re normal for once.”
The bell rang, and you split up for class. It wasn’t until later — just before the last period — that things got interesting again.
-
You stood at your locker, swapping out books for calculus, when you felt someone behind you.
Not just someone walking past. Someone watching you. Standing too still.
You turned slowly.
“Sorry,” the boy said, voice smooth, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m new. I think I got lost — I have calculus next, and this place is a maze.”
He smiled.
It was one of the twins.
“I’m Aiden.”
You blinked, caught off guard, but forced yourself to smile politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sage.”
He reached out — not for a handshake, but to take your hand gently and kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Bold move.
You tried not to react, tried not to laugh, or blush, or punch him. You settled on raising an eyebrow.
“Beautiful name,” he said, his eyes tracing your face. “Almost as pretty as your eyes.”
Okay. Blush.
“Are you from here?”
“Born and raised,” you said, pulling your hand back gently. “Never left.”
“That’s rare. I’ve moved around so much, I barely know where I belong anymore.”
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” you said with a little shrug.
He tilted his head. “Not now that I’m here. I didn’t know small towns came with girls like you.”
You laughed — half flattered, half unsure how to respond. “Okay. Are you flirting with me, or trying to get to calculus?”
“Can’t it be both?”
You were about to fire back when movement behind him caught your eye. Two familiar idiots — Scott and Stiles — waving at you wildly from across the hall.
“Oh, crap,” you mumbled. “I gotta go. Your class is straight down this hallway, turn right, first door on the left. Bye!”
You hurried past Aiden, heart still thudding a little faster than you liked.
-
The loft was quiet when you arrived — but it wasn’t calm.
Isaac sat on the couch, shoulders shaking, wrapped in a blanket. His face was pale, eyes wide. Peter lounged nearby, picking at invisible lint on his shirt. Derek stood with his back to you, tense, arms folded, staring out the window.
You smacked his arm. “You couldn’t start the Jeep.”
You stepped past the boys and moved toward Derek, lowering your voice. “It wasn’t my fault.”
He looked at you then, over his shoulder. His eyes softened and then, for just a second, he smiled at you. “No, you just delayed us twenty minutes flirting with the new guy,” Scott said behind you.
You froze. Derek’s gaze shifted. Sharpened. Smile completely gone as if it was never there.
“Flirting?” he said, voice flat.
You turned fully to face him. “He asked where his class was.”
Scott lifted a hand in mock defense. “‘I didn’t know small towns had such pretty girls.’”
“Oh my god, please shut up,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands.
Peter smirked. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he muttered to Derek, watching the tension like it was a soap opera.
Derek didn’t take the bait. He just looked at you. Not angry. Just... unreadable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know we were supposed to come right away.”
He blinked once, and the moment passed. “Let’s get back to the point.”
NOSY
The loft was warm with late sun pouring through the huge windows, casting golden shadows across the floor. You pushed open the door with your hip, holding a bottle of peach iced tea in one hand and your phone in the other. Derek had told you to stop by earlier in the day, said something vague about “going over some things.” You knew what that meant.
Training. Again.
You liked the loft. It was always a little too quiet, a little too dark, but it smelled like old books, pine, and leather. Derek’s jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Music played softly from an old stereo in the corner—something moody and instrumental. You walked in like you owned the place, because honestly, by now, you sort of did.
Peter was stretched across the couch like an annoying cat, one leg propped up on the armrest, flipping through some magazine you were almost certain didn’t belong to him.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Peter said without glancing up. “The sugar-powered prodigy herself.”
“Hi, Peter,” you said flatly, walking right past him.
“You’re late,” came Derek’s voice from the spiral staircase.
You looked up. He stood a few steps from the top, dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, gaze intense. Why was he always brooding like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad?
“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” you said, pulling off your jacket and dropping it onto a nearby chair.
“You said ‘around five.’ It’s five-thirty.”
“You’ll survive,” you replied, flashing him a grin.
The next hour was spent doing what you liked least: arguing.
“I’m telling you, I don’t need to learn how to fight,” you huffed, arms crossed as you stood in the open space near the kitchen. “My powers are more than enough.”
Derek paced slowly around you like he was circling prey. “While I’d love to be there every second to protect you,” he said, tone pointed, “there might come a time when I’m not.”
You rolled your eyes. “I could literally fling you through the wall with a single thought, Hale.”
“That’s cute,” Peter chimed in, still from the couch.
Derek ignored him. “You’re just learning how to use your powers. You don’t really know what you’re capable of. And that makes you vulnerable.”
You stepped forward, chin tilted high. “You’re acting like I’m helpless. Like I’m someone who needs to be babysat.”
He didn’t back away. In fact, he stepped closer. “No. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you get hurt because you were overconfident.”
You opened your mouth to fire back, but—
Bzzz bzzz.
Your phone lit up in your hand. Unknown number.
“One sec,” you muttered, walking a few paces away as Derek’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, and he definitely didn’t like you being interrupted.
You swiped to answer, turning your back to him.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sage?”
Aiden. You straightened instinctively. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”
“I was wondering… would you want to maybe get coffee? Like, now?”
Your pulse skipped. “Now?” you repeated.
“If that’s okay.”
You hesitated. Glanced back toward Derek, who was very clearly not pretending not to listen.
“Sure,” you said, your voice a little too light. “You mean the place downtown?”
“Yeah. Ten minutes?”
“Perfect. See you there.”
You hung up slowly, face warming.
Behind you, the tension in the room had shifted dramatically. You didn’t even need supernatural senses to feel it.
“Sorry, Der,” you said, already moving toward your jacket. “I have to go.”
“Where exactly are you going?” he asked, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought you were staying.”
You hesitated by the door, forcing your expression into something innocent. “A friend called. Emergency. Girl stuff. But I can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll stay the whole day.”
Derek stepped closer. Much closer. He wasn’t angry—not in the usual explosive way. But something about the way he moved made your throat dry up. He stopped just inches from you, so close you could feel the heat off his chest.
“Girls’ emergency,” he said, voice low.
“Yes,” you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Incredibly urgent.”
His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stared at you like he could see straight through the lie. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and your fingers curled slightly around the hem of your jacket.
And then—without a word—he stepped away. He didn’t look at you again. Just turned and walked toward the stairs, every muscle in his back tight.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he was already halfway up to his room.
Peter, who had watched the entire exchange like it was a soap opera, let out a delighted sigh.
“Little liar,” he said, raising his glass of water like it was champagne. “I like you even more now.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks on fire, and slammed the loft door a little harder than necessary behind you.
YOU LIAR! YOU NOSY!
The café was dimly lit and mostly empty, save for a couple of college kids in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Warm fairy lights framed the front windows, their golden glow washing over the small table where you sat across from Aiden.
You stirred your iced coffee absently, watching him as he talked. He was charming in a way that felt rehearsed but effective—effortless smirks, confident eye contact, just enough mystery behind his words to make it feel intentional.
“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t look like you belong in a place like Beacon Hills.”
You quirked a brow. “And what does someone like me look like?”
“Like you belong somewhere bigger. Flashier. Maybe where the coffee doesn’t taste like regret.”
You laughed softly, sipping from your straw. “It’s not that bad.”
He leaned in even closer now. “Still. You’re definitely too pretty"
You blinked at the word. “So… you’re not pretending anymore?”
He just smirked. “I think we’re past pretending.”
Your heart fluttered in a weird, confused way. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of being flirted with by an attractive (and admittedly bold)… or the strange pit of guilt forming in your stomach.
Just as Aiden’s hand brushed against yours on the table, his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward your lips—about to kiss you—
The front door swung open so hard it slammed against the wall.
“Really?” came a sharp voice.
Your head snapped up.
Derek.
In full storm mode.
He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the café in seconds, stepped right between you and Aiden without so much as a glance at the table, and shoved Aiden backward with one hand against his chest.
You gasped. “Derek?!”
Aiden stumbled slightly but caught his footing, laughing as he lifted his hands. “Whoa. Easy.”
“Stay away from her,” Derek snapped, voice low and dangerous, and—
His eyes flashed red.
Aiden only smirked wider. “I wasn’t going to bite her…” he said smoothly, then added with a wink at you, “Not unless she asked to.”
You blinked. “Oh my god.”
Derek stepped forward, fists clenched, growl building in his throat.
“You can’t always protect her, Hale,” Aiden added, smug, knowing exactly what buttons he was pressing.
Derek lunged.
But before he could touch him again, you moved—instinctively, grabbing Derek’s arm from behind, pulling him back, your hands tight around his bicep.
“Derek, stop! What the hell is going on?!”
He was shaking with fury under your hands. His jaw locked, chest heaving. You’d seen him angry before—but this? This was different.
Aiden gave you a cocky little salute. “See you around, Sage.”
And with that, he sauntered out of the café, like he hadn’t just almost gotten mauled in front of the espresso machine.
You turned to Derek, still holding his arm. “What the hell was that?”
His jaw clicked. “He’s part of the alpha pack.”
You froze. “What?”
“He and his brother—they’re both part of it. They’re not just new kids. They’re dangerous. Manipulative. They’re hunting us.”
The information hit you hard—but it wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. Your hand dropped from his arm slowly.
“Oh,” you said after a beat, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well… damn. He was cute.”
Derek tensed like you’d slapped him. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
“You lied to me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You told me it was a girl emergency.”
Your heart sank. “Okay—yes, I lied. I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to get out. It wasn’t that big of a deal—”
“Of course I wouldn’t have let you go,” he snapped. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I’m not some helpless child, Derek.”
“No,” he said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. “But you’re also not invincible. And this is exactly why you need to train. You’re not ready.”
You crossed your arms, stepping away from him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Why does it bother you so much that I missed one day of training? One day, Derek. I train every day with you. Every day. And I already said I was sorry.”
He didn’t answer, not right away.
So you pressed, squinting at him. “Wait… how did you even know where I was?”
He stiffened.
“Derek.”
Still nothing.
Your eyes widened. “You heard my call?!”
He looked vaguely toward the counter, anywhere but your face.
“You were eavesdropping! You’re a nosy wolf!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, it is the point!”
“You lied to me.”
You groaned, running a hand down your face. “You know what? I did. I lied. And you know what else? You followed me. Stalked me. So maybe we’re even.”
Derek’s silence was thunderous. His hands flexed at his sides, and you realized he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.
You exhaled loudly, finally letting the tension fall out of your shoulders. You didn’t want to keep fighting him. You were still confused, still trying to sort out why he was so mad.
You stepped toward the door, assuming he was taking you back to Scott’s.
But he wasn’t following.
You turned around. “Aren’t we leaving?”
“We are.”
“…To Scott’s?”
“No.”
You frowned. “Then where?”
He finally looked at you again, voice dark. “The loft.”
You blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone. Not when he’s behind you like that. Not for a second.”
You stared at him, caught off guard by the fierce protectiveness in his voice. The heat behind it. It wasn’t just duty. It was personal.
You swallowed hard, nodded once, and followed him out.
And the whole way to the loft, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d gotten. How tightly he’d clenched his fists. How red his eyes had glowed the second Aiden had looked at you like that.
And somewhere inside your chest, something fluttered and ached at the same time.
PLAY PRETEND
You were at your locker, halfway through switching your calculus book for your lit folder, when it hit you—the prickling weight of someone watching you.
That sensation along the back of your neck.
You glanced over your shoulder.
The hallway was full of movement—students rushing to beat the bell—but no one was looking directly at you.
Still, you felt it.
Then the bell rang.
The crowd thinned.
And before you could even close your locker—
“Hey, stranger,” came a voice.
Aiden.
You tensed immediately. Your hand froze mid-motion on your locker door. Slowly, you turned your head. He was standing right beside you, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his face like nothing had ever happened.
“What do you want?” you asked flatly, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped in your chest. Not because you were happy to see him. But because, despite everything, he was still painfully attractive—and dangerously persuasive.
“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not really gonna let one little fight ruin the beautiful friendship we were building, are you?”
He leaned against the locker beside yours, his voice dropping. “We had something good, didn’t we? Maybe even more…”
Your back hit the metal behind you as he invaded your space. His presence was bold—too bold—and yet he moved like it was natural, like he already belonged there.
“Stop flirting with me,” you said, voice low and defensive. It sounded more like a plea than a demand.
But he didn’t flinch. “Don’t listen to Derek,” Aiden said, stepping even closer, his tone softening as if it would make his words easier to swallow. “Whatever he told you, whatever story he spun, it’s not the full truth. I’m not the enemy here.”
You narrowed your eyes, heart thudding a little faster. “Derek didn’t tell me anything. But your red glowing eyes and smug attitude kind of gave it away.”
He smiled. “So you know now.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you should know I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing down at your lips. “I’m here because I want to see you again. Go out with me. Just once. No lies. No Derek. Just you and me.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Why was he making it hard to say no?
You weren’t thinking about accepting—not even for a second. You knew what he was. You knew it was wrong. But still… no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like they wanted you. Like they were dying to be near you.
Your voice slipped out before you could stop it.
“Of course the first hot guy to ever ask me out turns out to be a murderous lunatic.”
His smirk faltered for just a second.
“Sorry,” you added quickly, grabbing your books. “I have to go.”
You turned and bolted down the hallway toward class, heart still pounding. You didn’t even look back.
Not even when you felt him still watching.
Your lit teacher was halfway through analyzing a paragraph from Wuthering Heights when the door slammed open.
BANG.
Every head turned.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Derek.
Standing in the doorway. Handsome. Wild. Intense.
His leather jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was locked, brows furrowed, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, commanding.
Whispers exploded around you. Someone gasped.
“Is that Derek Hale?”
“Oh my god, why is he here?”
“Are they dating?”
“Holy shit, he’s hot.”
You sank lower into your chair, mortified. “Derek, what are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward you, ignoring your teacher’s confused protests.
“Mr. Hale—sir—this is a classroom—”
Derek didn’t even blink. He reached your desk, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of your seat in one smooth, forceful motion.
“Derek, seriously—!” you yelped, stumbling after him.
The entire class fell silent.
He dragged you into the hallway, closing the door behind you.
“Have you completely lost your mind?!” you hissed, yanking your arm free. “You can’t just kidnap me in the middle of English!”
“Did you talk to Aiden again?” he demanded, ignoring everything.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I felt it,” he said, stepping closer. “Your heartbeat. It spiked.”
“It wasn’t even a full minute. And he came up to me. I didn’t say yes to anything.”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “But you didn’t say no.”
You stared. “Wait… were you spying on me again?!”
“I’m not spying on you, I’m watching out for you.”
You stepped back, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable—”
He cut you off with a kiss.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just fire.
His lips crashed into yours, his hands finding your waist as your back slammed lightly into the lockers. You gasped against his mouth, the noise swallowed by his kiss as your fingers shot up to his neck, tangling in his hair, holding him to you like your body had been waiting for this.
The kiss was everything—hot, possessive, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally snapped. His body pressed against yours, heat blooming between you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your legs shaking as his fingers gripped your hips like he wasn’t planning to let go.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.
“What the hell was that?” you whispered, lips swollen, heart pounding like thunder in your ears.
Derek’s eyes were hooded, dark. “Don’t even think about going on that date.”
You stared at him, lips parted, dazed. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
His mouth curved into a dark smile. “Nope.”
“You’re not going to stop stalking me?”
“Definitely not.”
You laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“You won’t even have the strength to get out of bed,” he growled in your ear.
Your face flushed a deep red.
You didn’t argue.
The second the door closed behind you, you were in his arms again.
Every step forward was another feverish kiss. He backed you up against the nearest wall, mouth on yours, hands lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
You whimpered into his mouth. “You’ve been dying to do this, haven’t you?”
He growled low, biting softly at your lower lip. “You have no idea.”
Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it.
And just when he reached the bottom of the stairs—
“Oh, come on,” came Peter’s voice from the couch.
You froze.
Derek didn’t.
“Remember I live here too,” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.
Derek didn’t even glance at him. “Get out.”
“I was here first.”
“Peter.”
You were trying to look anywhere but at Peter.
“Fine. I’ll go find something better to do than listen to you two claw each other to death.”
He vanished out the door.
Derek didn’t waste a second. His hands slid back under your thighs, lifting you again, carrying you straight up the stairs to his room like it was the only place in the world that mattered.
sypnosis :: IN WHICH, you receive a love note from one of the most popular boys in the school, Eom Seonghyeon. You begin an exchange diary with him, only to discover that the letter was meant for your best friend.
notes :: first time writing a fic, slight angst, highschool au!, sfw, inspired by 'our secret diary' (2023), cursing, slow updates me thinks, i have no humor at all, i gen think this sucks huhu.
01 02 03
A letter with no name; you wanted your response to be as simple as that.
And, just like what Woojin sent in the group chat, you didn't want yourself to appear 'easy' to a boy.
You kept glancing over your shoulder every few seconds, making sure no teachers or students were heading near the entrance of the school.
Swallowing your nervousness, you reminded yourself that this was the only chance you'd have before the next bell would ring.
You crouched down and scanned the row of lockers. His name echoes in your mind like a chant,
eom, eom, eom, eom...eom seonghyeon. there!
After finally finding Seonghyeon's locker, you took one last glance around the entrance, just to make sure.
With a shaky breath, you carefully slipped the folded letter through the opening of his locker.
It was done.
During class, it was the same as always. Mrs. Mina talking about the topic, students half listening and half sleepy. It felt the same as usual, normal.
"Oh!"
Hyein beside you, accidentally dropped her pencil. Of course, being the good friend that you are, picked it up and handed it back to her.
When picking it up, something caught your eye. a letter.
"Here, hyein."
"Oh, thank you ynie." she smiled at you.
"No problem."
You turned back to your own desk and cautiously creeped your hand under the desk.
A letter, it was seonghyeon responding back to you.
Carefully opening it, there it wrote,
If you don't know that well,
then I want to get to know you better.
Please go out with me?
You let out a loud gasp, almost like you just shouted something.
"Ynie?"
With heads turning towards your way, you realized what you just did.
"Ms. Ln, is there anything you would like to add to the class?"
"N-nothing, Ms. Min..!" you then sat down.
"Yn? you alright..?"
"Yes..! I'm fine hyein."
"Alright if you say so.."
After that school period, a sudden wash of doubt came to you.
Why me?
I'm not anything special.
What did he even see in me?
Should i write back?
Ugh I don't know.
You know what?
Fuck it, we ball.
Giving in, you wrote a letter back, saying—
Then,
can you put your reply in the request box
in front of the broadcasting room?
The request box would be the perfect spot for delivering the letters.
Since, most students use that box to put in their song requests during broadcasts, no one would find it suspicious if you frequently checked the box or looked through it.
The next day came, and as expected—a handwritten letter was inside the request box.
Sorry if it's sudden. For the longest time I've been curious about you. I think you're cool for being yourself. At least let's start with being friends. I can't give up just because you don't know anything about me. I want you to get to know me!
- seonghyeon :)
This letter was longer than usual and ended with a smiley doodle beside his name.
Your heart beats a little faster as you read the letter again. That first line being stuck to your head.
For the longest time, I've been curious about you.
Curious, about you?
It didn't make sense to you.
You weren't very outgoing or popular. Usually, you went unnoticed and blended into the background.
And for the rest of the day, you couldn't stop thinking about it.
So instead of doing nothing, you chose to write a letter, again. Just right before the afternoon broadcast.
If we're starting off as friends, then yeah.
But I don't like being talked about,
so can we start with letters at first?
After you finished doing your broadcast, you packed your things into your bag. You walked up to the door and turned the knob.
You stepped out of the room. The moment you looked up, you suddenly froze.
He's there. Seonghyeon.
Next to the request box of the broadcasting room. He looks like he's been standing there for a while.
For a brief moment, neither of you two moved.
Awkward..
“Oh um... sorry.” With that, he walked back into the hallway without looking back.
You watched his figure disappear before switching your gaze towards the box, where he stood near.
Did he put something in the box? Well.. I kind of did tell him to.
Remembering the content of the letter you placed back under his desk. Can you put your reply in the request box in front of the broadcasting room?
You approached the cubed item and slowly opened the lid. There, inside the box, sat a black notebook.
It's his, you think.
You then took it in your hands and flipped it to the first page. In Seonghyeon’s handwriting, it wrote—
I want you to get to know me through this notebook.
And when we're done with this notebook.
I'll confess to you again, Hyein :)
– seonghyeon
Realization quickly hit you like a truck in an isekai.
Oh.
The letter that was placed under the desk, his desk, wasn't meant for you at all.
It was meant for her; it was meant for your best friend; it was meant for Hyein.
hi loveliest!! what abouuuut r who doesn’t want to go to school/work/anywhere really! sooo our lovely stevie coaxes her to getting out of bed by joining her in the shower and just being her little helper whilst getting ready! love u
— @kisspotion, xo!!!
this is so cute to think about 🥺🥺🥺 here's a blurb for you! thanks for requesting :)
summary: getting out of bed is hard when you exist in a warm, loving bubble with steve, but he’s always there to help you get ready.
content/warnings: fluffy caretaker bf steve :) sleepy reader, lots of love, and non-sexual intimacy <3
word count: wrote this on my phone so idk! maybe 1k or less than?
You used to struggle with sleeping.
Most nights, you stayed up until the early hours of the morning, watching out the window as Hawkins steadily descended into an inky blue. Always impossibly silent until the sprinklers kicked on to water lawns across suburban streets, you'd spend your time reading or writing in your journal, or watching the latest movies you rented from Family Video.
That was before Steve.
You don't know how he managed it, but something about your cozy, comforting boyfriend got you into the best sleeping routine of your life. At the end of the day, when you curled into his side, you finally felt complete. As if, for your entire life, you'd been searching for this very sensation — one that exuded kindness and safety and so much love. Sometimes, he was incredibly warm (usually when he, too, was exhausted from a long day of work, babysitting, and taking care of you), and the feeling of his body heat was enough to lull you into a long slumber. Other nights, all it took was his fingertips gently scratching at your scalp or the heat of his hand at the small of your back.
Either way, it didn't matter. All you know is that your best sleep has only happened in the company of Steve Harrington.
It's why you happened to be so annoyed by him getting out of bed this morning. The blaring of his alarm on his nightstand, followed by a rustling across his mattress and finally, cold sheets that were no longer occupied by him. Even with your eyes closed and a thick veil of sleep cloaked over your senses, you knew you were dangerously close to your own wake-up time.
Still, you grab his pillow, smush your face into it, inhale, and force yourself to fall back asleep.
You're not sure how much longer you snooze before you're woken up again — this time by the sweet cooing of your boyfriend, who's gently trying to get you up.
"Baby, y'gotta get in the shower. Gotta head to work soon."
You grunt. Steve laughs.
You feel his hand brush over your hair, pushing it back against the soft jersey pillowcase.
"You told me to do this," he says. "Said — and I quote — 'Stevie, force me into the shower tomorrow morning. My hair is disgusting and I can't go in looking like a greaseball.'"
"Don't care," you mumble with your eyes still closed. "S'warm."
"I know, sweetheart. But you'll feel so much better with a shower, I promise."
You shake your head. Slowly, you peel your eyes open, a sliver of a sleepy Steve coming into your vision. You can't help as you smile softly at the sight of his messy bedhead, a worn sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants hung around his hips.
"You shower?" You ask.
"No. I showered last night."
Your lips pull down in a pout. "Shower with me."
"Is that gonna get you out of bed?"
"Maybe."
He chuckles. "I'll go start it. Don't fall back asleep while I'm gone."
Surprisingly, you don't. Maybe it's because showering with Steve is one of your favorite things. You appreciate the intimacy of it, even if it's not inherently sexual. Skin-on-skin contact, plush kisses, pumping body wash into your hand so you can wash his back and chest — it's a practice that always makes you feel closer.
When Steve returns, he leans down to extend his hands. "C'mon," he murmurs. Even with your blurry, sleep-soaked vision, you accept his help to get up, allowing him to drag you into the warm steam of his ensuite bathroom.
The warmth already feels nice. It was warm in Steve's bed, but a toasty shower always feels better, especially in the thick of the winter season. Without having to ask him, Steve pulls your sleep shirt over your torso, followed by your sweatpants. He doesn't comment on your lack of undergarments, keeping a solid hand to your hip as he gently pulls you into the stream of water.
"Good?" he asks. You nod. Perfect, you think.
Slowly, the water starts to wake you up. Whether it be from Steve's minty body wash or the soothing pelt of the shower, you don’t know, but you certainly don’t spend time questioning it.
“Want me to wash you?”
You nod, mumbling out a “yes please”, and he smiles boyishly, like he already knew what your answer would be before you said it. He takes your body wash and squeezes some into his hand before gently shuffling you under the water. He takes his time rubbing it into your skin, moving across your back and down to your chest and arms, over your legs and hips. Gratitude blooms deeply into your chest — for all of the hot and heavy moments between you and Steve, there are just as many soft and sweet ones.
He rinses you, then shampoos and conditions your hair. When you first started dating, you weren’t convinced Steve could learn your hair care routine, but you should’ve known better. He spends most of his morning styling his own hair, anyway.
When he’s finished, he gently pats your bum, making you smile cheekily. He wraps his arms around you and presses you into his chest, and you swear, you’ve never felt so whole before.
“I love you,” you murmur with your lips against the base of his throat. “Thank you.”
“Always,” Steve says, and you know he means it. “Love y’more, angel.”
