Summary: You often feel overlooked compared to your best friend, Emma. Little do you know there's someone who does notice you quite a lot. | Genre: Fluff | Warning: none| Words: 5.4K
‘Hey, Y/L/N-san.’
You were in the process of packing your things into your school bag. The classes were finally over, and you couldn’t wait to ditch the stuffy classroom once and for all and dive into a nice peaceful weekend.
You didn’t recognize the boy in front of you, but unfortunately, you knew what he wanted even before he started to talk.
‘You’re friends with Sano-san, right?’ he asked smiling with a glow of confidence in his eyes probably thinking he came up with a pretty decent plan when he chose to approach you.
Sadly, for him, this wasn’t unusual. Despite her unfortunate reputation and the scary rumors that circled around her persona. Your best friend, Sano Emma, was a cute and attractive-looking girl who often caught the attention of boys around your schools and guys passing on the streets. Whether on purpose or not being subtle enough, it was very easy to overhear or notice some of the peaking or openly staring at her. At times you compare them to animals in the zoo watching their caretakers bring them their scheduled food. Sometimes, they were merely excited or happy. Other times, they were drooling and looking like they would run to snatch it before they were ever even allowed to.
‘Yes, what about it?’ you asked. If you were a snarkier person, you would probably tell him flat out to back off because it was pointless to even try anything on Emma, but being yourself, conflict was usually your last resort. If it didn’t happen so often it started to really annoy you, you would even appreciate those guys for having the guts to try something on their crush in the first place.
‘Say, do you know if she’s seeing someone?’
Mentally, you took a deep breath and sighed, but, on the outside, you merely politely said, ‘No, but she likes someone else.’
You thought that was all that needed to be said and returned to packing your stuff. You really wanted to go already. Emma had to head to the teacher’s office to discuss her dropping grades.
She’ll probably ask me to help her study later, you thought to yourself.
Personally, if you approached someone because you were crushing on their friend and found out they liked someone else, you would thank them and never mention it ever again, but apparently, this guy was wired differently.
‘Huh, really?’
You shot your back and turned to leave but the boy sort of cut into your path, ‘Do you think I could take him? What’s he like?’
Take him? You wondered mentally. As in a fight?!
You imagined this guy going against 185 cm tall Ryuguji Ken.
You imagined this guy going against Toman’s vice president, Draken.
You imagined this guy going against the boy you once saw taking down ten Toman members with three punches without breaking a sweat because they were being disrespectful.
You chuckled. It was rude. You would be the first to admit, it was really rude, but you just couldn’t help it because imagining anyone let alone this guy going against Draken was seriously funny.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked. Obviously, he didn’t appreciate your reaction, and honestly, you didn’t blame him for that.
You cleared your throat, ‘Sorry. Uh,’ despite knowing a great deal about Emma’s brother’s not-so-little gang, Toman, you were around when it was founded and all, you still didn’t feel too comfortable to talk about it so openly with strangers. In school, nevertheless.
‘Her crush is friends with her brother,’ you said purposely underlining friends and brother, so he and anyone with a good pair of eyes and brain would understand. Everyone and their mother knew that Sano Manjiro was in a gang. Skipping school only to ride a bike wearing his black gang jacket was a dead giveaway. Seeing other members around the city getting into fights, vandalism and other forms of delinquency would convince anyone.
-or so you thought.
‘So? What? It’s not like she has to date her brother’s friends, is it? If so, who is he? I can be his friend or whatever,’ he said, and you openly stared at him like he was insane. You couldn’t help but wonder. If he didn’t even know Emma’s brother, Mikey, was the leader of Toman, what did he even know about her? Or was it really only because of her looks?
You sighed out loud now. You were already in a faulty mood looking forward to leaving the school premises only for this guy to constantly stall you. You were trying to be polite. Really, you weren’t a mean person. It wasn’t your style to flat-out be rude to someone upon meeting them. And you did your absolute best to make it quick with this boy but apparently, he wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the toolbox to figure it out.
‘Look, Emma likes someone else, and her brother isn’t someone to mess with. Trust me, if you don’t want problems just let it go, alright?’ Maybe you should have worded it better or maybe you should have told him to just go ask Emma herself if he wanted to so much. If you really thought about it, was this even your problem to begin with?
The boy frowned, ‘Seriously? Why would you say that? What’s wrong with you?’
Your eyes widened while you stood there puzzled wondering what the heck was this guy talking about. You were perfectly clear. Did he seriously want you to spell it out for him that her brother would crack his skull with a single kick and tell his gang to harass him until his dying days?
‘You know jealousy only makes you look uglier,’ he said and turned around stomping away pretty much like a child that apparently, he was.
You were left standing at your spot motionless for a few moments trying to get over the shock of the situation before you breathed out, ‘Whoa.’
It wasn’t like the words didn’t hurt.
They did.
A lot.
So much.
What an asshole!
But you always did your very best not to cry in school or because of some jerk who you didn’t even know.
After three deep breaths just to make sure you wouldn’t start sobbing, you started to walk out of the classroom. You knew that guy was just an upset jerk which was why he was lashing out like that, but it still stung a little. No one wanted to be called ugly or accused of being jealous of their friend. What should you be jealous of anyway? A guy like that coming to you trying to win you over only to be an ass to your friends? No, thank you!
You walked down the stairs only to find Emma waiting for you with a sour look on her face, ‘I need to get my grades up or they’ll tell gramps about it.’
You figured as much and patted her shoulder, ‘I’ll help you study tomorrow.’
‘Really?’ she beamed looking brighter than a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, ‘Yup, let’s go.’
On the walk home, you only partly listened to Emma’s ramble about how unfair the teacher was. Untrue, but you didn’t have the energy to argue with her. Not to mention, your mind kept on drifting to the boy from the classroom.
Uglier
Uglier~
Uglieeeeer~
‘You’re the ugly one, you ass,’ you mumbled to yourself quietly.
‘Hm?’
‘Nothing,’ you quickly dismissed her interest and glanced around. It was Friday with many people on their way home from work or on a break before they had to return to their offices. Some didn’t even spare you two a single look, but others were openly staring at Emma.
It happened a lot. You weren’t certain when it started, but one day you noticed she was getting a lot of attention from men and boys passing by. Some were flat-out creepy while others looked rather cute. Some tried to strike up a conversation, but Emma was usually too much in her own world to notice or too into Draken to care.
‘Hey, do you want to go join me for karaoke? We’re missing a girl.’
‘I’m with my friend. Bye.’
‘Pretty girl, would you like to go to dinner.’
‘Beat it, old man!’
‘You’re so cute. Want me to buy you something sweet in that coffee house?’
She didn’t even acknowledge the existence of that last boy. Being her best friend came with the privilege of knowing she already had her heart set on someone else.
Honestly, from creeps who tried to follow her and you on the streets to boys who thought they were cute when they couldn’t even shutter out their names, you came to the conclusion that there was really nothing to envy your friend and often offered her your sympathy or changed the subject to ease her annoyance.
Jealousy
It wasn't like it was true. Why would you be jealous of the attention Emma got?
Maybe.
Sometimes.
A little.
You glanced at her hair, ever so perfectly blowing in the wind as you walked. It wasn't like she asked for all that attention. To be frank, most of the time she didn't even notice, or she found it annoying. Besides her were eyes set on Draken for as long as you knew her.
Still, yeah, maybe sometimes you were a little jealous of that attention. If only because compared to her you felt so damn invisible, you might as well not be there at all when those guys approached her. It was rude really. You didn’t want them to hit on you or anything, but straight out being pushed aside so they could get close to Emma without them so much as looking at you if you didn’t end up in traffic thanks to them seemed rude.
You would surely hate it if you were in Emma’s shoes, but you couldn’t say it was all that better to be in your own. Constantly being overlooked and ignored really sucked too.
Passing nearby windshields you caught your reflection. Maybe you should do something about the way you look. Nothing too radical just something to make you stand out a bit? Look cuter?
‘I can’t believe sensei’s being so unfair-’
‘Do you think I should change my hairstyle or do something about makeup?’ (A.N: adding or changing depending on you).
Your eyes moved to your school uniform. It couldn’t be helped on the weekday but maybe during the weekend and after school? ‘Maybe I could do something about my clothing,’ you said to yourself, ‘Maybe I would catch someone’s attention better that way-’
‘But you’re perfect!’ cut in Emma before you could think about that guy from class and pray not to catch the attention of someone like him.
You smiled at your friend, Yeah, yeah.’
‘No really!’ Assured you Emma and taking her best friend’s responsibilities seriously like they were life or death began to praise everything from your hair to your face and body gaining unwanted attention from people passing by. Definitely, not what you meant.
A little bit self-conscious and embarrassed, you tried to calm her down when you and she heard the familiar sounds of two bikes approaching. It wasn’t like you were an expert, but being around Toman so often, CB250T’s roar was definitely imprinted into your brain forever. You were pretty decent in recognizing all the captain’s bikes, even if you didn’t always guess the right one, but their leader’s bike you managed to get right every time. Not something you needed to brag about, but you still took pride in it.
You turned around and waved just as Emma raised her hand and called for her brother only to discover he was followed by Draken too. It wasn’t all that unusual, but your friend still snatched your arm looking at you like it was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
‘Follow my lead, Y/N!’
Emma greeted her brother and crush, while you waited beside her hoping whatever she had planned wouldn’t backfire too much. You were always there to pick up the pieces after all. Sure, Draken would never deliberately hurt Emma, but he was known to be harsh and speak his truth not realizing Emma was trying to flirt with him or get him to go on a date with her.
‘Hey, do you guys think Y/N should change something about herself?’ she asked suddenly cutting through your thoughts. You froze on the spot before shooting her a wide-eyed look. No way! Stop! You thought desperately as you listened to her make out some half-baked story about how you wanted to appear more interesting to someone.
Falling into traffic doesn’t sound so bad right about now, you thought to yourself and put a hand over your friends. You knew both Mikey and Draken were asking themselves why the hell was Emma asking them about this.
‘Men don’t care about that stuff,’ said Draken, and you uncovered your face only to ask, ‘Can we talk about something else please?’
‘Mitsuya-kun does,’ cut in Mikey, and you were tempted to die on the spot. The two started to discuss the captain of the Second Division and his keen eye for fashion before Draken admitted, That might work. So, if you want, go ask him.’
You couldn’t bear to look either of them in the eye for a moment.
‘Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,’ you said and mentally sent Emma a message never to do that to you again. The message must not have reached her though because, in the next moment, she rushed to Draken’s side and said, ‘Hey, can you guys give us a ride? Y/N twisted her ankle in the gym and it’s really far from her house.’
Seriously?! You thought looking at Emma and it had to show, but when they all looked at you, you sighed and without any emotion whatsoever said, ‘Yes, I twisted my ankle. In gym. Can you give me a ride home? Please?’
Draken looked at you bizarrely while Mikey lowered his face and cleared his throat into his fist. He knew what Emma was doing. Despite being a little bit childish at times and in general acting like he was carefree and oblivious, he knew about Emma’s feelings for his friend, and given how often he let Emma, and you come along, he must have approved of them too.
‘No problem,’ he finally said grinning widely at you before waving you over like a dog, ‘Come on, Y/N-chan. I’ll take you home. Poor baby with a twisted ankle,’ he mocked you as you walked toward him. You knew it was in good nature. Mikey was never purposely mean to you.
You refused to limp, but you at least had the decency to walk slowly not to completely out Emma’s lie. Seriously, you were beginning to question just how good this friendship was to you.
You sighed and got behind the blond as he passed you his spare helmet. It wasn’t the first time you rode with him. After all, Emma took every opportunity she could get to be close to Draken, and because you so often tagged along you had to get somehow home too. Still, to say you were used to the feeling would be a total lie. You still felt nervous and knew everyone with a pair of eyes could see it.
‘Ah, my bad, I should have picked you up, huh?’ he turned around and grinned at you, clearly enjoying this too much, so you repaid him by putting your arms around his middle and squeezing, hard.
He let out a small, startled noise, but you knew that was mostly for your benefit. No way, you actually hurt the invincible Mikey after all. At times it was easy to deal with Mikey. You knew him for as long as Emma, and since he often went on board with Emma’s little attempts to get closer to Draken, you had something like an understanding between you two. Also, his bratty personality helped you forget you were about to once again ride on his beloved death trap.
‘Hey, wouldn’t it make more sense if Y/L/N went with me? Aren’t you heading home, Mikey?’ asked Draken suddenly causing the rest of you to freeze because, after all, he wasn’t wrong. It made very little sense for Mikey to drive you and then go home afterward.
‘Uhmm, but I’m…cooking for Mikey-kun,’ you said quickly surprising everyone including you because cooking?!
‘Right, you still owe me for beating up that punk who made you cry,’ he said sounding quite delighted while you were left puzzled about what he meant. You didn’t really think anyone made you cry recently. Distantly, you recalled he punched someone for your benefit like four years ago, but the details were hazy.
However, the answer seemed to satisfy Draken, who didn’t say anything else just wished his leader and you farewell.
Mentally, you rolled your eyes at how excited Emma looked while holding onto him, but you still offered her a smile and a wave.
‘Yare yare,’ said Mikey and shook his head while starting this bike, ‘Could she be any more desperate?’
Taking your role as Emma’s best friend seriously, you pinched his arm, ‘Hey, that’s my best friend you’re talking about.’
He made a little distressed noise which again had to only be for your benefit, but you still appreciated it. The ride was mostly silent and fast, but not dangerously so. Maybe you were getting used to it though because unlike other times when you were holding onto the blond for dear life, now you were falling into your thoughts thinking about what happened after class and in general about how invisible you felt at times.
It wasn’t even that you lacked strangers noticing you really. It was that you lacked that one person who would.
Even if Emma didn’t care for the attention, Draken seemed to be playing hard to get. You knew the tall blond liked her. It was painfully obvious; they would be one of those couples who would marry soon after her graduation and first among their friends to have kids.
However, when you tried to picture yourself in the future you couldn’t imagine ever having someone to come home to, spend time with, or have a family. You wanted to, but you couldn’t really see it happening. Guys didn’t really pay attention to you whether you were with Emma or not. You couldn’t really tell why it was, but it always felt like you had to try hard and put yourself really out there to even be noticed, and even then, it felt like more often than not people didn’t even care about what you had to say. Apart from Emma, you always felt like you said the wrong thing or annoyed people when you spoke. You couldn’t explain it, but it just felt like that.
Your thoughts came to a halt as Mikey stopped at a red light. You were too busy daydreaming or maybe he finally took your complaints to heart and drove slower, but the ride felt strangely nice and relaxing. Almost like you were sightseeing or on a nice ride around town to kill time.
While you waited for the light to go green, you noticed a few high school girls looking in your direction.
It made you feel self-conscious and try to shrink into yourself before you realized they couldn’t see you looking at them with the helmet on. Were they staring at Mikey? It wouldn’t be anything new since whenever someone noticed he was wearing his gang uniform they stared a lot. But the Toman’s kanji on his back was hidden by your body while you were holding him. Sure, even if you could never admit it out loud, Mikey was a really handsome guy, so it made sense if they were eyeing him, but he was wearing a helmet too, so they couldn’t see his face.
It’s not like they're romanticizing us and think we’re a cute couple on a ride through town, right?You asked yourself. Surely, not. Why would they even think that?
You glanced ahead. You were pressed against Mikey’s back quite a lot, and you were holding him really tightly, but that was only because it was safer that way.
You felt your face heat up even if you told yourself you were being silly for making up stuff like that.
Ridiculous.
Anyone thinking you and Mikey were a couple was being ridiculous.
Still, having the day you had and facing the insecurities that haunted you for so long it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to know someone could think you would be worthy of someone like Mikey. Of anyone really.
Finally, the light turned green, and the bike came to life again and moved away from those girls. Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape your thoughts. You felt stupidly proud at the idea someone might envy you even if there really wasn’t anything to envy in the first place. You and Mikey weren’t dating. You were barely friends. You were mostly friendly because of Emma and maybe mutual respect?
‘Hey,’ you heard him call out when he slowed down a bit, ‘Any tighter and I’ll think you like me.’
You let out a startled noise from the back of your throat and immediately eased up on your hold. Seriously, you didn’t even really start to hold him so tight.
You felt him pat your palm though and laugh, It’s fine. Relax.’ Easy for him to say.
By the time, he got you home, you did your best to chase all the unnecessary thoughts out of your mind. You were already struggling thinking you were destined to be alone, gaining an unrequited crush on your best friend’s brother would do you absolutely no good.
You got off the bike stumbling a bit because of course you did, but Mikey easily snatched your elbow somewhat helping you find your balance, ‘Thanks!’
He nodded and let you go also getting off the bike, ‘So will you make me some taiyaki?’
You weren’t surprised he actually wanted food. If there was one thing you knew about the blond apart from how protective he was of his sister and how he could take down anyone who challenged him then it was that he was always hungry. Most of the time for taiyaki.
You sighed. You didn’t want to bring him down, but you knew better than to promise something that you couldn’t really deliver on. You had never made taiyaki before, and overall you weren’t the best cook around.
‘I’ve never made it before. But I can make dinner if you like. Nothing extra!' you hurried to add, 'Just something quick?’
‘Man,’ his shoulders and face fell a bit, and his face twisted with a light pout, ‘Mean. And to think I drove you all the way here.’
You were about to tell him off when he started walking toward your home not waiting for your remarks.
When he was by your door he turned back looking at you with that same bored and calm expression he often had but with the addition of his lazy smile, 'You coming?'
Although his visit was unexpected and new, you still did your best to be a polite host. You kinda thought he would stick around the living room and watch TV or go play something on your computer, but instead, he followed you into the kitchen and glued to a chair facing your back, he watched you work. It was a bit strange and unnerving, but you did your best to ignore it.
When he came to stand beside you, you couldn’t help but think something was on his mind. After all, Manjiro Sano was known to doze off during gang meetings or act like he owned the place wherever he went so sticking to your side seemed oddly too polite from him.
‘Do you really want to change your hair and style?’ he asked after a moment eyeing you.
You glanced at him. His usually cheerful or bored dark eyes carried a more sober almost serious look behind them. It almost made you feel like you were in trouble.
‘Oh, that? That’s just something Emma and I talked about before,’ you said embarrassed at the idea that Mikey or anyone would know about what was bothering you. It sounded stupid, and weird to say it out loud, and you were sure you would get looked at weirdly if anyone knew just like you often did when you said something that felt like the wrong thing to say in the first place.
However, even when you return to cooking, you feel the blond’s eyes on you, ‘Are you…,’ his voice dropped a bit further adding to his oddly and atypically serious appearance, ‘trying to get someone’s attention?’
Your eyes glanced at Mikey, and you were surprised to find him looking at you so dangerously. You couldn’t really explain it any other way. It wasn’t like he was planning to fight you or anything like that, but it was like he was weighing your words and debating on their importance for some reason.
‘Uhm, just in general,’ you found yourself saying before you could stop yourself. Once again you felt hot embarrassment settle across your face in the form of a blush, ‘I’m a pretty invisible person most of the time. Sometimes I wouldn’t mind to be noticed, you know?’ You cringed at how pathetic that sounded and seriously wondered what was wrong with you to talk with Mikey about this. He was more than a little dense. Not by being stupid just too carefree and not fixated on stuff like you to were.
Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw his back pressed against your counter and he looked ahead, in the opposite direction from you, ‘Well, don’t.’
You properly looked at him again and found him still looking ahead but this time he crossed his arms and pouted again the way he sometimes did which made him look really young, ‘Don’t try to gain anyone else’s attention. I won’t like that if too many people stare at you.’
You blinked and then you blinked again and again as you painfully slowly took his words in, ‘W-what?!’
‘You’re burning the food,’ he said casually and nodded toward the stove in front of you where you really were burning your dinner. You quickly tried to save it somehow by doing a half-decent job although you were still tempted to call it a day and go buy something.
Still, you had more pressing matters at hand. Surely, you didn’t hear him right or you misunderstood him completely. Yet mistake or not your heart was beating far too quickly, and your voice shook when you asked, ‘Mikey-kun,’ you started to whisper, ‘what did you mean by that?’
He took a plate without asking and gave it to you so you could put the food on it, ‘Hm? Oh, that?’
You waited.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, and you were left staring at him and his empty plate. Mechanically, you took it after a moment and put the food on it all the while glancing at the blond boy wondering if he was pulling your leg or something.
He started to eat without you, ‘It’s not the best.’
You forgot about your previous conversation as your face grew hotter from embarrassment again, ‘Then don’t eat it. I’ll get us something else.’
You tried to walk toward him and grab the plate, but he blocked you, ‘Nope, this is fine.’
You frowned a bit feeling even more humiliated, ‘No, it’s not. You just said so yourself.’
‘It’s fine,’ he said and continued to eat. You wanted to be touched, and you were, but a part of you was seriously horrified that you made something bad and had someone, a guest, eat it.
You sat down opposite of Mikey and dug in. It really wasn’t the best. It wasn’t the worst, it just wasn’t overly delicious either, ‘Come on! Drop that face. It’s fine.’
You shook your head, ‘It’s not, but thanks for trying. I haven’t really had much practice, but I’ll do my best to get better and make it up to you next time.’
Mikey’s face inexplicably softened and a cute smile came across it reminding you that all in all, he was a very handsome guy, ‘Really, next time, Y/N-chan? So, it’ll be a weekly date?’
That question knocked the wind out of your lungs and made you choke on your bite a little although that might have been the food itself. It took you a hot minute to actually manage to speak again, ‘D-date?’
Mikey grinned at you like he knew something you didn’t before he continued to eat as if he didn’t say anything at all. You wanted to ask what he meant, but you weren’t sure how, and felt that if you did as he refused to answer, you would feel ridiculous. You started to small talk at least, but not the way strangers were but how two future friends would. It wasn’t as intimate and quick as a heartbeat like it was with Emma, but it was still a nice and cozy chat, so you couldn’t complain.
By the time he finished and prepared to leave you had to tell yourself it was a very strange day. Although maybe not the worst.
You walked Mikey to his bike. It felt like the least you could do. After all, he drove you home, you had no taiyaki for him, and you cooked him mediocre food at best. Although he brushed it off, what he said, didn’t leave your mind throughout the whole time you were together.
‘Thanks for the food, I’ll be holding you up on your promise to get better,’ he said with a semi-pretend serious look that made you chuckle, ‘Yeah, just don’t get your hopes up. It might take a while.’
He turned toward his bike, and you felt a little bit disappointed in yourself. If you were a different more confident person, you would surely ask him about what happened back there.
Suddenly, just as you glanced back at your house you felt Mikey’s hand rest on your waist.
Your eyes widened, and you looked back only to find him in front of you again so close you might as well be hugging, ‘Huh?’
His palm on your waist was warm, but not uncomfortable. He wasn’t being forceful, just present enough that you knew with every thought and cell inside your body that he was touching you there. It sounded silly. You touched him plenty when you held onto him while you rode and yet now it felt different. In those times, it was a necessity to touch each other, now it was a desire.
You couldn’t see his face when he leaned forward but his voice sounded quiet and serious again, ‘It’s fine if you really want to change, Y/N-chan,’ your heart speeded up and your breathing grew louder than his words yet you still heard the rest of what he had to say, ‘Just know that I always pay attention to you. Even as you are now.’
Something soft and damp pressed against your temple, but when your shy self finally gained the courage to look, Mikey was already letting go of you and getting on his bike.
His cheeks were dusted with the lightest shades of pink, but you still noticed it, while he grinned at you, ‘Maybe just your cooking.’
You were still taking it all in so it took you a moment to realize what he meant. Your own face was burning hot as you tried to process what happened, your emotions and make up a good comeback only to stutter, ‘Y-yeah, like…like you can d-do better?’
The blond looked as carefree as ever, ‘Come tomorrow and find out. I’ll ask Emma for pointers.’
‘That’s cheating,’ you replied but still found yourself grinning as well. You couldn’t help it. It seemed that the corners of your mouth had lives of their own.
‘Bye, Y/N-chan,’ he said smiling, so you wished him goodbye as well as a safe trip home and remained standing there for a little longer after the sound of his bike could no longer be heard in the distance.
As you walked home, your hands covered your face, and you couldn’t stop smiling and wondering what the hell just happened all the while your heart was beating with a newfound rhythm of knowing there was someone whose attention belonged to you after all.
Koniec
A.N: Thank you for taking the time to read this.😊 English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for grammatical mistakes. I hope you and your loved ones are safe. Have a lovely day 💙💛
Adult Toph Beifong x Waterbender Girlfriend Reader
WC: 5k+
Synopsis: You finally return home from your seminar with Katara. Read first part here.
Warnings/Content: Sub!Toph, Cunnilings(Toph receiving), Scissoring, kissing, soft sex, slight temperature play, light angst, toph just misses you nothing too crazy.
Seven days.
That’s how long you’ve been away from home, assisting Katara with an advanced healing seminar at a clinic in a small community. An entire week since you’d last seen your girlfriend, and the distance was slowly driving you insane.
It wasn't just the physical absence of her, it was the silence. You knew Toph better than anyone. Which means you knew the very idea of dictating her private thoughts to Sokka just so he could scratch them onto parchment was mortifying to her.
But usually, when you were away, even if only for a few days, something found its way to you. Most of the time in the past a messenger hawk would arrive with a blunt two sentence note about her day or a jab about the spirit spa baths you and Katara were teaching people about. Sometimes, she would even send a metal bent token as a way to show she's still thinking about you without all the mushy words attached to it.
You weren't expecting her to pour her heart out to you, but you at least hoped she'd send something to hold you over until you were back. But by the third day, the responses to your letters began to dwindle. And by the fifth, they stopped entirely.
A part of you had hoped Toph was just swamped with investigations and the daily grind of running the police force. You knew better than anyone that there would always be people to protect and criminals to bring to justice. You understood that her duty to Republic City and commitment to the badge often came first which was fine.
But there was another part of you, the part that's spent years learning the intricate map of Toph Beifong’s soul that felt a persistent, nagging worry.
When Toph went radio silent, it usually meant she was retreating into herself, reinforcing those metal walls she used to protect the vulnerable heart she so rarely lets anyone see.
It was heartbreaking to think about really. You’d spent so long stripping those defenses down, piece by piece, reassuring Toph that her mind, her body, and her heart would always be safe with you. And now, walking toward her apartment, you were terrified that a single week apart had convinced her it was safer to be alone again.
The streets of Republic City were a chaotic blur of noise and color, but you moved through the crowd with singular focus. Every step you took brought you closer to the cause of the ache in your chest that now felt like a gravitational pull that brought you closer to the woman you loved.
The gravel crunched beneath your Water Tribe boots that you hadn't even bothered to change out of. Stopping at your own apartment for a fresh set of clothes seemed like a waste of time when your heart was leading in the direction of Toph's place.
Besides, you’d rather just borrow one of her oversized shirts anyway, it smelled more like home than anything you owned anyways.
The hallway in the complex was quiet, the air inside the building felt charged with all the words you havent been able to say in your letters. It felt like you were stepping into a sinkhole of your own making. It was well into the evening, dinner time to be exact and you found yourself praying to the spirits that she was actually home and not still buried in paperwork at the precinct.
As the door came into view, your pace quickened, the thud of your boots echoed off the walls in the hallway. You didn't knock. You didn't wait. You pulled out the key Toph specially made for you that felt like a piece of her trust in your palm and turned it in the lock.
The silence of the apartment was heavy, but it wasn't empty. You spotted her bag slumped over the back of the couch and the discarded pile of her RCPD uniform on the floor. Which was a good sign, it meant she’s been home long enough to strip off the chief persona, but not long enough to settle the restlessness you could feel vibrating through the walls.
The click of the lock as you shut the door behind you sounded like a small bomb going off in the quiet room. You dropped your bag right where you stood, not caring that it cluttered the entryway. Your only focus was the shadow of her in the next room.
The scent of her shampoo, floral and crisp hit you the moment you stepped into the hallway. It was a domestic, intimate smell that made your chest ache even more. You pushed the bedroom door open just a crack, the light from the hallway spilling across the floor.
There she was.
She looked softer like this, hair damp and clinging to her neck, one of your old shirts that you left snug around her. Seeing your clothes on her, the silent admission that she’d been reaching for you while you were gone nearly broke your resolve.
Toph didn't turn around. She didn't offer a snarky comment or a welcome home. She just moved with a deliberate, quiet huff, climbing onto the bed and curling into the covers, with her back to you.
The silence in the room wasn't peaceful, it was filled with the weight of everything she wasn't saying. If you didn't know any better, you would probably think she just looked tired after a long day. But you could see the tension in her shoulders as she stiffly lay there. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the mattress so she wouldn't have to acknowledge the frantic, hopeful rhythm of your heart echoing through the floorboards.
You moved, stripping down to just your under garments, not wanting the outside clothes to touch the clean sheets. As you crawled onto the mattress, the bed groaned under your weight, but Toph remained a statue, her back still turned to you. It was only when you moved to straddle her, settling onto her lap with your thighs on either side of her hips, that you felt the sudden, sharp intake of her breath.
Being this close, you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, but more importantly, you could feel the tension. Toph's hands clenched into fists at her side, she was worrying her lip between her teeth so hard she nearly drew blood.
Over the years you have seen her run into collapsed buildings without blinking, stand toe-to-toe with the most dangerous benders in the world with her jaw set and her stance unbreakable. But here, with you in the quiet of her bedroom, stripped of her uniform and her bravado, she looked dangerously close to shattering.
You don’t think you have ever seen her look this fragile. You lifted your hand, fingers curling around her chin as you gently turned her head, forcing her to face you. Seeing those milky eyes usually so full of fire and defiance beginning to water had your heart breaking into pieces.
“Toph...” You breathed her name, the sound laced with an affection that bordered on reverence as you searched her face. “Tell me what's wrong.”
The sound of your voice, so gentle and familiar, seemed to act as a final blow against a weakening dam. She flinched, her breath hitching in a way that sounded like a sob she was trying to turn into a growl.
“What's wrong?” She repeated, her voice cracking as she finally let out a watery laugh. She tried to pull her chin from your hand, not to get away, but to hide. You didn't let her, you needed her to know she couldn't run from this. “Everything is wrong! The city is too loud, this bed is too big, the apartment is too quiet and the ground... the ground felt like it was shifting under my feet for seven days because you weren't here to keep it still.”
It was probably one of the most romantic things she has ever said to you, but you knew better than to point it out. If you teased her or made it a thing she’d retreat and bury that rare vulnerability under a layer of sarcasm and stubborn denial.
So, you just listened. You let her frustrations bleed out, her words tumbling over each other as she struggled to navigate the storm of feelings she usually kept under lock and key. Toph was a woman of action, of force. But when it came to the messy, quiet complexities of the heart, she often felt like she was punching at shadows.
She was angry, not really at you, but at the power you had over her peace of mind. She hated that she couldn't just be fine on her own anymore. You had infiltrated every layer of her life. You were in the scent of her sheets, the walls of her home, and most inconveniently, the quietest parts of her heart. The truth was, Toph didn't know how to be the iron willed, brooding chief and the woman who wore your shirt to bed when you were gone just to feel close to you.
“I missed you too, you know.” You say softly, interrupting her downward spiral. The pads of your thumbs tracing her jaw. “It was hard being away from you for so long. All I could think about was what you were doing, how your day was, what you were feeling. I was driving myself and Katara insane.”
Toph’s eyes welled up, a single, silent tear finally breaking free and trailing down her cheek. The sight of it was so rare and so heavy with the weight of her loneliness it drew you in instinctively. You leaned forward and kissed it away, your lips lingering against her skin for a moment longer than necessary, just to let her feel the warmth and the promise behind the gesture.
When you pulled away, the space between you felt electric. Toph didn't move, she remained frozen in your hold, her breathing uneven as she processed the tenderness. The frustration that had fueled her all evening seemed to evaporate, replaced by a stunned surrender. She looked smaller in that moment, now that her damp hair was framing a face that had finally run out of ways to hide.
“I mean it, Toph.” You whispered, your voice sounding much louder in the quiet room. “I was a mess. Every time I looked up at the moon, I was just counting the hours until I could get back to you.”
“Good,” Toph finally whispers, though her voice is thick, “You should be miserable. It’s only fair.”
The soft laugh that escapes you vibrates against her skin as the last of the tension finally snaps. You never want to feel that distance again, or that hollow, aching silence that made the world feel like it was titled.
Toph’s arms wind around your waist with a sudden, desperate strength, hauling you flush against her until there’s no air left between you. She buries her face in the crook of your neck, her breath hot against your pulse. You stay rooted in her lap, letting her take what she needs.
Her hands weren't gentle, they moved with an urgency that she's rarely displayed before. They glide across your body, her palms calloused and warm, mapping every inch of your ribs and spine as if she were trying to memorize every curve through her fingertips. It felt less like a caress and more like she's reclaiming her territory, her nails occasionally grazing your skin to ensure that you’re solid, real, and most importantly hers.
“Mine,” Toph mutters against your skin, her voice muffled but fierce. “Don't you dare leave me again. I don't care how many patients need healing, I'm the one who's falling apart when you're gone.”
The room falls into a charged silence as you let her possessive words hang in the air. You don't answer her, you knew when she got like this she needed to feel the declaration of your love against her skin.
So you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was a soft, bruising collision of a week’s worth of unspoken longing. Toph's lips tasted of the kind of relief that only comes with you being home.
As your mouth moves against hers, your hands finally slide beneath the hem of your shirt that she’s wearing. The feel of her warm, toned skin against your palms sends a current directly to your core. You moan into the kiss and toph drinks it in, licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue like she was starved and you were the only thing that could sate her hunger.
The feel of you pressing her into the mattress as you deepened the kiss had her entire body buzzing with need. Toph’s breath hitches in her throat, her head lolling back in total surrender as your thigh settles firmly between her legs, providing the solid pressure she’s been starving for.
Fresh tears sting Toph's eyes, blurring a world she already cannot see but now feels with so much clarity. She is moving against you with a frantic desperation now, grinding down onto your leg as if she was trying to carve her essence into your bones so you could never forget how it feels to have her against you. Every thrust was a silent scream for the relief her body has been aching for since you've been gone.
“Yes, just like that, baby,” You encourage against her lips, your voice a low, sultry vibration that shatters whatever remains of her restraint.
Toph’s hips stutter and hitch as you flex the muscle in your thigh, increasing the firm, unyielding pressure right where she needed it the most. She chases the sensation with a fevered desperation, her head pressing into the pillow as the pressure building low in her belly began to spread across her entire body.
“Are you going to come on my leg for me, pretty girl?” The question, the possessiveness of it nearly breaks her.
A choked, sobbing moan spills from her lips as her body goes rigid, her fingers clawing into your shoulders.
“Yes!” Her breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps, and she nods frantically, her forehead bumping against yours as you kiss her sloppily. “Fuck, I missed you so much baby you feel so good against me.”
You lift up, breaking the kiss just enough to see the flush spreading across her cheeks. Your hands roam back up her sides, tracing the lean muscle of her ribs before finally molding the soft swell of her breasts. The moment your fingers make contact, Toph arches sharply off the bed, her body a live wire of unspent tension that she knew only you could handle.
She continues to grinds her core against your leg with fevered thrusts, her movements desperate and uncoordinated as she tries to close every inch of space between you. You felt the sting of Toph's fingers as they dug into your arms with a bruising intensity. Toph hitches her hips higher, trying to swallow the solid strength of your thigh.
Your own breathing was ragged as you watched her become consumed by her pleasure, succumbing to the feel of you as she fucked herself against your thigh. You can see how close Toph was to shattering in the way her lips were parted in a silent, breathless plea.
You give her peaked nipple a sharp flick before rolling it between your fingers, applying just enough pressure to draw a sharp cry from her lips. Your own core aches, clenching around nothing as you watch Toph become completely undone right before your eyes.
“Baby-” She was grasping at your shoulders trying to pull you down onto her more so she could feel the full weight of you on top of her. “Please I need to feel you, I need more.”
Your hands were tight around her hips, fingers indenting the creamy skin there. You stilled her movements and Toph whined. Your eyes traveled down between your bodies that were still pressed together. Your entire thigh was coated with her slick, and the sight of it had you groaning deep in your throat.
Fuck, this woman was going to be the death of you.
You allow your fingers to trace a slow, deliberate line down the center of her body, your nails lightly grazing her skin and catching on the hard ridges of her abs. Toph's stomach flexes instinctively under your touch. Her labored breathing following the path of your hand, acting as a physical map of her anticipation.
When you finally reach the soaked lace of her underwear, a deep, guttural moan escapes you. You slide down the length of the bed, settling between her trembling thighs to hover over the damp, ruined silk of her underwear that was a direct testament of just how much she’s been aching for you since you've been gone.
Your nostrils flare as you lean in, the scent of her arousal overwhelming your senses as you press your face against the fabric of her underwear.
You bury your face in her soaked cunt, the bridge of your nose brushes against her clit through the thin fabric. Toph arches her back sharply off the bed, a low, involuntary sound vibrates in her throat because of how sensitive she is. Toph's fingers tangle desperately in your hair, her nails scratching at your scalp to pull you even closer to where she needed you the most.
“Please don't tease me.” She begs hoarsely.
“I won't." You breathed, voice wrecked. "I promise, I won't. Just let me admire you baby, it's been so long.”
You don’t wait another second, your flattened tongue darts out, licking a long stripe across the soaked fabric, right where the heat is most intense. The thin fabric only adds a rough, tantanizing friction that has Toph nearly screaming.
Every time your tongue swirls over her through the material, she jolts, her hips bucking upward in a rabid, clumsy attempt to meet the pressure. Her fingers still cling to your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she pulled. The combination of the heavy, wet heat of your tongue and the rasp of the fabric was pushing her over the edge far quicker, than you have ever seen her come undone before.
You continued to make out with her pussy, slow at first, before you couldn't take not feeling the warmth of her on your tongue anymore and you just about tore the fabric off of her and discarded it on the floor.
With the last barrier finally discarded, the cool air hit her aching cunt making her shiver despite the heat radiating between you. Toph’s breathing became a series of shallow, broken hitches as she lay exposed, her thighs wrapped around you trembling in need.
You moaned deep in your throat at the sight of her swollen pussy lips that were glistening like jewels with her slick heat. Her clit was erect, the bundle of nerves throbbing and begging for you to wrap your lips around it.
You kissed the inside of her thighs first, nipping and biting the skin there. You were savoring each quiver of her body, each tug in your hair, and desperate demand for you to stop teasing her.
You only give in to her after you are satisfied with the marks you left on her inner thighs. You paused only for a second, hovering just shy of where she needed you the most. You puckered your lips, blowing warm air on her dripping cunt in one last effort to tease her. Toph's toes curl against the matters, her entire body stiffening as she mewled.
“Baby please,” Toph whined, her breath hitching into a near sob as the pressure building inside her core becomes an unbearable ache. “Please, I cant take it-”
You responded by parting her lips with your fingers, licking a stripe up her soaked cunt to silence her cries. Toph’s warm slick coated your tongue and you moan at the taste of her. You pulled away just a fraction, your darkened eyes catching the string of Toph's wetness that dripped from your own tongue.
“God, baby. You're soaked its so fucking sexy.” You moaned, before diving back in with more fever.
Toph arches off the bed up into your mouth, her legs completely falling open as she offers herself to you. Your tongue delves deep into her folds sweeping her cunt as you feel the flutters of her pussy walls as they constrict.
A broken cry is forced from her lungs. Toph's head snaps back against the pillow as her fingers tighten their grip in your hair, pulling you closer with a strength born from her earthbending.
The feel of your warm, wet tongue against her needy cunt has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Toph begins to move with you, her hips lifting to meet every firm stroke of your tongue. It became a desperate dance, her breath coming in quick gasps as you finally take what’s yours.
Your fingers smooth over her hips before sliding upward, your palms spreading wide over her taut, trembling stomach. You interlock your fingers over her midsection, using the weight and grip of your hands to secure her firmly in place against the mattress as your tongue teased her entrance before slipping inside and curling.
“Yes! Your tongue is so fucking deep, baby.” Toph's entire body was twitching, her breath uneven and sharp, her thighs tightened around your head, as you fucked her deliciously with your tongue.
You used your waterbending to amplify each stroke of your tongue. Playing around with the temperature, cooling the slick just enough for her to thrust into your mouth.
You ate Toph out like she was a deity you were worshiping, with each flick of your tongue serving as a desperate devotion. You were continuing to fluctuate the temperature as you fucked her with a reverence that bordered on something holy. Every deliberate stroke you gave her was a silent prayer her body was openly receiving.
Your own wetness was dripping down your thighs as you watched the woman you love completely give herself to the divine weight of your focus. Her body shuddering as she began to believe in the devotion you’re pouring into her.
The room echoed with the wet sounds of your consumption as your mouth suctioned around her slit to apply more pressure as you ate her out sloppily. Her wetness covered your cheeks and dripped down your chin but you didn't stop, you wanted to be baptized in her essence to the point it became apart of you.
Another melodic sound escapes Toph then. Part sob, part moan as she tries to lift off the bed but your arms are locked around her midsection holding her in place. Toph's hands moved from your hair to press against your cheeks instead, guiding you even deeper into her cunt as you tongue fucked her. Your jaw was starting to ache but you were so drunk on her pussy and the sweet sounds that were coming from her parted lips that if you died in that moment you would die happily where you belonged.
“You fuck me so good baby, you're the best I've ever had ahh..”
Toph's hands release you, tangling in the sheets, and then a pillow, as they desperately search for something to anchor herself to as the world was currently spinning out of her control.
You watched, burying yourself deeper, before licking your back up to her pulsing clit. Your tongue swirls around the hardened bundle, flicking it, as your now chilled lips wrapped around the sensitive nerves, sucking hard. You used your waterbending to make the wetness that pooled in your mouth and coated your tongue vibrate. It was a electric thrum that grew with each pulse of her clit that you could feel with you blood bending.
“Oh my god, baby I-”
The release hits her like a physical shock, starting deep in her core and radiating outward in powerful waves that pulse against your tongue. Toph lifts her hips off the bed, a loud, broken, keening sound tore from her throat that was quickly muffled by the pillow she was biting down onto.
You watch as her hands clench around the fabric with enough force to nearly rip the seams of the pillowcase, her legs shake uncontrollably as her chest heaves with every rapid breath.
You slowed your strokes but didn't stop your ministrations, her slick pooled in your mouth and you moaned, relishing in the taste as you licked the heavy current seeping out of her. The sound of it vibrated against her cunt causing her thighs to clench around your head once again.
Toph’s body continues to shudder in powerful aftershocks well after her release, her muscles still twitching from the phantom vibrations of your tongue. As the tension finally begins to ease, you release your firm hold on her, leaning down to place one last kiss to her center, before trailing your lips along the sensitive skin of both thighs.
You slide back up her shaking body, the heat of your skin the only thing she can really register at the moment. When you finally capture her lips again, the kiss is different, no longer a demand, but a slow sensual joining of lips and tongue.
Toph had met you halfway, a long, content sigh sounding in her throat. Her arms, still weak, find their way around your neck, pulling you down as if she’s trying to merge her very breath with yours in the quiet air of the room.
Toph moaned at the taste of herself on your tongue, her hands gripping your shoulders before sliding down your back and over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. She was already sliding your ruined panties down your legs, her fingers desperately searching for your slick heat.
Your forehead rests against hers, your breath coming out in hot, harsh breaths as you spoke. “Baby if you keep doing that I won't be able to stop and I know you need rest.”
“You need to come.” Toph breathed against your lips. Already pulling you down so your thighs could slip between hers, aligning your slit against hers. “I want you to come with me this time please?”
Hearing her beg, something she rarely does, breaks something deep inside you. Toph wasn't just asking, you knew what she really craved was the intimacy of it, feeling you close as you come together. You felt the heat of the night bleed away until all that was left was the lingering arousal and the profound love you both have for eachother. You could never deny this woman. As long as she was yours she would have everything she desires.
You press a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling the dampness off her skin that was your own doing. “Okay baby.”
You shifted, slipping a pillow under her hips to elevate them. You then hooked one of her thighs over your hip, aligning yourself until your sopping cunt was flush against hers.
“Fuck” Your chorused whimpers echoed in the room as you slid your wet center against her, rolling your hips before grinding down in quick burst.
Toph's fingers dug into your wrist as you pressed down into her, her leg hooked over your shoulder as you smeared your wetness all over her cunt.
“Spirits, you're so wet for me baby you're going to make me come again.” Toph says, her head was strewn back againt the pillows, her hair spawled across the sheets as the heat between you became smoldering.
You could feel her all over, the way her clit delved between your folds. The sounds of your combined wetness filled the room mingled with your ragged breaths. The intensity of it was enough to have your own thighs stuttering. Each drag of your clit against hers sent waves of pleasure that erupted throughout your entire body.
“You feel so good, baby. Fuck, you’re so wet and perfect against me,” You growl, the words thick with a hunger you can no longer contain.
Your hands tighten around her thigh, your fingers digging into the flesh there hard enough to bruise as your pace quickens to match her as she grinds up into you. You kiss her ankle, dragging your tongue along her calve as Toph's thighs started to shake, her breath catching as the press of your warm pussy against hers has her nearly vibrating off the bed.
She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shoulders as you rut against her. The air in the room was now filled with the desperate sounds of the both of you breaking.
“I love you-” Toph's voice breaks, the words dying in her throat as you grind against her with a raw, relentless pressure. “I love you so much fuck!”
Your hips buck, your pace quickening as you reach your own breaking point. “I love you too. Now come for me baby, I want your pretty pussy to come all over me.”
Toph shatters at the sound of the command with a sharp, piercing cry that is instantly swallowed by the force of your lips crashing against hers. The sound vibrates between you, raw and unbridled, as you roll your hips in a way that draws out every last wave of her orgasm.
You collapse forward, completely on top of her now as you rut into her with quick, powerful thrusts, every muscle in your body coiling until the tension snaps and your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your entire body shake. A deep, guttural sound is torn from your throat, muffled by the heat of the kiss, as you press yourself firmly against her.
For several long, breathless seconds, the world ceases to exist, there is only the pulse of your shared release and the crushing weight of your bodies merging into one.
You bury your face in the crook of Toph’s neck, both of your bodies slick with sweat and the lingering heat of your shared intensity. You’re panting, the air in the room was still thick and heavy from your release.
Toph’s hands move lazily up your spine, her fingers tracing soothing patterns that ground you both as a peacefulness settles in the room. She lets out a small, characteristic snort after a moment. Her voice was still breathy and rough from exertion as she spoke.
“Well,” Toph teased, you could feel the smirk playing on her lips, “That’s one way to make it up to me.”
You hum tiredly, the lazy patterns she’s tracing on your spine acting as a sedative. Between the grueling travel and the intensity of the night, exhaustion was finally pulling at you.
“Anything for my baby,” You mumble sleepily, your voice muffled against her skin as your eyes drift shut. “I hope you’re comfortable, because I’m not moving.”
When she spoke next, her voice was a rare, soft hum, a sound Toph reserves only for the quietest hours of the night, exclusively for you.
“It’s okay, my love,” Toph reassures, her words a warm breath against your temple. Her arms tighten around you, pulling you into the solid safety of her embrace as if she’s shielding you from the rest of the world.
“Go to sleep,” Toph whispers, her fingers continuing their slow patterns against your back. “I’ll be right here holding you when you wake.”
Now secure in her hold and her promise settling in the air around you, the last of your exhaustion finally takes over. As you drift off to sleep the room fades into a peaceful silence, leaving only the synchronized beat of your two hearts.
AN: this has been sitting in my drafts for so long bc of rewrites and I still hate it :(
ʚ SMUTWITHOUTPLOT. ɞ People say your trio is strong and unbreakable, but little do they know — your two besties, whom have seen you naked, in tears, and into submission, are in a poly relationship with you.
MDNI. dacryphilia. being fucked with a strap. fingering. pussy eating. giving and receiving. blindfold foreplay. hair pulling. 69 — both devours you at the same time.
• kudos to Shoko and Utahime girlies ‹𝟹
(non-canon fanfic)
It's either you've been cursed with forlornness, or men who can uphold your standards simply remain out of reach — or perhaps the other way around.
4 years earlier, you keep meeting and falling for the wrong people. "No, it's not your fault" is what your super-homosexual friend Gojo Satoru would say, coddling you like it's a daily routine for him while you're on your last breath of crashing out. What does he know about dating men? duh, probably everything; he's a guy with another guy.
The hottest man you know, Suguru Geto, is who he's dating right now. Your highschool crush who he managed to swoop off his feet the moment he oggled his eyes at him. You knew that Gojo has the same type as you, and you're not mad at him for winning who you've been silently chasing. Now tho? you're starting to think he have taken all the good men (Geto) from your options.
You've dated cheapskates, dweebish feins, manchilds, and older men who social media failed to remind you, are complete assholes. Not a second date was given to you, and most of them wanted to get to fucking. If you've had the chance to check out their print, you'd say all of them are an a-size.
"I give up." You'd grumbled to death, face planted deeply onto the dining table in Gojo's condominium. It would be the same thing for you to say and at the same place for you to say it — "I hate men, and I hate how I'd always go to your place for comfort." If Gojo were to take your words literally then he would've kicked you out by now. So, what does he do this time to make you feel a whole lot better about yourself? It's to drink out with him and Geto. Of course you'll only just be third wheeling, you kidding? they're gay.
From what you can remember, you were brought into the bar to meet someone, you thought that Gojo had finally felt so bad for you that he got you a new guy to date, and hopefully it was someone he already told him about your pros, and only pros. That saves more effort and time of getting to know eachother for weeks until it leads to none.
But no, he didn't specify which gender — and he certainly didn't specify what the person's name is. It hit you like a dagger to see your ex-bestfriend Utahime being the one he set you up with. "Gojo, I'm fucking straight." — "um, yeah, but didn't you also say you wanted to try something new this time?" He'd respond back to you with. You're straight; your whole life you always have been. But seeing Utahime up close after 7 years of not seeing eachother, breaking up after highschool graduation? she gotten hotter. Not like it means anything to you though, now would it?
Well it definitely doesn't now, because she's taken. Utahime's girlfriend explains as to why she interacts with Gojo, even with the pure hatred she has for him. Shoko Ieiri, a woman who's only 2 years younger than you and Utahime, but dress like she's experienced (both in fucking and romance terms). In other words, she's hot too.
Ugh, two hot people dating eachother, and you're quite jealous of it. If anything, you'd rather be third wheeling in Utahime and Shoko's relationship instead the one you're currently dragged in. Atleast that way, you can also make friends and become with them, even if it's platonic.
"Oh, you wish." the last thing you heard from Shoko before being pinned to the bathroom wall, kissed messily by her lips. The taste of cherry lingers in your mouth, and you could barely feel your tongue — it's so numb because of Shoko. "What makes you think you can be anywhere near Utahime?" she sounds jealous, but why is she sneaking her fingers in your skirt, setting your damp panty aside if she is? this doesn't make any sense for you, being fucked by your ex bestfriend's girlfriend. It feels so good, yet so wrong.
When Shoko is already finger-deep into your pussy, Utahime walks in. Shit, you forgot this is a public female's bathroom!
"Utahime, this isn't what it looks like-" you were driven into panick, words stuttering out like you just finished drinking tequila shots within the past 30 minutes. Shoko, making no effort in keeping you in her grasp, lets you run towards Utahime. You get down on your knees — thoughts of losing her for ruining her life again ran through your mind. "It's not really like that, she started it—" you begged, unaware of Shoko's presence sneaking up behind you.
You're sandwiched between the two, but your focus was still on Utahime. She chuckled, flicking your head up with just her finger under your jaw. "Fuck, don't cry like that." Utahime muttered. What? Why isn't she mad? In fact, why does it sound like she's turned on by you?
Everything after that felt like a complete blur. You were drunk, but sober enough to feel every lick, touch, and moans the two women made by fucking you inside the bathroom. Now you're laying naked on the floor. The door is locked, and the three of you will most likely get into trouble for holding up a line.
You were awoken from your slumber after being sexed on — first thing you saw was Shoko's hand reaching out to you.
"you're cute." She remarked, seeing you all cuddled up by Utahime. You forgot how strong your best friend is since you last saw her. "Me and my girlfriend wants you" Shoko said with casualty — "Would you like to be in the relationship with us?"
...What?
4 years later, you're on the bed of Shoko Ieiri, whimpering and muttering incoherent words as different sizes of dick strip are being tested in you.
"Mmm..! Shoko—!" You moan out, squirming beneath her as she pushes in a 4 inch dick — thick in width — right inside your abused and wet pussy. She buckles tightly onto the strap as she thrusts it in and out of you to ecstasy. You swear you could feel your eye sockets pop out, when more tears fills your eyes. It wasn't just a dick strap she has you taking — she has a vibrator shoved into your anal to double the stimulation. Nothing gives her more satisfaction than seeing you beg for mercy. "Shoko I can't take it anymore..I'm too tired." you cry out. In her vocabulary, that's a signal for her to go in further.
"that's not our safe word, baby" she cooes into your ear before taking out the dick out of you. Bits of cum splats out — seems like she's finished milking every drop you have. She takes her strap off, placing it down on the couch with the other ones she had used on you — 5 inch, 6 inch, 7 inch, 8 inches. Too many to count, and too many to take in; you swear your own pussy is completely loose by now.
"Seems like you were screaming more for the vibrator and not my strap this time." Shoko says as she takes out a cigarette, lighting it up, "I bet you barely felt the 4 inches inside you.", then she huffs out clouds of smoke after. "I shouldn't have overdone you with the 8 inches strap. You're just too cute when you cry, you know?"
You're listening to every word she says, but both your body and voice box are unfunctional. This is the third time she used to fuck you this week. Her and Utahime fought over something and you don't know what — she could've punished Utahime this way instead! "why did it have to be me??"
"Hm? Excuse me?" Your question didn't quite reach Shoko's ear, having her back turned on you that is. "I mean, why did it have to be me you're punishing instead of Utahime?" You ask, this time more clearly. Shoko just chuckles at your curiosity, like you were supposed to know the answer to your own question. "It's quite simple than you think." Shoko adds before walking up to you now. "You are my and Utahime's stress relief." — she reaches for your ear, caressing the shell with both her lips and murmurs. "Between the three of us, you're easier to submit. Even if it's something as harsh as BDSM, you'd still follow through." Shoko then grabs a plump of your boobs, squeezing it until you let out a squeal. "and besides, you'll have to talk to Utahime for the both of us. I'm assuming she'd be home by now, stressed and in need of someone to comfort her that's not me."
Her predicament was right, and completely accurate — Utahime is back home, yet didn't ring the door bell nor give you both a message that she'll be arriving soon. She looks completely drained out of her energy: hair frizzled, makeup all dried up, and buttons of her polo left unloosed. You can't tell if she got horny at work or it's her taskload that fucked up her outfit.
Even if she came home like that, she walks up to you. Shoko, who's purposely ignoring the demeanor she has on Utahime right now, walks up to her and gives her a kiss.
"Baby, I miss you." Shoko says between her kisses on Utahime's neck. "How was work?" — she was left with an unfazed expression and a blank response. Shoko sighs as she sees her walking up to you now to give you a kiss.
Utahime finds your lips, lingering her tongue into yours for a brief moment. She knew you'd be too tired for a deep one like the usual. You seem completely worn out too in her eyes. "You look like you had some fun." She remarks on your half-naked appearance. You really had no shame to change clothes?
"ah..well, yeah." You utter out. After that, Utahime walks inside the shared-bedroom, closing the door shut behind her. That was it: Shoko's amused by the way she got treated back there. "Can you handle her for me, baby?" Shoko asks with a deadpan smile. "She always open up to you whenever we fight."
ah, this again. You're lucky you didn't got into Utahime's bad side. She's quite the person to hold grudges.
Your statement about her wasn't entirely false either; when you open the door to take a peek on how she is, she snapped, thinking it was Shoko who came to visit her.
"Oh, it's just you." Utahime sounds much more relieved to see you pop up. She was in the middle of changing clothes — nowhere near close to being completely undressed. "Could you unclasp my bra for me? it's being stubborn again."
You listened, coming up to her and hoping to say the right words as you help her undress. "Hey uh, Utahime" you muttered, "Look, I get that you're upset towards Shoko for what she did last week.. but it was a blind mistake. Could you atleast forgive her?"
Utahime dismisses your request with a scoff, but not mad enough to pull away from you. "Baby, she invited that imbecile friend of hers to our dinner, thinking it'd be great for a triple date." she grunts out of frustration. Ah, it was that white-haired 'nitwit' she was mad about. "Do you think I'd forgive her for asking Gojo and Geto to join us when we didn't talk about it? — her reason is undeniably valid.
Hell, even you probably wouldn't want to have another couple joining at the table without you being informed about it. "still, atleast cut her some slack... she's close with the two."
Maybe you shouldn't have said anything after she proved her point.
Because now you're being pinned to the bed by her. "Then let's settle this." you forgot how strong Utahime is whenever she gets the chance to physically handle you. Now you're squirming beneath her. "You can repay Shoko's fault to me." She starts to slid her fingers pass through your exposed panty, fondling over your folds before dipping a tip of her digit into your pussy. "— but only if you let me touch you."
Oh, how bad can it be? Not bad actually, just incredibly humiliating.
You didn't expect her to have you use your own underwear as a gag ball.
"What's wrong" Utahime asks, naked and riding your poor pussy. "Didn't you want me to forgive Shoko?" You couldn't give out a proper reply, only whimpers and mumbles mixed up together: "I do but I can taste my own self just sucking on this!" — you wanted to say if only it didn't turn out so incoherent.
She moves to your thigh to slip in two fingers inside you, watching you cry out a moan that gets blocked by your panty you're gagging on, all the while feeling the way your walls clench around her. "Mm..so cute.."
She gets off of you and sits up on the bed, sinking her knees down into the cushions. "If you keep moaning like that then maybe I'll forgive Shoko for upsetting me."
Utahime looks around the bed, catching a slick cloth blending in with the pillows. She grabs it which was just above your head, then shows it to you. "See this?" she ask rhetorically, stretching the cloth tightly. "We should have you blindfolded. You'd look even better without seeing a clue on what I'll be doing to you.
She's reaching close to you now — she was about to. Just until that, she feels someone's breath tickling the shell of her ear from behind. To both of your surprise, it was Shoko; you didn't see her come in through the door.
"Awee..having fun without me?" Shoko says as she holds Utahime from behind, arms wrapped around her waist. "Not inviting me over to fuck is a different kind of story Utahime, you know that very well."
She grabs one of Utahime's breast, squeezing it hard to drag out a loud groan out of her mouth. There was smugness in the way Shoko touches her as you watch, seeing the way Utahime would voluntarily open her legs up for Shoko before she slips in her digit inside of her. "Let's all have fun this time." She said before nibbling down Utahime's earlobe. "And the blindfold? I got a better idea who can use it besides you."
Fuck.. you never have been this turned on before throughout your relationship with them.
'"It tastes so good'".. did Utahime planned to eat pineapple beforehand? You can't get enough of eating her pussy out.
"Mnm.." you moan against her hole, dripping wet for your tongue — while your own pussy gets fucked by a vibrator that shoko stuck up in you.
"Doesn't it feel nice, Utahime?" Shoko asks while fondling Utahime's breasts. "You look prettier when you don't see us while you're still upset."
"Tch..damn you." Utahime's words flow out incoherently while she's being eaten out by you, unable to form any thoughts or petty insults towards Shoko. This may just be yours and Shoko's favourite part about her: She becomes a moaning mess when she's being put in a vulnerable spot.
Shoko squeezes Utahime's breasts harder, catching a moan out of her mouth. "Still mad at me?" The response to that was obvious, and it was dead silence. Well, maybe not that silent at all.
The two closes in on eachother with their mouths, tangling their tongues together like a fight for dominance. You're currently on all fours while sucking the remaining cum Utahime has to offer to you, unable to see what's happening right in front of you before you look up.
You see Shoko and Utahime making out, one obviously taking the lead over the other. Both of their bodies bare and sweating was too much for you to handle, you could almost feel your fingers sliding down to play with your own pussy as you watch. Albeit Shoko was quick enough to notice this.
"Awe look at you over there all hot and bothered." She giggles. She takes Utahime's blindfold off with a quick swift of her fingers, revealing the tears of pleasure Utahime hid behind the cloth. "You want your turn now, hm?"
You gulped at Shoko's question, but you didn't say no either. She pushes Utahime down, having her land on top of you. "Both of you, make out with each other." She says as she clicks her tongue. "
No words did she say after that, but you can see the way Utahime's expression warms up to you. You didn't bother to think of something to say to her, but went straight for her lips and start delving your tongue down into her mouth.
"Mm..ahh..." — The sounds Utahime makes are so cute, and it'd be even cuter if you can have your eyes open to watch her.
"Yeah..that's it.." Shoko groans while she fingers herself, watching you and Utahime fight for dominance. Utahime wins eventually; she has you pinned down onto the bed while laying on your chest. She lifts your head by your chin, then pulls you forward by your hair. It's painful, but even Utahime gets aroused just seeing you cry from the pain.
"Ah!— Utahime!—" a tear runs down your eye as she grips hard onto your hair. She's doing this on purpose now, especially with Shoko watching while she's on the brink of climaxing.
"Ah..you're so cute, baby.." Shoko says, referring to you moaning and crying for both of them. She moves towards you and Utahime, crawling under you while Utahime lifts you up. "Lay down on my face." She commands. You couldn't move your body on your own because of Utahime carrying you, up until she drops you down onto Shoko — your pussy lands perfectly onto her open mouth.
Squealing in defense to being the one taken under control, you wiggle your body away before you hit the headboard by accident. Shoko on the other hand, and with how you keep moving around mindless about your pussy being soaked deep into her mouth, is turned on with how much you're trying to escape from them. "You act like we don't do this every week." Shoko muffles to you before delving her tongue deep into your hole. You moan in response to her licks and sucks, unaware that another tongue has joined in on the conversation. You can faint right now by how excruciatingly pleasuring it is.
"Mm..oh.." Utahime moans alongside you, but eating you out next to Shoko. "You taste so good.."
"doesn't she now?" Shoko's eyes wander to Utahime, more thirsty for you than she is. "Ah..we can keep going until you cum, princess .."
Fuck, it's too much-
You feel like you're about to burst.
Like, really burst.
Both Shoko and Utahime sticks both of their finger inside of your already-wet hole, and you can feel your skin clasping around their digit as you let out your gushing release.
Not long after, you pass out by how hard you came.
You can't remember how long you've been out, but you feel your two girlfriends wrapping their arms around you as you're sandwiched in the middle by their breasts.
And also your friend Gojo hysterically shouting after he walked in on you three post-threesome.
"Ugh! Fucking homos" — coming from him ironically — "keep the door locked next time, god.."
Best to take his advice next time; can't be loud and have bitches like him nose around your business, right?
Summary: After your accident, it was hard to find the motivation to do anything. Your therapist all but matched you into Sam’s Boxing and Martial Arts Gym. Perhaps learning to live again wasn’t the lonely battle you’d once thought.
Pairing: Disabled!Reader x Jack Abbot
Word Count: 11.3k
Tags/Warning: disability, depression, yearning, hurt/comfort, angry and grieving a new disability, banter and snark, a rough shift for jack, I do use the word cripple but it’s the disabled reader using it
Note: Been sitting on this bad boy for awhile, enjoy.
-- -- --
You sat in your car for a long time. You knew that someone named Romero was expecting you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about being late. The before-you would have broken out into hives about not being ten minutes early, but now, it seemed so unimportant. You were halfway tempted to go back home, but Romero would tattle on you to your physical therapist and to your mental health therapist and you wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks.
Sighing, you swung open your door and grabbed your elbow crutches from the passenger seat. Still managing to get them stuck on the console, you had to awkwardly contort your body to unstick them and finally hoist yourself out of your car. Your right leg worked just fine, but the left, that bitch, was weak and in pain almost constantly. Today it felt like a mild burning, but that was kind in comparison to most days.
Grumbling under your breath, you continued your slow walk to the front door of the nondescript building. The faded sign out front said “Sam’s Boxing and Martial Arts.” Well, fuck Sam and fuck his martial arts. And fuck life for putting you here.
Easing the door open, you were greeted with a rubbery, sweaty smell. How enticing, you thought. You surveyed the gym. It was in one of those weird warehouses that seemed to always exist between a sketchy looking mechanic and a random flooring store. The garage door was open and the inside was probably as big as half a football field. It seemed much smaller on the outside.
There were about half a dozen people scattered around the space, all of them already sweating, already moving like this was somewhere they actually wanted to be. The gym itself had exposed beams, concrete walls, and rows of worn black mats taped together. Industrial fans rattled overhead, pushing warm, stale air around.
There was only one wall of mirrors, instead of encompassing the whole place. No shitty inspirational slogans. Just heavy bags thudding against the walls and the low, constant noise of bodies in motion. So far it was the only promising part of this place. Your physical therapist had fucking obnoxious posters on the wall you wanted to rip down about once a minute.
One man near the center of the mats was hard to miss. Short, thick through the shoulders, built like someone had carved him out of a block of stone and forgotten to include the roundness most humans had. He was barefoot, warm brown hands wrapped, quietly correcting another guy’s grip. His shaved head gleamed under the fluorescent lights; he had a mole above his right ear. Despite the fact he hadn’t looked at you yet, you had the uncomfortable feeling he already knew you were there.
Off to the side, in the weight area, a freckled, silver-haired man was finishing a set on the bench press. Middle-aged, fit, and clearly disciplined. He was missing his right leg. Next to the bench sat a wheelchair, scuffed with a single “Go Army” sticker. When he sat up and transferred into it, he did it smoothly, without hesitation. You were jealous of his ease and competence, thinking back at how your crutches had been caught less than five minutes ago. He caught your glance and gave a brief nod, neutral and unreadable, before rolling toward the dumbbell rack.
Two women were drilling on the other set of mats nearby. One tall with alabaster skin, her braid swinging as she corrected her partner’s foot placement. The other was shorter, sturdier, with dark brown, almost black skin, moving slowly through ground transitions, clearly in insane control of every muscle and joint in her body. Even the before-you couldn’t do that. Neither of them stared at you. They barely acknowledged you at all, which was a relief.
The rest of the men filled out the space in various stations—one shadowboxing and an older guy stretching his hips with a bright pink foam roller.
You tightened your grip on your crutches, your left leg already burning in that familiar, irritating way. Of course this place was smelly and too hot. Of course it was full of people who looked like they actually wanted to move their bodies. Filled with people whose bodies hadn’t betrayed them. At least the silver fox wasn’t stuck with the crippling pain you were dealing with.
A voice finally cut through the noise. “You can leave your stuff over there. Shoes off and keep your water.”
You looked up to see the short, muscular guy nodding toward a battered wooden bench lined with gym bags and water bottles. You suspected this was Romero. His tone was neutral, and he pointed to a tilted cubby shelf. You didn’t bring much, so you took off your sweatshirt, slowly removed your shoes, wincing, and shoved them and your phone into a shitty cubby.
You made your way toward the bench, every step a sharp pain from your nerves. No one hovered or even looked at you. They just kept doing what they were doing. It was the first time no one paid attention to you.
It felt weird. You didn’t want pity…well, maybe you wanted a little bit of pity. You certainly felt pitiful.
“I’m Romero,” he said. His voice was low and gravely. He held out his hand. You shook it. You might be a simmering bottle of anger, but you were still polite.
“This is the regular crew. Marci and T’neysha are sparring. Gregory is over there on the bag. Richard is stretching is old man body—”
“Fuck off!” Called Richard. He was the man on the pink foam roller.
“—and Jack is over there by the dumbbells. He’s a talker and it’s all weird.”
“I don’t pay the gym fees to get bullied,” Jack said good naturedly.
“At some point I’ll have you working with him on a few things. He’s been without a leg for a while and I’m sure he’ll have some tips for you,” Romero continued, barely cracking a smile.
“Because all cripples want to know each other,” you grumbled under your breath. Romero probably didn’t hear but you muttered a quiet, “Sorry,” just in case.
“Look, your PT is a friend of mine. He gave me the overview of what you’re dealing with. You will always be in pain, and if you don’t accept that now you’ll just be making it harder on yourself. Take the resources, and do that work. It isn’t fair, but it’s the hand you’ve been dealt. I don’t tolerate self-pity.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Fine,” you said. “I’ll keep the pity with my keys.”
“Good. First thing I’m going to do is teach you how to fall.”
You followed him to the edge of the mats, irritation simmering just under your skin. The floor looked soft until you actually sat down, the dense rubber immediately upsetting your hips and spine—both of which were far more sensitive after your accident.
Romero dropped down across from you with the kind of ease that made your joints feel like shitty bargain basement acquisitions and not a part of your body evolved to actually work.
“The most important thing for mobility disabilities,” he said, “is learning how to fall and get off the ground without hurting yourself.”
You snorted. “Bold of you to assume I’m not already an expert at falling.”
He didn’t smile. “The kind of falling that won’t cause you searing pain.”
Even to your grumpy, pissed off brain—that didn’t sound bad.
He showed you how to lower yourself to one hip instead of collapsing straight down, using your hands to guide the motion and keep your weight off your bad leg, and how to do it without hurting your wrists or arms. He showed you what to do when your leg gave out or when you lost your balance.
“Lean away from your bad side, catch yourself with your arms. Keep your head up.”
You tried it. Your left leg complained immediately, but the movement didn’t send pain shooting up your body like usual. That was…fucking annoying. You had been prepared to hate this more. Unfortunately, it was turning out to be useful.
“Again,” Romero said.
You did it again. Less wobble this time. For the next thirty minutes Romero had you fall, slide, and one time he even pushed you, all to make sure you could land without hurting yourself. Next, he had you practice rolling onto your back from your side without twisting your leg. Then rolling back up again, using your arms and core instead of momentum.
“Your legs help when they can,” he said. “Your upper body does the rest.”
You gritted your teeth through the burn in your arms. At least arm pain felt earned instead of appearing without warning and ruining your day.
After a few minutes, Romero demonstrated a basic breakfall—slapping the mat with his arm as he leaned back to disperse the impact. It was more technique than what you started with.
“You’re not landing flat,” he clarified, already anticipating the glare you were giving him. “We’re training muscle memory. You don’t want to think about it when it happens.”
He had you practice the arm movement alone first. Then the lean. Then the controlled descent, stopping well before your back hit the mat.
“Chin tucked. Don’t let your head whip.”
You followed his instructions, stiff and suspicious, but nothing screamed in protest. No sharp pain. No electric fire down your leg. Just the dull, familiar burn that never really left.
Romero watched your form. “Good. This will help make sure you don’t reinjure yourself.”
He moved on to showing you how to shift your weight on the mat, how to scoot backward using your hands, how to turn without twisting your knee, how to get from sitting to lying down without feeling like gravity was personally singling you out.
The work was deeply unglamorous. Ilya, your physical therapist, had insisted that martial arts would help your body. Maybe it would help it heal, but more likely it would just help you learn how to live in your new reality. Illya, in his slight Slavic accent had said,
“I helped you walk. Romero will help you run, metaphorically. I don’t recommend running right now.”
“I’d rather die,” you snapped.
“But then you’d ruin my hardwork,” he pouted and you couldn’t help the small snort.
By the time Romero finally nodded and said, “That’s enough for today,” your shoulders ached, your leg burned, and your patience was hanging by a thread.
“That’s it?” you asked.
“For day one,” he replied. “You learned how to fall and with one fucked up leg, you’ll be falling a lot.”
Rude. You thought.
You reached for your crutches, irritation simmering in your chest. You weren’t inspired. You weren’t grateful. You weren’t magically okay with any of this, but at least the next time you fell you wouldn’t need help getting up.
As you gingerly limped back to your car, you heard someone call your name. You paused and looked behind you. Jack was rolling up beside you. He had a gym bag in his lap and was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
“I’m Jack,” he said.
“Romero mentioned,” you replied. Your tone was short.
“How long ago were you hurt?”
“Seven months.”
“Ah, still angry at the world then?” He asked.
“So what if I am?”
He held up his hand and said, “You should be. It sucks. But at some point that anger will eat you alive.”
“And how would you know?”
It was a dumb question and you both knew it.
He handed you a piece of paper, and said. “Look, if you’re ever thinking about taking the exit lane from life, give me a call first.”
“I don’t know you, dude,” you said.
“You don’t, but I’ve been where you are. Sometimes, days like today even, it feels like a million knives are stabbing a leg I don’t have anymore.”
“You’re still in pain?”
“Phantom limb pain. The leg is gone, but the brain is having a hard time with it. Or that’s the theory. It hurts like a bitch.”
“Nerve injury from a car accident,” you said quietly. “Got hit by a soccer mom running late for school pick up.”
“Rough. Mine was war, so I have some great survivor’s guilt to go with mine,” Jack joked. You almost smiled. Hell, a corner of your lip twitched. “If you haven’t, a therapist is a really smart call after an injury like this.”
“I have one,” you said.
“Well, look, I’m here most mornings after I get off work, so as you start coming more often, don’t be a stranger. We have to stick together.”
He rolled away and you couldn’t help but feel grudgingly charmed by the man.
-- -- --
You didn’t become a regular overnight. For the first month, you showed up once a week, sometimes twice if Ilya guilt-tripped you hard enough. Romero never commented on the gaps. He just adjusted the session to wherever your body was that day. Some days it was still all about falling without panicking, learning how to hit the mat without sending lightning bolts of pain up your spine. Other days he introduced basic jiu-jitsu positions—seated guard, side control, simple grip work.
You learned how to be present in a body you still hated.
Romero and Ilya collaborated on a strength training and conditioning program. You found yourself stronger than the before-you. Your body looked largely the same. There weren’t crazy muscles or sudden weight loss, but you were stronger in practical ways—ways that made sure you wouldn’t make your already chronic pain worse.
Your left leg didn’t get stronger the way people liked to romanticize. It still burned, still dragged, still felt unreliable. But the rest of you adapted. Your arms grew steadier. Your core tightened. Your balance improved. You learned how to shift your weight without thinking about it, how to lower yourself without fear, how to fall and roll and get back up without the humiliation of needing help. Pain didn’t disappear—but it stopped being your driving force.
By the third month, Romero trusted you enough to let you work with partners. Carefully chosen ones. Marci, with her ever present braid, showed you how to maintain control from the ground without relying on your legs. T’neysha demonstrated pressure techniques that used body positioning instead of brute force, most of which came from leg strength you didn’t have anymore.
Your awareness changed in subtle ways. You stopped flinching every time someone bumped into you. You stopped freezing when your balance slipped. You learned where your limits actually were, instead of assuming everything hurt too much to try. Some days you left sore and irritated. Other days you left tired and quietly proud, which annoyed you more than the soreness ever had.
Your attendance crept up. Twice a week became three times. Three times became “whenever your schedule allowed”. Romero started adding real techniques—chokes from seated positions, grip breaks, defensive frames. He never pretended your leg wasn’t an issue. He just showed you how to work around it without making it your entire identity.
Five months in and you were still angry, still in pain more often than not, but going to the gym—seeing Marci and T’neysha, seeing Jack, Richard and Gregory, even Romero—it became the highlight of your day. Some days the pain was too intense and kept you home, but those days someone would always text you, keep you updated on whatever nonsense job Gegory had now or what weird post-retirement hobby Richard had picked up.
Jack became part of your routine without either of you officially acknowledging it. He was always there after his shifts, stretching, lifting, or just sitting on the mat talking to whoever wandered by. Sometimes he rolled with you in slow, controlled sessions that focused more on what he jokingly-not-jokingly called “the legless technique”; you were never quite sure what was irony and what was genuine with him. Still, he never pushed you to move faster than you wanted. He never treated you like you were fragile, either.
“How’s the nerve pain today?” he asked once.
“Hurts,” you replied.
“Have you tried just not hurting?”
“Fuck off, Abbot,” you grumbled but even you could tell a tiny smile appeared on your face.
By month six, your body felt different, like it was familiar again. You trusted it more. You knew how to fall. You knew how to protect yourself. You knew how to exist in physical space without worrying about what happened if your leg gave out on you. The gym no longer felt hostile.
Your attitude softened in small, unremarkable ways. You still complained. Still swore. Still rolled your eyes at Romero’s blunt coaching style. But you also stayed after sessions sometimes. Sometimes, you and Marci would get coffee, or you and T’neysha would go to trivia. You laughed at Jack’s dry, self-deprecating jokes more often than you meant to.
It all culminated into your terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. You were halfway through a slow, controlled sparring round when it hit. One second you were focused on your grips, on keeping your balance, on not letting your bad leg fold under you—and the next, a sharp, electric burn tore down your left side like someone flipped a switch inside your nerves. Your left leg went heavy, useless, pain radiating in jagged lines that steal the air from your lungs.
You were kneeling and fell. Distantly you realized all the practice falling had paid off. Romero backed off and asked you something, but you couldn’t quite get your brain to piece together his words. You managed to say,
“Bad flare,” before gritting your teeth as your leg twitched uncontrollably. The muscle had already locked up and all you could do was lay on the mat desperately trying to catch your breath.
You felt Romero leave, probably going to get ice or heat or whatever you told him you needed when the pain got bad like this. That had been months ago and you don’t even remember what you said.
Then you felt a cool, wet cloth on your face. In your vision you saw Jack…and maybe T’neysha but she had switched out her neon colored Bantu knots for her natural afro, so the darker color made it harder for your spotty vision to pick her out. Jack was saying something to T’neysha, who took over Jack’s spot and continued to cradle your head while keeping the cool cloth (compress maybe?) on your face.
You weren’t sure where he went, but you felt a soft touch on your bad ankle. It was being lifted and repositioned, just slightly elevated. It took some of the pressure off your limb. Then you heard him say,
It took, what felt like, an eternity. But slowly your breathing slowed and you felt your body relax. Your leg was still on fire, but you were able to sit up finally. T’neysha stayed close, ensuring you had someone to lean on if you needed.
“Thank you, both,” you said.
Romero re-appeared with your water bottle and a wheel chair. It was Jack’s that he kept in the back of his car just in case.
“We’ll get you home so you can rest,” you didn’t like how soft Romero’s voice got.
“Gross, don’t get sentimental on me,” you grumbled.
Between the three of them, they helped you into the chair. You could have done it yourself, but you didn’t need to. Huh, it was the first time you could remember not feeling angry about needing help.
“I’ll drive you, I need to get home anyways,” Jack said.
“Anyone else, please,” you said, trying to joke. It came off too weak and breathy.
“The rest of us have real jobs,” T’neysha said, with mock sympathy. Even though they had seen you collapse, they were still talking to you normally.
“And what the fuck is a marketing specialist, T’neysha?” You asked with a strained grin.
She laughed and said, “I’ll text you tonight.”
“It’s almost like you like me.”
She snorted and handed Jack your bag and crutches. “Need help transferring?”
You thought about it and then said, “Yes please. You’re stronger than Jack.”
“Hell yeah I am,” she said.
Jack just gave a long suffering sigh.
Together he and T’neysha managed to get you out to Jack’s car. An older, but well maintained Subaru. It had a hard shell case on the roof, and you couldn’t begin to imagine what it held.
You told Jack your address and then focused on your breathing for most of the drive. The nice thing about being in a tremendous amount of pain, is that you didn’t have brain space to worry about how clean your apartment was or if you did your dishes the night before.
Thankfully, you could use your crutches and get out on your own power by the time the car stopped, but Jack insisted on making sure you got inside. He unlocked your door and found himself in your apartment.
It wasn’t the first time he imagined where you lived. Although, most of the time he was learning the layout in his mind's eye while fantasizing about your hands on him, his on yours, and maybe—if he was lucky—his name on your lips while he made you fall apart.
But he knew you weren’t ready for romance. You were barely accepting of friendships. It had taken T’neysha and him both to strategize on how to befriend you. Maybe it was creepy there was a whole gym effort in becoming your friend, but the first couple months you had been in such a dark place. It radiated off of you.
Even Richard, a man whose glasses were thicker than his finger, could see you were struggling.
And it had worked. It took nearly six months, but you were friends now. And Jack didn’t plan on jeopardizing that. So instead, he helped you onto your couch, enjoyed peeking at your decor and the messy kitchen from the previous night’s dinner, and asked if you wanted him to get you anything.
“My muscle relaxers are on the counter by my fridge. Can you grab the bottle and something to drink. Help yourself if you want something.”
Jack did as you asked and even snagged one of those canned coffee drinks for himself. He was running on fumes about now. He sat down next to you with the pills and you said,
“Feel free to take a second. You look exhausted.”
“Might as well,” he said.
It was the last thing he remembered before jolting awake a few hours later.
The TV was on but muted, playing some show he didn’t recognize. You had moved, sitting in the recliner with your laptop on a rolling desk in front of you. Your leg was still elevated, still twitching occasionally, but your color looked better and you seemed less fraught with pain. He glanced at the clock and realized he’d been asleep for almost five hours.
It was nearly lunch time.
“I’m so sorry,” he croaked.
“Don’t worry about it. It was nice to have company,” you said softly. He wanted to read into that very badly.
“I was about to order something for lunch, do you want anything?”
He wanted to go back home and go to bed, but the idea of staying here a little longer, continuing to be in your presence, a little longer. Well, it was impossible to say no. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he nodded.
“I can’t say no to food,” he yawned.
Once the food had been ordered, you pushed the desk away and stood using your elbow crutch. You had changed out of your workout clothes, leggings and a tshirt, into the shorts and shirt you wore now. It was the first time he had seen you in clothes other than the ones you wore to the gym. It was the first time he saw your leg.
It was covered in surgery and trauma scars. No wonder you had so many issues. It was a miracle you survived, if the jagged red line over your femoral artery had anything to say about it. You were still slow on your feet, and he found himself asking,
“Why don’t you have a wheelchair for days like this?”
“Insurance won’t cover it,” you replied. “The evil healthcare overlords don’t think I’m disabled enough. My job pays decently well, so I’ll be able to save up for one over the next year or so.”
“Tale as old as time,” he replied.
“You would know.”
“Ouch,” he laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m a very spritely forty-eight.”
“Ah, so your hair called it quits early then,” you said.
“It liked the early retirement my leg took,” he replied deadpanned.
You cracked a smile and Jack couldn’t help the welling of pride in his chest.
“Well, I’m sure all your patients are comforted by your…experienced appearance,” you snarked back.
“I drove you home and you’re bullying me?” He laughed.
“No, I’m bullying the man who fell asleep on my couch and snored like a cartoon character.”
“I do not snore.”
“I swear to god, Abbot, you honk-shoo-ed.”
“You’re lying,” he replied, eyes narrowed. You just shrugged.
“You’ll never know.”
He couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “You’re funny when you let yourself be.”
“Ugh, don’t say that weird ‘you’re too cool to be angry’ bullshit,” you warned. It was light, compared to some of your harsher comments but he winced nonetheless.
“Sorry, I’m used to being the fucked up one,” he snorted.
“You?” It wasn’t hard to hear the incredulity.
“Compared to my coworkers, sure. I’m a widowed, amputee riddled with PTSD.”
“I didn’t know you were widowed,” you replied quietly.
He frowned, “Did you think I hated my wife or something? I don’t act married.”
“I just thought you were hung up on the woman who left you,” you shrugged.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
You shrugged again. Is this what people felt like when they talked to him? No wonder they were unsettled.
“Do you want to compare trauma then?” You asked a bit sharper.
“No,” Jack huffed. “I’d win and that’s not fair to you.”
He knew the conversation had taken a turn you didn’t like, but even one of his more shitty jokes managed to break the tensions.
“Congratulations, do you want a trophy? I’m sure I can get one engraved for you.”
“I’m going to say no because you seem like the kind of person who would do that.”
You just smirked at him.
The conversation ebbed and flowed until the food arrived. You talked and snarked and by the end of lunch, Jack was full and happy. He was exhausted, but his heart felt warm in a way it hadn’t in years.
“Do you want me to pick you up for the gym tomorrow? Your car is still over there.”
“Huh, guess it is. I can uber if it’s out of your way.” You said.
“No, it’s not.” It was about fifteen minutes out of his way.
“Well…sure, why not. My therapy homework was to accept help this week and if I’m not getting an A plus in therapy I’ll kill myself.”
“That does not sound like A plus reasoning.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers. Either I’m actively suicidal or I care too much about being the best at therapy.”
“Oh well, if those are the choices,” he snickered. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, sound good?”
“Sure, thanks Abbot,” you told him softly.
That night, you couldn’t sleep and for the first time in a long time you couldn’t blame it on your leg. You kept thinking about Jack. You told yourself you’re just grateful: he didn’t panic, that he didn’t treat you like glass, that he didn’t pretend everything was fine or try to fix what can’t be fixed.
Everyone else in your life either tiptoed around the truth or steamrolled you with optimism, like if they act hopeful enough you’ll magically feel hopeful too. Jack didn’t do either. He enjoyed getting under your skin and pestering you. He treated you normally.
And that was the problem. Because now, lying in the quiet with your leg still twitching and your brain far too awake, you realized you didn’t just feel supported, everyone was supportive—which is nice if not suffocating at times. You felt seen. You like the way he laughed at your sharp jokes instead of trying to sanitize you into the perfect disability example. He understood the days when the pain was so much and you were simply angry.
You liked him.
Which was deeply inconvenient, mildly terrifying, and absolutely not something you had the emotional bandwidth to deal with right now.
Jack picked you up exactly when he said he would. Unfortunately for him, you had peaked out the window and saw his car about ten minutes previous to his text’s arrival. Your phone buzzed exactly at 7:30 on the dot. It was endearing and dorky.
You managed out of your apartment and out to his car. He even got out to get the door for you. With narrowed eyes you said,
“My leg is fucked up, not my hands Abbot.”
“And if my mom, god rest her soul, ever learned I didn’t open a car door for a nice woman, she’d haunt me. And she was mean.”
“Nice woman is an overstatement at best,” you scoffed.
“Okay, slightly prickly but funny woman.”
You thought for a moment, “Yeah, alright.”
“So kind,” he grumbled.
No one at the gym said anything about yesterday. They didn’t react or treat you any differently. Well, that’s not exclusively true. Marci made a joke about Jack taking you home the previous day and then both of you showing up together.
Her long limbs were stretching out in downward dog. As Jack walked by her, he nudged her hip and sent her falling down on the mat. She laughed and made kissing noises at him. The ribbing seemed more focused on him than you, which you were grateful for.
“What’s Jack like in bed, then?” Gregory asked. He was getting better about bantering with everyone.
“He took me to my apartment, and fell asleep before anything could happen. Apparently, looks aren’t everything,” you replied. The group laughed and it was hard not to preen under the attention. You barely noticed you had called him attractive. There was a flush on Jack’s cheeks and you weren’t sure if yours or Gregory’s comments caused it.
The tittering stopped when Romero clapped. Thursdays were conditioning days which meant you were going to be on the ski machine for more time than you cared to acknowledge. The accommodations for your leg were trying, but it did mean you were close to nailing the pistol squat.
It was weird being physically stronger than before your accident but overall still weaker. Just because you could squat on your good leg and bench press heavy weights didn’t take away from the fact a simple flare up took you down for an entire day, sometimes more than one. It was a weird juxtaposition you had difficulty reconciling.
“How’s the leg today?” Romero asked.
“More sore than usual, walking is about my limit today,” you said.
“Got it, start at the ski machine,” he instructed.
“Who could have seen that coming,” you mocked.
Romero narrowed his eyes at you, but even his serious face chiseled from rock couldn’t disguise the hint of a smile.
“I can see your smile.”
“Fuck off. Get to work.”
Conditioning days felt like eternity while you were doing them, a rotating cycle of machines and expertly accommodated Romero-approved suffering. The SkiErg, the kettlebells, the bars, the mat circuits that left your arms shaking and your good leg screaming for mercy. Jack always seemed to end up on whatever station was closest to yours, rarely ever looking your way. He was just always there. Everytime you spied him from the corner of your eye he wasn’t paying attention to you. But you swore you could feel his eyes on you.
When you moved to resistance bands, he grabbed a set from the same rack. When Romero sent you to the sled, Jack was already loading plates on the lane beside you. It never felt deliberate enough to call out, but it happened too often to ignore.
You told yourself it was a coincidence. The gym wasn’t that big. The equipment wasn’t infinite. Jack wasn’t the type to trail people around like a lost puppy. Still, there he was—sweating through intervals, stretching on the mat a few feet away, and drinking water from the same beat-up fountain. He just existed in your orbit, like this was the most natural place in the world for him to be. And for reasons you weren’t ready to unpack, it started to feel natural to you too.
By the end of the session you had collapsed onto the mat, muscles quaking with on-purpose exertion instead of uncontrollable nerve pain. Jack walked by and handed you your water bottle. Grateful, you leaned up just enough to drink. His eyes stayed on you studying and almost…memorizing your sweaty face.
“What are you looking at?” You asked.
That seemed to snap him out of his reverie.
“Sorry, uh, zoned out.”
“Whatever you say old man,” you replied.
“Old man,” he scoffed, stomping away. You couldn’t help but smirk.
-- -- --
You had been down and out for nearly a week. You had been in so much pain that even the strongest NSAIDs weren’t touching it. Your neurologist finally told you to go to the ER in an attempt for more controlled pain meds. It wasn’t something you were looking forward to; you had heard the horror stories. Moreover, you were so new to being disabled, you didn’t really know what to do or say.
After a few reddit threads and changing into the nicest sweatpants you owned, you grabbed your bag and made your way to the hospital. The waiting room was a mess. It was overcrowded and full of people who should really be in urgent care. What you would give for the ability to go to urgent care.
Checking in was easy. You weren’t asked any questions you didn’t know and they already had your chart. It was a specific choice on your part to go to the hospital where your neurologist was located—you didn’t know much about healthcare but you assumed that the files transferred easier.
The first hour in the waiting room, you were able to distract yourself from the all encompassing pain. People watching in an ER waiting room felt like watching a soap opera. You were positive that the couple near the left corner of the room were one snarky comment away from breaking up, and the child across the aisle from you had watched the same seven minute episode of Bluey twelve times. Their parent was mouthing along to each line of dialogue. Perhaps the most interesting person to watch was the man in a full suit, calmly sitting and reading the paper. He kept looking around like he was hoping someone noticed him reading an actual newspaper.
You quickly averted your eyes before he could see you staring. The first time you were called back was to get vitals and a quick history. The medical student looked exhausted, but they took your blood pressure–high–and your pulse—also high—before sending you back to the waiting room.
Hour two passed much the same but the pain in your leg was starting to feel like molten lava was crawling up your shin. Much of that hour passed with you listening to your audiobook tightly clenching your fists to try and distract your overworked brain. No amount of breathing or grounding techniques were working for you.
It wasn’t until the fourth hour that you were finally called back. They were kind enough to get a wheel chair for you. A few months ago you would have protested, but the leg had worn you down. It was no longer a hit to your pride to use mobility aids—it meant you were in less pain. You were in a curtained off section of the ER and with the crack in the curtain were able to watch people while mostly curled into a fetal position on your good side.
“Good evening,” a soft voice said. “I’m Grace.”
You looked up and a nurse was walking in. She asked you a lot of the same questions and you gave the same answers. Despite being new to this, you knew the drill—nothing was going to happen until a doctor saw you and that was still another hour away. At least in the bed you had a warm blanket and a bed to curl up in.
It was only thirty minutes before your curtain opened up and a doctor walked in. To your surprise it was Jack.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” you said, surprised.
“I wondered why I haven’t seen you in a few days,” he replied softly. “How’s the leg doing?”
“Well, I haven’t felt it, but I imagine this is what it would feel like if I dipped my leg in lava or acid maybe.”
“Should I mark you down as a 10 on the painscale?”
“Make it a 9, I feel like it could get worse,” you grumbled. He gave you a soft, comforting smile. You didn’t like it. You wanted him snarky. “Don’t be nice to me. I don’t like it.”
“Oh, well so sorry,” he griped. “If your pain is only at a 9 I can’t believe you thought you needed to come in. Did you try deep breathing?”
You snorted. “Thank you.”
“You’re an odd patient. Should I put in your chart you only liked to be negged?”
“Not from everyone, just you.”
“Just me?”
“You’re different. I don’t know what you want me to say,” you shrugged.
He paused and you watched him swallow harshly. “Well, I’m touched.”
“Please don’t be sincere when I’m considering cutting off my own leg,” you grumbled.
That got a laugh from him. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“I dunno, it’s looking pretty good.”
“Well, I get a lot of the same pain and I have to deal with an expensive fake leg.”
“Is that why you chose an ugly one?” You inquired.
“You’re so mean,” he huffed, moving towards you. “You can request a new doctor if you want. I’ll have to inspect your leg.”
“You’ve pinned me to the ground multiple times Abbot, I don’t think my fucked up leg is going to change much. Not to mention…I trust you, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
“Alright then, take off your pants.”
“Could at least say please first.”
“Pants,” he stated.
You rolled your eyes and uncurled from your fetal position. With a nurse's help you slid off your sweatpants. You suspected they were going to need to look at your leg, so you had on some spandex shorts under it, they didn’t cover much but they were better than sitting in your underwear.
Jack lightly examined your leg ensuring that none of your scars or recent surgery sites had any physical indication for your pain. Once he had finished, you were able to put your pants back on. He sat on the stool next to you and said,
“We’re going to give you a strong muscle relaxer and a nerve blocker. We’ll keep you here for an hour or so after giving you the medication, but you can’t drive home.”
“I didn’t drive here. I could barely stand,” you scoffed.
“I figured, but had to check. Grace will get you the medication and I’ll be back to check on you in a bit, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks Jack,” you said softly.
He squeezed your shoulder, saying, “No problem. Let us know if anything else feels amiss.”
You curled back on the uncomfortable bed again. The sounds from the ER hadn’t washed over you again, so you heard a deeper female voice ask,
“So that’s gym girl?”
“Ellis, don’t you have patients?” You heard Jack ask. He sounded exasperated.
“C’mon boss man, you gotta give me something. It has been a chill for a few hours.”
“Get your adrenaline somewhere other than my love life,” Jack sighed.
Love life?
Before you could continue thinking about whatever the fuck that comment meant, Grace came back in an IV and two vials of medication. One for the muscle relaxant and the other being the nerve block. Within a few minutes, your body relaxed as the sharp, hot pain that had been radiating through your leg began to abate. It still hurt like a bitch, but now it wasn’t the only thing your brain could focus on.
It made you sleepy and you began to realize how little sleep you’d gotten over the past few days. Moments after the pain became manageable, you were fast asleep, not even the cacophonous sound of a trauma alert roused you.
Some indeterminate time later, a soft hand was rubbing your shoulder saying your name.
“Hmm?”
“You gotta wake up, I need to get you checked on and hopefully discharged,” Jack said quietly.
You blinked heavily and wiped away the embarrassing bit of drool from your face. You would have cared more about it, but it was the first time in a few days you’d gotten any amount of sleep. Jack looked distinctly different than the last time you saw him. His shoulders were far more slumped and he had protective eyewear shoved up on the top of his head.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
“Nothing to apologize for. You mentioned you hadn’t been sleeping. Frankly, I’m amazed you slept through everything.”
“Everything?”
“We got a nasty car accident after you got your meds. It was very loud in here for a bit,” he grimaced.
“What happened?”
“We lost a little girl,” he sighed.
He sat heavy on the side of your bed. You weren’t sure what to do here. Did you comfort the man? Did you hold his hand? Nothing sounded like a good option so you scooted over and patted the bed. Jack gave you a skeptical look and you just shrugged. He surreptitiously peered back towards the closed curtain and then slid up on the bed next to you.
You were both sitting shoulder to shoulder. It was a very tight fit, you were pressed against him, but he seemed to relax back into the bed.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. What have I missed at the gym?”
“Romero’s birthday,” he replied.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You gasped. “I’ve never been more angry at this fuck ass leg than right now.”
“Because you missed Romero’s birthday?”
“Because I missed a chance to try and get a single facial expression from the man,” you said.
Jack snorted. “Don’t worry. It didn’t happen. Richard brought a cake his wife made. It was vegan, but frankly, some of the best cake I’ve had in years.”
“Damn. Anything else?”
“T’neysha brought a girl with her one morning and I think Marci freaked her out.”
“I thought T’neysha had a girlfriend?”
“So did we, but this girl was new and about ten years younger than she is.”
“Get it, T’neysha,” you replied.
You were sure you had text messages from everyone about this, but along with being in incredible amounts of pain, you just haven’t had the energy to keep yourself alive and also reply. Thankfully, your friends would understand, but it was such a new feeling of grief brought forth by this disability. It shouldn’t hurt to miss such mundane things, but it did.
“How are you feeling now?” Jack asked.
“Almost back to baseline,” you told him. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” he replied.
“According to the internet you were abnormally trusting,” you said.
“Well, I also know you and your neurologist.”
“You know Dr. Khandekar?” You asked.
“He’s the only neurologist that picks up night-time pages in a timely manner,” Jack told you.
“He’s scarily efficient,” you agreed. “How much longer is your shift?”
“I’m done once I discharge you,” he said. You glanced at your watch. It was only 3am. You knew most days he worked until seven. Briefly, you wondered if the car accident that seemed to have rattled him so much was part of the reason.
“How long will that take?”
“Not long. I’ll grab the paperwork for you right now,” he said.
Shortly thereafter, you paid—thank god for good insurance—and then Jack appeared to escort you out.
“I’ll drive you.”
“I can uber,” you replied.
“I’m feeling antsy after today,” he pressed. You stared at him for a minute and then nodded.
He helped you gather your bag, and then slung it over his shoulder with his own backpack, refusing to let you even try and hold it. It was a pointless argument, so you let him have his way and then followed him out of The Pitt. You were almost out of the ambulance bay doors when you heard a woman shriek,
“He killed her! He could have saved her but he didn’t. She was talking when we came in.”
You saw a woman being held by, presumably, her husband; she was sobbing and screaming while a nurse and another doctor tried to speak with them.
“I want him fired!” she shouted.
Jack tensed up next to you and suddenly puzzle pieces began to fall into place. Whatever happened while you had been asleep was going to haunt more than just the grieving family. The family didn’t see Jack and you suspected that was going to be for the best. So when he stopped moving, you lightly nudged him.
It seemed to get his legs working again and he led you to his car.
“Do you need a minute?” you asked when he slid into the car.
“No,” he said shortly.
“Okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
“Your tone did.”
“My tone did no such thing.”
“I’m fine,” he stressed.
“And I’m not asking if you’re fine or not. I’m asking if you need a minute before operating heavy machinery,” you said softly.
“I don’t like it when you get soft and kind either,” he grumbled. You snorted.
“Take a breath so you don’t kill us, Abbot,” you then said with more of an edge to your voice.
“I’ve driven a humvee while getting shot at,” he replied.
“Before or after moving to Pittsburgh?” You asked.
“I can’t believe I offered to drive you home,” he grumbled. You smiled.
When he pulled up next to your building, he parked and turned off the car. You weren’t expecting that. Frankly, you had half expected to badger him into coming up with you. The idea of him going home alone when he was worked up like this didn’t sit well in your gut. Jack typically didn’t broadcast his bad days—he white knuckled them while silently lifting weights until his arms couldn’t move anymore. You had seen it enough times, though you’d been too wrapped up in your own shit to care.
He was a silent shadow as you unlocked the front door of the building and then the second door to the stairs. You’d lived in this building for years. At first you weren’t thrilled to be on the first floor, but now that you only had to go up a couple of steps, you were grateful. Unlocking the door, you let Abbot walk in first.
Your place was a mess, as it often was after a flare up.
“Have you eaten recently?” Jack asked quietly. “Eating will help.”
“Not since dinner. I can make something,” you said heading towards the small kitchen.
“I can do it. I don’t trust you to cook.”
“You’ve never had my cooking. How would you even know?”
“I just gave you hospital grade muscle relaxers. I’m not letting you near a stove.”
“Oh my god, I’ll just order something. Christ.”
Jack made a grumpy noise in the back of his throat but moved towards your couch. Normally, you might have made a jab at him making himself comfortable, but frankly, you wanted him to. As much as you both sniped at each other, you didn’t want him to leave so instead you said,
“You’re hovering more than my roomba.”
“Do you prepare these insults when you’re bored or something?”
“You’re literally folding a blanket.”
“I’m trying to clear off the couch to sit down.”
“I’m so sorry my post-flare apartment isn’t clean enough for you,” you intoned.
Jack didn’t respond, but did continue to straighten up your living room. It was kind of funny to watch him putter around. You had your pain flare set-up down at this point. On days where your leg was not cooperating, your couch was more centrally located than your bedroom, so you often made a cocoon of blankets and pillows there. You had a rolling cart of supplies stashed just beside it full of medication, gatorade, snacks, and icy hot patches. The patches never really worked, but sometimes they were enough of a placebo to give you a modicum of relief.
“This is a good idea,” Jack said, putting back some of the medication on the cart.
“Bound to have one at some point. The only things open are Chinese and some 24-hour burger place.”
“A 24-hour burger place sounds like food poisoning,” he replied, still studying the cart. You suspected he was looking at your medication. It would feel nosy if he weren’t a doctor. Or maybe it should even if he’s a doctor. Maybe it didn’t feel nosy because he was Jack.
“Hard agree. Chinese it is,” you said.
The pillows and blankets were placed on top of your recliner, and Jack had finally taken a seat in the same corner of the couch he fell asleep on the last time he was in your apartment. He had taken off his shoe and leg, placing his one socked foot on the coffee table and crossing his residual limb over it. It was nice to see him comfortable.
You eased onto the couch next to him and extended your bad leg out on the couch. While sitting up there was a few inches of space between your foot and his hip. Keeping it extended seemed to help you the most so you tried your best when you could. Jack didn’t indicate he even noticed.
“What do you want?” you asked. He rattled off an order and you hit submit, adding an extra tip for the late hour.
The pair of you were silent for a moment until he said,
“I’m not going to talk about it.”
“Still didn’t ask you too.”
“You want to.”
“Sure, but if you wanted to tell me you would. I can just put on a shitty comedy show and we can sit here in silence until the food comes.”
“Okay.”
And that’s what you did. You were quietly relieved when he offered to get the food when it was delivered, and the two of you continued to eat in silence while the show played quietly in the background, neither of you paying much attention.
“The girl crashed really suddenly,” Jack finally said. The TV was so low you didn’t feel compelled to mute it.
“Did she come in an ambulance?”
You didn’t remember much about your accident, but you were pretty certain you were in an ambulance at some point.
“Yeah, we were looking at her and the next minute she’s coding. She wasn’t strapped into her carseat properly and when they were hit, we think she was knocked into something causing internal bleeding. She bled out without spilling a drop.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
You waited to see if he would bring up the screaming woman you saw while leaving.
“Her mom…obviously was distraught. She thought her kid was fine. When Ellis and I suggested the seatbelt wasn’t secured properly, she lost it.”
“God, that is rough,” you murmured. He paused, and then changed the subject,
“How’s your leg?”
“Baseline,” you replied.
“Does it hurt when it’s touched?”
“Not often,” you replied.
He placed his hand on your ankle, and began rubbing absent-minded circles with his middle finger on the bone. You wondered if he even realized he was doing it.
“Have you had a parent blame you for their child’s death, recently?” he asked. You suspected it was meant to be a joke. But timing in combination with the way his voice wavered a bit at the end suggested that he was hitting his breaking point.
“Fuck it,” you grumbled.
You maneuvered slowly, due to your own ability and to give him a chance to tell you to leave him alone, until you were seated next to him. Your bad leg propped up against the coffee table as well. Instead of staying like that, you wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against your shoulder.
He didn’t cry. But he laid against breathing heavily. You made sure you had both arms wrapped around him. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but you got the impression he needed some kind of human connection.
Eventually, he made a move to get up.
“I’ve taken up a lot of your time,” he said thickly.
“I don’t really like the idea of you going home alone,” you told him.
“I’m not going to kill myself,” he almost snapped.
“Not my concern,” you said simply. You really weren’t worried about him killing himself. You just didn’t want him to be alone. “You’ve had a shit day, you shouldn’t be on your own if you don’t want to be.”
“I don’t want to…”
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. But if you really don’t want to stay that is fine, too. But I will be checking in on you in a few hours.”
Jack sighed and you knew before he said anything that he planned on staying.
“Fine,” he said. “But you need sleep. In a real bed and not on your couch.”
“That couch is comfortable as hell,” you replied.
“And I’m sure I’m about to find out.”
You didn’t actually plan on letting him sleep on the couch, but side stepping his obnoxiously chivalry had to be done sneakily. So instead of responding, you offered to let him shower. Your bathroom had the same accessibility additions he needed. He had his workout clothes in his bag which he changed into once he was clean. Then you said,
“You also need to sleep in a bed.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“I’m not sleeping in your bed and leaving you on the couch.”
“I have a giant bed,” you began. “Humor me.”
“It’s not…appropriate.”
“Says who?”
“Says every ethical mandate I’ve learned in the last thirty years,” he grumbled.
“You’re not my doctor. And also, by treating me, you violated a couple of those mandates of yours.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it. “How dedicated are you to arguing about this?”
“So dedicated.”
“Fine.”
You tried not to smile victoriously. He really was a pushover at times.
He followed you into your bedroom. He removed his leg and leaned it against the side closest to the door. You pulled back your duvet and before getting in shimmied off your sweat pants, leaving you in just your shorts. Jack was wearing his athletic shorts and old Army t-shirt. He was stiff as he got into bed.
Per your PT’s requirements, you did a couple stretches before getting in bed next to Jack. You weren’t lying about the size of your bed. It was massive and took up most of your bedroom. There was a person size gap between the two of you.
“I can build a pillow wall if that makes you feel better,” you said with a smile.
“Fuck off and go to sleep.”
You snorted, and not long after closing your eyes managed to drift off.
When you woke up Jack was still sound asleep. Out of the two of you, he tended to sleep during the daytime while you normally had work. You had, of course, called in sick that week. For a while you watched him breathe tucked on your side. Your leg was barely in pain that day. The nerve block was always the most effective way to silence your overactive nerves. You turned on your side to look at the man a few inches away from you.
He was slack jawed, messy hair and completely asleep. He looked, for the first time, relaxed. You hadn’t planned on letting anyone get this close, not after everything, not when your life still felt like a series of ugly scars, physical therapy, and countless accommodations. But Jack hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t asked for anything. He’d just showed up to exist next to you. And now, with the room still and your leg mercifully quiet, you realized the feeling curling low in your stomach wasn’t just gratitude or comfort or shared experiences. It was softer. Warmer. A little terrifying. You might actually like him—and not in the distant, theoretical way you’d kept everything else lately, but in the very real, inconvenient, this-man-is-in-my-bed-and-I-don’t-want-him-to-leave way.
A month ago the thought would have sent you into a tailspin, but that morning—or really early afternoon—it felt almost…inevitable.
Staying alive had required more energy than you ever expected. The energy to go to the gym, the energy to stay in touch with friends and family, the energy to stay employed; it was a lot. Romance had never really seemed worth the allocation of your small reservoir of energy. Romance was exhausting and full of expectations, and you didn’t trust your body not to punish you for it.
The worst part was that you’d been bracing for the one-year mark of your diagnosis like it was going to knock the wind out of you, the official confirmation that this wasn’t just a bad recovery, this was your new reality. It passed a few weeks ago and nothing happened. There had been nothing monumental about the date. You acknowledged it, were angry for an hour or two, but then moved on because you had to make lunch for yourself and do your PT stretches.
Still, it was an adjustment and people still treated you fucking weird at times. It was either pity or bizarre inspiration. Neither felt comfortable for you. Yet, Jack was one of the only people to never make you feel that way. Not once. He was as close as you’d felt to normal since the accident. You could be sharp and tired and scared and he didn’t flinch, most of the time he pushed back.
And now that you let yourself notice it, you couldn’t unsee all the little tells. The way he always ended up on the station beside yours. The way he looked at you for half a beat too long sometimes. The way he swallowed and went still when you were too close to him. The way Ellis said “love life” and he didn’t correct her. The way he came inside when he could have dropped you at the curb.
The way he was sleeping in your bed right now because you asked him to, because you insisted, because he didn’t want you on the couch and you didn’t want him going home raw and alone. The space between you in the mattress was respectful; just two friends sharing a bed. It was something you’d done countless times with other friends. Even with that distance you felt his warmth. It was something that didn’t leave with him.
You stared at him longer than you should, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, his face slack with sleep, silver hair mussed against your pillow. The thought arrived, finally battling through your pathological avoidance. You really liked him. You liked him in a way that made your stomach twist and your chest feel fluttery. You liked him in a way that made you imagine this—this exact scene—repeating itself until it was ordinary: the morning light, the stupidly big bed, and Jack only a short reach away from you.
You liked him enough that the idea of waking up with him a few inches away felt less like an added drain to your low energy reserves and more like something you wanted every day.
-- -- --
As Jack woke up, the bed felt softer than his own. He briefly worried he had gone home with someone. It didn’t sound like him, but he had been a mess. He remembered why he had been a mess and realized a few things in quick succession. He had gone home with someone, but that someone had been you.
He remembered you lightly bullying him into sleeping in your bed. And even though he shouldn’t have, even though he thought it might hurt more than help, he agreed. You had fallen asleep almost immediately, but he had stayed awake for another hour, too wired to finally shut his eyes. Instead he watched you breath, relieved that for the first time in a week you were finally getting the rest your body needed.
In a weak moment, when the clock ticked over to 0600, he gently brushed your hair out of your face, relishing in how your skin felt against his finger tips and how your hair moved just so, at his direction. He was gone for you not long after he realized you were his match in deadpanned, existential jokes. But truly getting to know you had ruined him for everyone else.
There was no one on this earth who could compare with your grumpy, stubborn, and quietly kind person. Falling asleep next to you had probably been the highlight of his year.
So when he opened his eyes, he was half expecting you to either be still asleep or already beginning your day. He didn’t expect to see you staring back at him.
“How did you sleep?” you asked softly. Your hand was resting on the bed in between the both of you and it took his full strength not to reach over and grab it.
He didn’t tell you that for the first time in a few months, he didn’t have slightly panic inducing dreams he couldn’t remember when he finally jolted awake. Instead, he slept in oblivion, waking up the best rested in a while. He always knew he slept a little better with someone next to him. He thought it had to do with his body feeling protected. But he was rarely comfortable enough with someone to do so.
“Good,” is all he said. You didn’t move, so neither did he.
“Do you have plans today?” you asked.
“None,” he answered.
You nodded and kept staring. It was a little weird. It was like you were looking for something.
“And how are you feeling after your shift?”
“What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Answser the question, old man,” you shot back.
“Not that much older than you.”
“Question. Answer it.”
“Fine, I feel unhappy about it but I have therapy tomorrow, so I’ll deal with it then. Don’t make me deal with it when I just woke up, you slave driver.”
You gave him a rueful smile. “I just needed to check.”
“For what?”
“That you weren’t, I don’t know, emotionally vulnerable?”
“For what reason?” He asked confused.
“Did you know that you don’t make me feel inspirational?” you asked.
“That feels like an insult,” he scoffed.
“Well, it isn’t. God, ever since my leg got fucked up people have been so weird about it. They pity me, are overly helpful, or worse, tell me i’m inspirational as though I had a fucking choice,” you grumbled.
“That sounds familiar,” he said. The urge to run his fingers over the edge of your jaw was becoming all encompassing. He needed to get out of your bed but he couldn’t make himself move.
“I’m sure. But when I’m around you I feel the most normal I’ve felt since that fucking car hit me.”
A pinprick of pride began to bloom in Jack’s chest at your words. “I’m happy to hear that, but why did you think you needed to check my mental status before you told me?”
“Because I also wanted to say I think I like you a lot and I wondered if you felt the same way. I suspect you do, since you’re sleeping in my bed, but I wanted to check.”
Jack blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“Out of all the things you were going to say, I don’t think I would have ever guessed that,” he breathed.
“That is not an answer to my questions and in fact, raises my stress level significantly,” you replied.
Jack smiled and laughed, “I like you a lot, too.”
“Like, romantically?”
“Yes.”
“Like, you want to kiss me?”
“Ideally in the next few seconds if you’re amenable,” he replied.
For the first time since he met you, he saw you grin. It was bright and made his heart skip a beat—not medically accurate, but exactly what it felt like in his chest. You played your cards close most of the time, although if the cards were annoyance or the urge to bully him—those were played pretty openly. So it was a rare treat to see such joy light up your face, especially when it wasn’t related to ribbing him.
“I thought so, but it’s really good to hear you say it.”
“C’mere,” he said, pulling you both to the center of the bed. He reveled in the little squeak you made at the movement. “Can I tell you something now?”
“Can you kiss me first?”
“No,” he said quietly.
He smiled, as he cupped his hand over your jaw and stroked your cheek with his thumb. It was exactly how he hoped it would be. You were warm under his touch and he couldn’t help but grin back at you, at the contact, at this weird satisfied feeling he never thought he would get to feel.
As much as he wanted you, you wanted him back.
“Fine, hurry it up, though, Abbot.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for months and before you joined the gym, I only went a couple times a week. I started going everyday just for a chance to see you.”
If possible, your smile got bigger. “That’s pretty sweet. But you should kiss me now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jack shifted closer, the mattress dipped between you, the space closing until your knees brushed and your foreheads were almost touching. Your bad leg stayed carefully extended behind you, but your good knee bent instinctively toward him, anchoring you in place. The hand not resting on your cheek, wound under your ribs, holding you against his body.
His nose brushed yours first. He hesitated. Your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt at his waist. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was soft and exploratory. Your mouths moved together slowly, learning the shape and rhythm of each other, all awareness shrinking to the narrow space of the bed.
His thumb traced a small arc along your cheekbone, while your free hand slid up to his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him. You stayed on your sides, bodies parallel, close. When he pulled back, just a fraction, his forehead rested against yours and his breath fanned warm across your lips.
“Worth the wait,” he murmured.
“Glad to hear it,” you replied, your voice steady even as your heart thudded against your ribs. You stayed there, inches apart, his knee brushing yours, his hand still cradling your face.
Then suddenly he shot up, and began to roll over.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“I want to take you on a proper date,” he announced.
“Ugh, I don’t want to get up,” you whined.
You saw Jack grab his leg and fiddle with his socket sleeve. There was a movement when he went to put on the prosthetic and then he let out a harsh sigh.
“What now?” you asked.
“My leg is too swollen to fit in my socket,” he grumbled.
“Oh no,” you said, not at all sympathetic. “Now it seems like we can’t get out of bed.”
He rolled back over to you and poked your side.
“I’m going to take you on a date.”
“And I’ll let you, but for now, just lay here with me and we can watch stupid TV and order unhealthy food.”
“Can we kiss some more?” He asked.
“Don’t need to ask me twice,” you said, leaning over to press your lips against his.
-- -- --
Author's Note: for all my disabled besties who are pissed but continuing on. every side character in this was named after people who were instrumental in my (minor) disability diagnosis after not getting believed for most of my life.
SUMMARY: A run-in with one of the most notorious gun-slingers in the West leads to an unexpected intimacy.
WC: 8.2k
WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of ‘whore’ for prostitute, smut (18+ ONLY); unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling 18+ under the cut
A/N: well…this is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how roy’s praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon 😌 roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! this takes place before godless, so no need to watch/know the show. please enjoy!
masterlist | pin board | taglist
likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!
this post is 18+ only. minors do not interact.
YOU HAD A habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found you wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.
It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.
“You should be courting the boys, not shooting at ‘em.”
So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.
It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught you more than your father ever had.
You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.
Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.
The scorched dirt crunched underneath your boots. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.
It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.
It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.
You were just another runaway.
There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.
You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.
“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.
Like the sight of you was a walking sin.
The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.
Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.
Bullseye.
You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.
“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.
On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.
Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.
Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.
If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.
You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.
A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.
“Afternoon, sir.”
“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”
Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.
“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”
You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.
But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.
The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun pointed directly at his chest. Aimed for his heart.
Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.
“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.
Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”
There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”
If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.
“What’s your name?”
You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”
He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”
“(y/n). (l/n).”
The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”
“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.
The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”
You glance off in the distance for only a second.
You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.
Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.
Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”
WHOEVER THIS MAN was, he wasn’t completely with the law.
Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.
The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.
Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.
Neither of you spoke much.
There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.
Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”
“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”
He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”
“How long?”
“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.
For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.
He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”
You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.
“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”
A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.
“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”
“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”
If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.
There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.
“No, ma’am.”
Good. That’s that. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.
“You’d make good money as one.”
You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.
“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.
Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”
Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”
Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”
“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”
“You did try to steal my horse.”
Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”
He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”
You ignored the smirk on his face.
With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”
He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.
The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.
Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.
But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.
Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.
“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.
“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”
He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.
“Roy Goode.”
You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.
Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.
“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”
A long silence followed.
Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.
“Fuck,” you said under your breath.
Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”
Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.
“CAREFUL, NOW.”
You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.
“I know how to shoot, Goode.”
“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”
He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.
“Shut up,” you hissed.
With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.
“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.
The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.
You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”
An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.
He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.
But not you.
“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”
You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”
There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.
He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.
“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”
You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.
“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”
“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”
For a brief moment, you thought it odd that he referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.
You arched a brow, “You named her June?”
Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.
You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.
“Come again?”
“I’ll name him Johnny.”
Now you were talking like you were one of them too.
Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.
Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.
But not you.
He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.
“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.
You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”
Roy nodded. “That it does.”
THREE DAYS OF riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.
With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.
You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”
“You got the money for dinner?”
He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”
“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”
“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.
Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”
You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.
The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. A metal basin in the other one. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.
You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.
Better than rocks and dirt.
Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.
You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.
But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.
WHEN YOU WOKE, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.
It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.
You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.
“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.
With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.
Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.
You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.
“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally’s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”
You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”
You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.
“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.
The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.
“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.
“He’s with me.”
As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.
Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”
“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.
“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.
And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.
“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.
You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.
“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.
Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.
“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.
“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”
Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”
He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”
You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.
“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”
You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.
And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.
But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.
You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.
“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”
He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”
“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”
The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”
His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.
“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”
Then, Roy’s eyes softened.
“You can read,” was all he said.
“What?” Did he even hear you?
Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”
The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”
You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”
“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”
“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”
Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.
It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.
After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.
Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”
You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.
But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.
IT WAS SURELY late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.
The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.
For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.
Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.
“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”
You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”
But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—your first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”
“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.
He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”
Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.
Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.
“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.
But Roy knew exactly what you meant.
“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.
You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.
He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”
You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”
“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”
“And what about me?”
Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”
“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”
Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.
Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”
And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.
But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.
“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”
His bashful smirk matched your own.
ROY’S EYES DON’T pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.
And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.
The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.
“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”
Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”
He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.
You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.
“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”
In the corner, the large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.
“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”
A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”
Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”
“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”
He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.
“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.
He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”
So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.
It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.
And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.
You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.
He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.
“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.
“You like what you see?” You giggle.
He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.
Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.
“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”
Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.
You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.
“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.
He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.
“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.
“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.
You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”
Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.
A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.
He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.
“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.
Then, he pulled his hand away.
Your eyes shot open again to meet his. He warned, “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”
You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.
As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.
“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”
You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.
“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.
He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”
Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.
You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.
Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.
Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.
He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.
“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.
You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs.
Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.
“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.
“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.
His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.
“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”
His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.
“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”
One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.
Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”
Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.
The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.
“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”
He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.
Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.
But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”
Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.
“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.
And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.
When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.
“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.
Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”
He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.
“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”
Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.
“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”
You nod, rapidly and loosely.
“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.
You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.
It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.
His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.
You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”
Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.
There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.
And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.
Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.
But never a woman like you.
He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.
You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.
“Don’t go,” you call out to him.
He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”
Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.
He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.
The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.
“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.
“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”
You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.
I sometimes wish Kuroko no Basket had been released in 2020 instead of 2012. The fanfiction featuring original characters or reader inserts is often cringeworthy, they all seem to share the same personality traits with only minor differences. It's really confusing why the female character is always portrayed as the only girl playing basketball with the boys, even more so that she is better than them and she is very Smart on the court but totally clueless in school. Her name is typically something like "Queen of Basketball" or another title starting with "Queen." She’s often depicted with an unrealistic body type and a mean demeanor, yet everyone seems to love her.
The writing quality is generally poor it’s so 2010s in bad way. Haikyuu and Blue Lock fans are so lucky you guys have a wider variety of fanfiction. While there are certainly some cringe-worthy stories, there are also many well-written ones. You have fanfics that actually explore relationships and don't just stick to the main plot and also most Kuroko no Basket fanfics are short, and if they are longer, they tend to fall into the reverse harem category. I’d be fine if they developed the relationships better, but most of the time, the characters just like her for dumb reasons. Can we please get an OC/reader who doesn’t play basketball, is nice and has a complex personality! (Also, if you know any good KNB fanfics, please share!)
