#// it took me SO long to get back to this i am so sorry :(

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 3

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

25.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: mentions of blood, mentions of guns/shootings/gunshot wounds, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, CPR, mentions of jack's injury and losing his foot, anxiety about partner's safety, angst (kind of), very emotional, probably incorrect description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, reader wears Jack’s clothes, self-hate, Robby has been to therapy, fighting/arguing (no raised voices), unprotected PIV sex (BC implied with their committed relationship), allusions to sex and oral sex, discussion of end of life wishes, descriptions of nightmares, discussion of someone dying in front of reader, panic attacks, vomiting (very brief, not reader), discussion of scars/wounds, grief, mention of UTI, myrna, reader likes candles, Jack is the best, I had this idea and started drafting before we knew Jack was a widow so in this world he has never been married, no use of y/n or related, not really proofread.

Summary: Healing is hard. Emotions abound. Somehow life goes on. [Author continues to suck at summaries.]

AN: I am so sorry this took so long 😅 The vignettes have a bit of a different feel here because the way we are moving through time is much different and on a larger scale. But each vignette 'happened' before the scene it precedes. Part 4 is already like 75% of the way done so it will not be as long of a wait, I promise 😭 I know some wanted it all at once and I'm sorry it isn't, but I can offer as an apology the fact that because we're getting another part we're getting more content both in Part 3 and in Part 4!! Also I promise Quiet Part 2 is next up after Part 4. Thank you all so much for your patience and support and for reading!! Your replies and likes and reblogs mean so so much to me and I know we're all busy so I really appreciate you taking the time to read whatever it is I do here ♥️

After the housewarming party, life is good. You and Jack are still home together while you recover, in love and soaking each other in and planning France and dreaming out loud about your wedding. And healing. Individually and together. 

Things get harder though.

You’re both in therapy, yes, but you’ve been through a lot in the last month and a bit, and an hour a week only does so much. You’re both struggling, struggling a little harder now that the kind of honeymoon period of you getting home from the hospital has passed. 

You and Jack talk about it sometimes, about how things feel harder in a way all of the sudden now that you’re not focusing on being home finally and getting your place painted and all moved into. You think it’s just because you have lost some of that distraction. The reality of what happened starts to sink in deeper. Especially because things are ostensibly returning to normal but not really. 

Because normal isn’t being at home together while you’re recovering. You’re back to that hospital feeling of waiting. Waiting for you to recover enough for the next step to get taken. Jack going back to work. You going back to work. The return of your true new normal. 

So things get a little harder, emotions more intense. Some days it feels like you guys are taking more steps backward than forward. But you’re taking those steps in whatever direction together and you have each other and are in love and that’s all either of you need at the end of the day. Each other and your love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s day four. 

Four days now you’ve been in a coma. Four days with no signs of waking up soon, even after they weaned you off the meds that had been keeping you under to help you heal. No twitch of your fingers or toes, no flutter of your eyelashes, no little grunt, no breathing over the vent. Nothing. Just you laying there in a hospital bed. Technically still alive and with him, but are you really?

Jack stretches out. He hasn’t left the hospital since you got shot. Literally has not set foot out of the building, hasn’t gone to the roof or out into the ambulance bay or gone through the main doors to stand on the street. 

Dana brought him in clothes and toiletries. She brought some for you too, telling Jack that you’d want them as soon as you were awake. Half of Jack wanted to scream at her for tempting fate like that, now that she brought them there would be no use for them because you’d never wake up. 

And half of him wanted to just sob into her because he knows that as much as she did bring them for you, she brought them for him. To give him the option of smelling like you, or just smelling your shampoo to smell you for a second. To give him a shirt of yours to keep near his head when he tries to get an hour of sleep. It helped once. He was actually able to grab a couple of hours. 

It’s not the same though, because those products haven’t mixed with your body chemistry to become the unique scent that is you. But it’s better than nothing. Because until Dana had brought it in for him he’d forgotten what you smelled like. 

He’d forgotten what you sounded like too. The sound of your voice, the way you say his name. The way you say you love him. Your laugh. He just couldn’t hear it in his head. He cracked on day three and listened to a voicemail you left him, watched a video of the two of you that you’d taken one day. It was comforting to be able to remember what you sound like and what you look like when you smile, to have those little pieces of you back in his mind. But it was also a devastating reminder of what he might lose. 

Your things, the voicemails you’ve left him and the videos and photos you’ve taken together might be all he really has left of you at the end of this. The realization had made him dry heave a little.

Robby walks in as Jack is stretching, hands him a coffee and a brown bag. Breakfast. “You have to eat if you want the coffee or else it’s just going to shoot up your heart rate and give you more anxiety.”

Jack looks at him almost blankly as he sits down in the chair on the other side of your bed across from Jack. “I’m still a doctor, you know?” The words hit Jack. “A fucking shitty one apparently. I can’t even fix her. This shit is what I do and I’ve saved so many people but the one fucking person who actually matters.” Jack shakes his head. “And nothing.” 

Robby cocks his head at him. “No doctor could fix this Jack. She’s in a coma. You’re making sure she gets the best care possible. That’s all anyone could do for her right now, doctor or not.” 

Jack waves Robby off, takes a sip of the coffee but makes no move for the bag. It earns him a look from Robby that he ignores. They sit in silence for a bit. It’s hard to come up with things to say. But Robby knows Jack needs to start thinking about it. It’s still very far down the line but it’ll be better for him to start thinking and coming to terms with it now, Robby thinks.  

“Jack.” Jack pulls his eyes off you and over to Robby. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Deep down Jack knows exactly what Robby’s question means. But he doesn’t let himself go there. He can’t. Robby will have to spell it out for him. “What I’m going to do about what?”

“What you’re going to do if down the line she heals physically but doesn’t wake up?” Robby says quietly, as though saying it lower will make it somehow less painful, pull less of a reaction from Jack. 

“What the fuck is that? Why the fuck would you even bring that up?” Jack snaps at him. While you were awake after surgery you’d signed a healthcare proxy giving Jack the authority to make treatment and end of life decisions for you. It had been just in case. Better to have it because then you would never need it right? Wrong. “We’re so the fuck far away from that. She’s not even healed. You and Dana are the ones that keep saying ‘it’s only been four days Jack give her time’ and now you’re coming at me with this bullshit?”

“I’m not coming at you with anything. Just asking a question because maybe it’s better to start preparing now for something you’ll never have to do than to be unprepared.” Robby shrugs. 

Jack doesn’t say anything, just looks back at you. He scoots his chair closer so that he can hold your hand. You’re just so goddamn still. It’s unnatural. Even the way you breathe is, it’s mechanical. Chest rising and falling in time with the clicks of the vent. 

“I know that I don’t really know her, Jack, and certainly don’t know her well. But just from the little bit of time I have been able to get to know her I don’t think she’d want this Jack. Not indefinitely. I don’t think she’d want machines keeping her alive.” Robby watches Jack carefully as Jack takes in his words. Devastation is quickly covered by anger. 

“I don’t fucking care. She should wake the fuck up then and not leave this to me. Not make me fucking kill her.” Jack knows his anger at you is misplaced and a cover for how much this conversation is hurting him. Anger is just easier to deal with than heartbreak and grief right now. He sees Robby go to speak. “Just fucking don’t Robby. Don’t. You’re right. You don’t fucking know her. And I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if she wouldn’t want it because I need her. And having her here with me like this is better than not having her at all.” Jack knows how selfish he sounds, how selfish he’s being.

Robby doesn’t say anything, waits until Jack glances over at him, tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, asking him ‘really?’ without a word. 

Jack sighs and looks back over at you shaking his head. “No,” he whispers. “She would hate it. We fucking talked about it once, way before this when it was on some show or movie we were watching. It would be cowardly and selfish of me to keep her here like this forever, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with completely losing her and could live in a perpetual delusion that she’ll wake up tomorrow.” Jack gives a short and hollow laugh through his nose. “Right before I left to go down to the ED and help, we… argued isn’t the right word, but I don’t know what is. She mentioned it, her dying. That if she had already died, in the OR or at the courthouse then I could be properly grieving, and I cut her off but she was going to say that I could be working towards moving on.”

Jack feels guilty for getting angry at you, for being selfish. He knows you’d understand and wouldn’t care and wouldn’t want him to feel guilty but it doesn’t help. He swallows thickly and then takes in a deep breath, squeezing your hand, praying you’ll squeeze it back, even just a little. 

“But there’s no moving on from her.” Jack shakes his head as he looks down at you. “The problem is that I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to do it. To sign the damn papers,” Jack admits, voice wet with the tears lining his eyes. 

Robby nods slowly. “You are now and you will be then, if that then does ever come. You will because it’s for her. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two humans love each other as much as you do, the way you do. She would do anything for you. And I know you’d do anything for her, no matter how much it killed you inside. So I know that if that day ever comes you’ll be strong enough to sign for her, to do that for her.”

Jack’s silent for a minute, trying not to give into the urge to grab your shoulders and shake you awake. “I don’t know Robby. I don’t know how to talk to her like this. I try, but I just never know what to say other than I love her and please come back to me and please don’t leave me alone. And I hate it. She deserves more. For it to not be about me,” he whispers, stands and runs the back of his bent index finger over your face like he’s trying to memorize you. As if he hasn’t already. He’s teary, voice small and raw from all the tears he’s already shed. “So how do I let her be taken from me? How do I give her up, give up on her, tell her it’s okay to let go? How do I stand there and fight all my training and every instinct and just watch her die and know it’s my fault?”

Robby has to take a minute to compose himself because his heart aches for Jack. It’s hard to see your best friend, your brother, contemplating losing the love of his life. Even though all of Jack’s questions are rhetorical he answers the last one. 

“You don’t,” he says simply. “You get in bed with her and you hold her and find it within you to talk to her. Tell her all of your favorite memories together. Tell her what she means to you. Tell her you love her. And you stay there in bed holding her until she’s gone.” 

Jack takes in a shuddering breath as he sits back down in his chair. “Hope seems so worthless and useless right now even though it’s all I feel like I have left.” Jack grabs your hand again, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “I hope I never have to sign those papers.” 

Robby sniffles a little, not crying, just emotional. “That makes two of us, brother.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think you should consider leaving your engagement ring here.” You and Jack are planning more for your trip to France, making packing lists. Well, you’re on the computer planning and making lists and Jack is chopping up ingredients for dinner. 

It’s been four days since the housewarming party. You feel like Jack has been more stressed lately, more on edge. Looking at you like he’s terrified of losing you again, like he did at times in the hospital and the first two days you were home.

“Why?” You pout at him from the stool you’re sitting on at the kitchen island. “I want to wear it and show it off and take photos with it on while we’re in France!”

“I know,” Jack hums lowly, his eyebrows raising a little as he focuses on chopping. “I worry about it getting stolen, you getting assaulted for it or something, especially in Paris.”

“But walking around with it on in Pittsburgh is okay?”

He sighs at you. He kind of hates that you said that because now it’s all he can think about. Whether he has put your life in danger for a third time by getting you a nice engagement ring. Because he’s already done it twice. When he didn’t check you over in the trauma room before letting you go and going to help Robby, and when he left to go down to the ED and wasn’t there to notice you going septic and throwing a PE. 

You’re the only one who would notice him stiffen the way he does, it’s so slight. You feel bad. You know he’s been struggling more the closer he gets to going back to work and having to leave you alone. Even starting with half shifts. And you know he’s struggling to talk about it with you because he doesn’t want to burden you with it or make you feel any guiltier. You’ve both fallen into that habit a little bit. 

“I really don’t think anyone is going to try to steal it off me or assault me to get it when I’m walking around with you.” You raise your eyebrows at him and give him a knowing smile, wait for him to lift his head to look at you once he’s finished chopping. He does. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He points the knife at you teasingly and holds your gaze for a moment before grabbing something else to chop and getting back to it.

“But I don’t want to leave it here Peter!” you almost whine. It makes Jack chuckle to himself a little. “I don’t want to argue about it, but I really want to take it. I like showing it off, like everyone knowing I’m yours.” That makes him look up at you again and you smile at him and nod encouragingly. You can see the possessive look in his eyes, the way he breathes a little bit faster thinking about it. But he just clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth at you and shakes his head as he looks back down. “Okay, how about a compromise?”

“A compromise?” Jack echoes.

“Yes. A compromise.” 

There’s a beat where neither of you talk, only the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. Jack pauses his cutting and looks up at you. “Are you gonna tell me what the compromise is?” 

“I’m thinking of one,” you grumble, knowing how satisfied he’s going to be. 

“Oh,” he draws the word out teasingly, “she suggests a compromise before she even has one!” 

“I’ll come up with one, just give me a minute,” you huff. Jack hums at you again, keeps chopping. “Okay, yes! I have one. What if while we’re in Paris or whatever bigger cities or places you’d prefer I wasn’t wearing it on my finger you wear the ring around a chain on your neck? Even on the same one as your dog tags if you’re bringing them. People are much less likely to try to snatch it from your neck and run, plus it’ll always be covered by your shirt unless you’re going to start wearing deep v-necks, which I doubt.” You smirk. 

You watch Jack’s eyes slide from you to the wall behind you and glaze over. It’s clear he’s going back somewhere, you just don’t know where or why or what happened. The smirk slides from your face as it twists into concern.

He goes to say something but stops as your words fully process. Wear the ring around a chain on his neck. Like he did at your funeral. 

Jack drops the knife, it falls out of his hand and clatters a bit as it hits the counter. “Jack?” you whisper, your heart rate picking up. 

The nightmare plays on fast forward in Jack’s head, every emotion he felt when having it slamming into him all at once and making his head spin. With the massive flood of epinephrine, norepinephrine and cortisol all those emotions cause his body to release, Jack’s turning and leaning over the sink to be sick. 

It’s all too much. 

“Jack!” You’re off the stool and over by him in a second, rubbing his back. “Hey,” you murmur, “it’s okay, you’re okay.” You have no idea what’s going on with him, but have a feeling.

Jack shakes his head at you as he dry heaves a few more times, trembling like nothing you’ve seen from him before. “I’ve got you.” Your hand keeps rubbing circles on his back soothingly and it’s simultaneously comforting him and burning him, because it’s all too much. There are too many emotions. 

You were dead. He was at your funeral. It was so real. 

Tears start to stream down his face silently as he rinses the sink and his mouth. “We can get you to bed, okay? I’ll make you some broth if you feel up to it.” 

He can hear the anxiety in your voice, the worry for him, your love for him. He loves it, he does, truly, but it almost makes it worse because you were dead. And if you were dead, if you had really died, he wouldn’t have this. He wouldn’t be in sweatpants and an old shirt at home chopping things to make dinner for the two of you while you sit in the kitchen to be with him and plan your trip. You wouldn’t be rubbing his back and so worried about him. You wouldn’t be taking care of him and offering to make him broth. 

You simply wouldn’t be. 

Jack shakes his head and sniffles. He turns to you and your eyes widen when you see him crying, pain and a heartbreaking and agonizing sorrow etched into his face that threatens to bring you to tears. You immediately know what this is about. He doesn’t need to say anything. He’s not ill. But you’re not sure how to support him, what to say, what exactly is wrong. “Jack what’s-”

You’re cut off by him crumbling in front of you, grabbing at your forearms to pull you closer as he slides down the base cabinets to the floor, bringing you down with him. “I,” he tries to choke out, “I, I…” He shakes his head again. 

He can’t speak right now, and you know it. “Okay, it’s okay,” you tell him as you reach for him and pull him close to you as you press your back against the cabinet, letting him almost lay on you. 

Jack buries his head in your chest, careful not to press into your still healing sternum too hard, and clings to you, both arms wrapped tightly around you, one diagonal up your back, hand clinging to your shoulder for just a second before it slides over to your neck, two fingers pushing down. 

He’s looking for your pulse. 

“Oh, Jack,” you whisper, your own voice thick with tears now. “I’m here. I’ve got you baby.” You hold him just as tight, let one hand find his hair and run your fingers through it, scratch at his scalp at times, kiss the top of his head and nuzzle your nose into him in hopes of soothing him. Sometimes you rock a little, but you’re not sure if that’s more to comfort him or yourself. 

And you whisper little words of reassurance and, you hope, comfort to him. “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” You hold him and let him weep into you. Let him keep his fingers pressed into your pulse point. Let him cling to you like you’re the only thing left in the world, because to him you are. You’re his whole world. 

It kills you, seeing him like this, hurting this badly. This deeply. You know it has to do with what happened, know that it’s been building up in him for a long time. That he hasn’t said anything about it, not because he was trying to hide it but because he just couldn’t. And you understand that. A whole lot.

“Here baby,” you murmur at one point, try to move his head a little which just makes him sob harder and hold you closer. “Shh, I’m not going anywhere, just trust me, okay? I think this will help.” You try again and this time he lets you move his head, lets you turn it to the side and move it over and then pull him back to your chest, keep your hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He’s confused until he hears it. 

The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest. 

It makes him tremble against you harder, clutch at you tighter. But you don’t care. You wouldn’t care if he held you so hard it hurt. You’d take on all the physical pain out there without a second thought and genuinely smile about it if it would take away Jack’s pain.  

It starts to pass the longer Jack is in your arms, ear to your chest listening to your heart beating, fingers pressing into your skin feeling your heart beating. It calms him. He quiets, reduced to only sniffles and hiccuped in breaths and swollen eyes and an ache so deep in his chest he’s not sure it can be fixed. But you’re with him, still holding him on the kitchen floor and brushing at his cheekbone and scratching at the nape of his neck and kissing his curls and whispering soft words of reassurance to him.  

You’re here. You’re in your shared apartment. You’re alive. 

You have to be, right? The sound of your heart beating and the warmth of your chest and your voice whispering quiet words to him has to be real. It would make sense for you to come up with the idea of him wearing your engagement ring on a chain around his neck all on your own as a compromise. It doesn’t mean he’s still in that nightmare and just starting to realize it. It means the two of you just think alike. Right?

You aren’t sure how long you end up sitting there on the floor together, his head pressed against your chest. It doesn’t really matter. You know he’s really starting to come down when his fingers no longer press into your neck to feel for your pulse. “I’m here if and when you want to talk,” you whisper. You don’t expect anything back from him and aren’t hurt when he remains quiet.

Eventually Jack pulls his head from your chest and looks up at you. After a few seconds of eye contact he pushes himself up and sits with his back against the base cabinet next to you. He wipes off his face with his hands and once he’s done, one of your hands immediately finds one of his and squeezes. He needs it. Little things like a hand squeeze from you to remind him that you’re still here with him. Eventually he lets his head tilt and rest on your shoulder. You turn your head, give him a lingering kiss to the temple and then rest yours on top of his. 

And then you just sit like that. For as long as he needs. Even when your ass goes numb and back stiffens a bit. You stay just like that with him. 

Jack loves the way you don’t press him. You don’t ask if he’s okay, or if he wants to talk about it, or tell him gently to talk to you. You just let him be as he comes back to himself fully. And he knows it’s not because you don’t want to talk about it or don’t want him to talk to you about it but because you understand that sometimes there is simultaneously too much and nothing to be said. So you let him be. 

After a while Jack takes a big breath in and slowly lets it out. You feel him pull his head a little so you lift yours up and look over at him as he looks at you. 

He looks wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. Eyes red and swollen, lips a bit swollen too. Mouth set and lips pulled just the slightest bit down, hair fluffier and more askew than normal because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. His shirt is wrinkled, part of the neckline darker than the rest of the shirt from his tears. He looks haunted. 

But mostly it’s the way he’s looking at you that really shows how wrecked he is. You’ve seen Jack look at you a lot of ways, with a lot of different expressions, especially recently with everything that has happened. Happy, sad, like he’s amazed and can’t believe you’re alive, like looking at you hurts him a little because it reminds him of what he almost lost and who he couldn’t protect.

But you’ve never seen Jack look at you like this. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re alive, but not in an incredulous, happy sense. Jack’s looking at you like he truly cannot believe you’re alive, is scared to believe it even for a second. Like he doesn’t trust the world that you are in fact alive, doesn’t trust himself and his ability to know whether you’re alive. Like you’re a hallucination or a mirage, or a ghost who has been living with him and he’s just realizing it. Like you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from. 

“I…” Jack tries to start, voice raw, as unsure and questioning and wrecked as he looks. He just keeps looking at you like he’s about to come back to reality and you’re about to disappear right in front of his eyes, just cease to exist. 

He shifts and leans off the cabinet, gets closer to you and takes your face in his hands. Jack holds your gaze how he loves to do, lets his eyes burn into yours as though they’ll give him the answer to whatever question it is he can’t speak. 

You lean your head into one of his hands a little and then Jack’s kissing you, pressing against your lips hard at first like he was bracing to just move through air and never actually find your lips. It’s short, his head pulling back from yours for a second to look you in the eyes again before his eyes drop to your lips. 

Glassy eyes look back up at you, questioning. You nod slightly, because of course he can kiss you. And he does. 

Jack pulls your head back towards his as he leans in, both of your mouths opening just slightly. He takes the opportunity, licks into your mouth and starts devouring you, his head moving slightly with each kiss and slip of his tongue back into your mouth. 

It’s greedy the way he kisses you, nose smushing into your face as you both start to breathe hard, the sound almost lost in between the noises of pleasure you pull from each other and the pops of your lips with each pass. Jack kisses you like he doesn’t believe you’re real. Like each kiss might be the last one he’s ever able to give you, like it’ll never be enough, like he’ll never have enough of you. It’s not something you’ve ever felt from him before. You can tell he’s scared in a way but you aren’t sure about what exactly. 

He keeps kissing you but his hands drop from your face to grab at the hem of your shirt, start sliding it up your body, stopping to pop the clasp of your bra as he works the shirt up and eventually over your head, helps you shrug your bra off. You expect his lips to return to yours immediately but they don’t. 

Jack stands as he tosses your shirt and bra to the side, hands reaching down for you and helping to get you up on your feet. Before you can say anything his hands are on your hips and his lips are back on yours. He walks you backwards to the kitchen table until your ass bumps into the edge of it. Without breaking the kiss he moves his from your hips and blindly wipes off the table, sending some mail and books and whatever else happened to be there clattering to the floor.

He finally breaks the kiss to give you a chance to breathe and so he can check there’s nothing on the table. “Jack,” you breathe out with some surprise. He grabs your hips and helps you sit on the edge of the table before stooping to bring his face back close to yours. 

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, “please. Please, I need this.” He pushes his lips to yours once again, licking into your mouth once again. “I need to feel you.” He feels your hands at the hem of his shirt and moves apart just enough for him to get it off and throw it to the floor. “I need you.” It’s pleaded, desperate and needy, but not erotically so. 

“Of course, always.” You let him support you as he leans over you and guides you down until your back rests against the table. “You have me, you always have me.”

It’s quick then, the way he tears off your bottoms and then his. You wrap your legs around him as he leans back over you, chest to chest and kisses you again, like he can’t get enough, like each kiss is a surprise he wasn’t expecting to actually get. He grinds himself into you as he does and you respond in kind, tightening your legs around him and letting your hips buck as much as they can against him to search out more friction. His hands roam your body, pressing into you to feel as much as he can, groping at your breasts and squeezing your hips as his lips stay on yours.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, hand sliding between the two of you to feel how wet you are for him. “Can you take me like this?”

“Yeah,” you pant softly, “yeah, please Jack.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hands tangling in salt and pepper curls you adore.

He shivers at the way you say his name, his lips leaving yours so he can look down at you as his fingers run through you and then over his cock to slick himself up as much as he can. “I need to know you’re real and still here. I need to be close to you.”

Jack notches himself in you and then moves to rest on his forearms with his hands holding your face, forehead resting against yours before he finally pushes himself into you slowly. His voice cracks with emotion part way through the needy and relieved groan he draws out as he pushes in. 

“Oh Jack,” you moan as you take a breath in and feel it catch in your throat. 

Once he bottoms out Jack stills, the two of you panting against each other’s lips until Jack’s are claiming yours once again. He stays still, lets himself relish in the way you taste and how you feel around him, so tight and warm and fluttering as you adjust to taking him with no real preparation. 

Jack finally draws his hips back slowly and steadily pushes himself back in with a grunt. “You okay?” Even with as out of his mind for you as he is, how desperate and needy and frantic he is to have you he’s still checking in on you. Would rather die than hurt you, especially like this. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, Jack please. Need you.” Hearing that you need him has Jack pulling his hips back again, faster this time before snapping back in.

From there it’s all feral need and grunts and groans as Jack tries to be closer to you, to consume you, to be one with you. His strokes are hard as he tries to get as deep inside of you as he possibly can. His pace varies, keeps you on your toes, but it’s not deliberate this time. It’s Jack chasing what he needs from you however his body tells him, however feels right at that second. At some point one of his arms slides under your back, his hand wrapping over the opposite shoulder so that you tilt to the side just a little and he can pull you down onto him as he fucks you so hard your last clear thought is of concern he might break the table. 

Your hands tug at his hair, nails draw up his back when he starts mouthing at your neck, kissing and sucking, lips passing over the scar from your central line again and again. He rests his cheek against yours leaving his mouth near your ear allowing you to hear every little noise your body pulls from him. Jack is fucking you with pure need but it’s not an erotic need like it is sometimes when you tease him or he’s been thinking about you all day. It’s intimate. Jack needs you. He needs you. All of you.

Only you.

You’re so lost in the haze of pleasure that it takes you a moment to realize your cheek is wet where your and Jack’s touch. You realize he’s crying. “Jack?” You moan his name so sweetly for him, lace it with all the concern and worry and need you have for him. 

It makes him let out the smallest sob and breathe in hard through his teeth, shake his head a little against yours. He pulls his head from yours and looks down at you, hips slowing but not stopping. “Tell me you’re here,” a fresh wave of tears roll down his face and hit your cheeks. He’s unfairly beautiful when he cries. “Tell me this is real. That you’re real.” A few of your own tears slip out the corner of your eyes and roll down towards your ear. “Please,” his voice cracks, more of his tears joining your own on your face, “please be real. Please tell me you’re here and real and with me.”

You do. Over and over and over until his lips are back on yours and consuming you in a different way now. More confident, more convinced you’re real and here with him and letting him fuck you on your kitchen table to soothe himself and fix something inside of him he didn’t realize was broken. 

Letting him take solace from every part of you.

One hand slips between your bodies and with how well he knows you it’s not long before Jack has you soundless with pleasure for a moment as your orgasm crashes over you, voice coming back to moan out little whispers of his name, veiled pleas for him to take anything and everything he could ever need from you. 

And so Jack does. Lets himself give in and lose himself all the way in you, your name groaned with a relieved intensity you’ve never heard from him before, lower and more gravelly than usual right at your ear.

Jack works himself through it before stilling and resting his forehead back against yours, the two of you panting softly as you come down, bodies hot and sweat sheened and sticking together. “I love you,” Jack whispers, eyes opening and finding yours before kissing you, chaste but lingering. Just to feel you. 

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips when you’re able, hand running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. Jack kisses your lips again and then your chin, down your neck and to your central line scar, lingering there before kissing down to the highest part of your thoracotomy scar. “Bed?”

Jack nods, lifts himself off of you and pulls out gently. He steps back and helps you up and off the table. “I should take care of all this.” He nods to the kitchen.

You shake your head and grab his hand. “The carrots and potatoes can live there overnight and it’ll be fine. We can order something from bed.” You squeeze his hand and pull him gently so he starts walking with you. 

Jack pulls back on your hand before you can get in bed, flicks his chin towards the bathroom. “Go,” it’s not an order, just a reminder. “We don’t want my… whatever that was to be the reason you get a UTI. You really don’t need that right now.” 

You smile at him gently and nod. Even after all the emotional turmoil he just went through, still is a little bit from what you can see in his eyes, he’s still thinking about you and your well being and keeping you healthy and safe. “You’ll get in bed?” 

He nods and drops your hand, sits on the edge and takes his prosthetic off as you go pee. He’s leaning against the headboard and staring into space when you get into bed. You slide up next to him so that your legs touch and lean back against the headboard, let your hand rest on his thigh and give it a little squeeze so he knows you’re here for whatever he might need.

“When you were in a coma,” Jack starts, voice strained and raw, “I started having nightmares.” He rests his hand on top of yours. You close your eyes and bow your head a little, heart sinking. “Some weren’t completely awful. But the one I got the most…” he trails off and shakes his head, grows quiet again. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you remind him softly, lean your head over and kiss his bare shoulder. 

“I know, but I want to. At least enough to explain what that was.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jack.”

“I know but I want to tell you.” He pauses for a second. “The worst, and of course most frequent, one was where you died in the OR. And I had to hold your lifeless body and somehow force myself to walk away from you. In the nightmare I’m thinking back on that while I’m sitting at your funeral.” You blink away tears because you can’t even imagine the level of pain that must have caused him. Multiple times. “The details, I… They don’t really matter, right now. In the nightmare I wore your engagement ring, the one that never got to go on your finger because I never go to ask, I wore it on a chain around my neck.”

“Oh fuck Jack,” you cringe, closing your eyes and squeezing his thigh tight and hating yourself. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Jack finally turns his head to look over at you. “Don’t be. Seriously. You had no way of knowing.” You appreciate him saying it but it doesn’t stop the guilt that builds inside of you. You were the reason he had the nightmare in the first place and now you’re the reason he had to go right back there. “So when you, when it got brought up, it just made it all hit me again, all the emotions from that nightmare and it made me panic almost. That this wasn’t real, that you weren’t. And I lost it a bit and so I did whatever that was and then needed to be as close to you as possible.” He shrugs a little. “I needed to know you were real.” 

Jack’s hand slides under yours and picks it up, laces your fingers together and squeezes. You feel vaguely lightheaded by his admission and then berate yourself and feel guiltier for thinking about yourself when this is about Jack and him still needing you. “I,” you try to find words to say, “I’m sorry,” Jack shakes his head but you continue, “I can’t even begin to imagine how painful that must have been.” You pause and have to look away from him for a moment, can feel his eyes remain on you. “Or maybe I can, to some extent at least, and that’s why I’m sorry and wish I could take it all away from you, make sure it never happens again.”

“That one has only happened once since you’ve been home. The first night.” You feel a little relief at that, are able to look back up at him. “They’ve kind of changed though, honestly. It’s not holding your dead body in an OR anymore, it’s walking in the door from work or the store or wherever and finding your dead body on the floor or in bed or wherever. Complications. Something else random. Freak home deaths I’ve seen roll through work before.” He lets go of your hand to bring his hand to your face again. “I wake up and have to convince myself you’re here. I’ve gotten quite good at the art of taking your pulse on your wrist without you waking up.” He gives a little laugh through his nose, trying to infuse a little lightness. It doesn’t work. If anything your lips pull down a bit. “Sometimes I just lay awake for a while watching you breathe. Sometimes I cuddle up to you a bit closer to feel your chest rise and fall against mine. Sometimes I fall asleep counting the beats of your heart while I feel your pulse.”

You take in a shuddery breath, trying so hard to focus on him and helping him and being here for him and not on the way this is all your fault. “Do you want to talk or for me to just listen?” You don’t want to force him to truly discuss this with you if he’s not in the headspace right now and it won’t surprise you if he’s not.

Jack thinks about it for a second. “Listen, please.”

“Okay.” You nod at him. “I’m not saying this to start a conversation when you just told me you wanted listening but I just need to make sure you know. You can do whatever you need to do Jack. When you wake up from one. Wake me up. We can talk, we can just sit together, whatever you need, okay?”

He nods, pulls his hand from your face to wipe away the couple of tears that have fallen down his own during this conversation. “Actually when you shifted us earlier, in the kitchen. Pulled my head to your chest so I could listen to your heart. It helped a lot. I just didn’t want to hurt you, before. With your chest healing.” He tries to laugh softly at himself. 

You give him the best smile you can manage with all the guilt and self-hate swirling inside you. “You can roll me into whatever position you want so you can listen anytime.” You know he’s trying to keep the conversation light because he knows how hard hearing it is for you. But that’s not fair. You should be the one trying to keep it light for him, should be taking care of him. “We could get you another stethoscope to keep on your nightstand,” you offer. “Then you could really listen whenever you wanted.”

He gives you a little more of a laugh at that and it makes your small smile become a little more genuine. “Could, yeah. But I like having my head on your chest, feeling you. I think it probably helps ground me in its own way.”

“Makes sense.” You rest your left hand on his chest, push down a little extra hard with your ring finger so he can feel the band that lives there now. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy and that you didn’t have to. And I want to do whatever I can to help you because I don’t want you to suffer.” You stop yourself from adding the because of me that you want to so badly. 

Jack picks up your hand, brings it to his lips palm first and kisses the band of your engagement ring before flipping your hand and kissing to the side of it the best he can with the setting. He brings your hand to the side of his face and covers it with his as he leans into it. “You always help. Even when you’re just laying there asleep and don’t know it.” 

You give him a little smile and laugh through your nose, try your best to take his words to heart because you know how much he means them. Jack knows you’re struggling, he can read you like a book. But he senses that you don’t want to acknowledge it so he doesn’t bring it up. 

His stomach growls then which makes you laugh a little more and he huffs. “Ruined our moment.” 

“Nah,” you shake your head and pull your hand away and rub his stomach, push off the headboard to sit up more. “What do you feel like? Can’t have my man going hungry.” The smile you give him is genuine, all the way to your eyes this time and it makes him mirror you, that smile of his you love so much pulling onto his face. 

He widens his eyes at you for a second and raises his eyebrows and you already know what he’s about to say. “You.”

“Yeah, I walked into that one,” you click your tongue at yourself. Jack gives you a smirk. “I don’t think I’m going to be filling enough for that-”

“I could go for seconds. Thirds, even.” 

“Mm, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no.” You boop his nose and the way he scrunches his nose at it is so cute you could bite him. “Real food first. Me later, if you’re good.” He raises his eyebrows at you with a little smile. “What would you like? I’ll order.”

“Feisty. I’ll take it. Be so good for you so I can have dessert.” He nods all saccharine and put-on grin that makes you roll your eyes at him playfully. He thinks for a moment and then says the name of your favorite restaurant. 

You tsk at him and give him a really? look, but you’re smiling still, grinning, in fact. Like an idiot. It’s so sweet and so Jack, just one of those little casual ways he shows he loves you. 

“Whattt? I can’t want that?” 

“You can, but I don’t think it’s really your first choice, right now.” You shake your head a little as you speak. You start to slide out of bed and Jack whines, grabs at one of your arms. 

“Where are you going?” he pouts at you. 

“Gotta go get my phone so we can order, baby.” 

His pout lessens fractionally. “Alright, but hurry back.” 

“You’re very cute when you’re clingy,” you giggle at him as you get out of bed. He goes to make a smart comment back that he isn’t clingy but stops. He is right now and he doesn’t fucking care. He’s allowed to be. 

Jack has a favorite restaurant, just like you. Several, actually but you know the one that really tops the list. But you’ve also deduced that Jack has a favorite comfort restaurant that’s different from his favorite favorite. And you know what his favorite comfort meal from that restaurant is. So you add it, pick something for yourself and order it to be delivered before walking back into the bedroom with your phone. 

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you come into view. “What were you doing?”

“Ordering.” You toss your phone at him as you slide in and he unlocks it, reads it over. 

He swallows thickly and looks at you with glassy eyes. You make him feel more loved than he could ever possibly deserve, knowing him that well without him having ever said a word about it and doing it for him without asking. You give him a soft smile when you turn to look at him. “Okay?” 

“More than,” he whispers. “Thank you.” He pulls you closer to him so that you’re cuddling chest to chest, gives you the sweetest, simplest kiss. It’s everything. “You know,” he hums, starting to push you on your back. “I think you’re my appetizer and dessert.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How about the day we met? We consider that our first date, it’s our anniversary,” Jack suggests. 

You and Jack are lounging on the couch together, half watching your show and half discussing wedding things. You’re not making any real plans, just thinking and dreaming out loud with each other. 

You can’t help but tease him. “Is that because you only want to have to remember one date?”

He shoots you a look. “No.” He wags his head at you as he says it. “I just thought it was kind of sweet. That’s our day, you know? And it falls on a Saturday that year.” He waves his phone that’s open to the calendar app at you. 

You grin at him. “You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot.” You’re crawling into his lap as you sing it, running your hands up his chest to hold his face so you can cover it in kisses.

“So you’ve said.” Jack moves his head and chases your lips with his trying to get a kiss on the lips. “Multiple times.”

“Because it’s true,” you mumble against his lips as he kisses you, running your hands through his curls.  

“Yeah, yeah.” He playfully waves you off as you settle on his lap perpendicular to him, one of his arms resting against your legs, hand spread over the thigh closest to him. His other hand rubs up and down your back absentmindedly. “You thought about where?”

“Mm,” you hum, look down at your engagement ring, “not so much. You?”

“Yeah,” he nods, squeezes your thigh. “I was thinking the bookstore.”

Your eyes come up from your ring and look at the wall in front of you for a second before looking at Jack. He can’t be serious. You open your mouth to say something, but close it as you struggle to find the words. 

“I didn’t expect speechless but I knew you’d love the idea.” Jack smiles. He uses the hand rubbing at your back to gently grab the back of your neck and bring your face close to his as if he’s going to kiss you. He drops his voice and lets a breath of hot air fan over your lips. “I’m fucking with you,” he murmurs before pulling his face away a bit and releasing you, letting his hand come down to your back again, a huge self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Jack!” He laughs at the shrill tone of your voice and the way you swat his chest playfully. 

“I really had you there for a minute,” he laughs as you fake pout at him. “But something I love about you is the way you were thinking so hard of a way to let me down without hurting me.”

“You did!” You huff at him. “I was sitting here thinking how am I going to explain to him that while I love our bookstore it doesn’t say wedding venue, nor do I want our wedding to be a near recreation of our first date with a bunch of extra people with us!”

Jack chuckles a little more. “I haven’t really thought about where either. Hard to think of where before you have a date to know the season.” You nod and hum, he makes a good point. “I only have one wedding requirement. And it’s not even really the wedding.” 

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at him in intrigue. “What’s that?”

“I plan the honeymoon.” Both of your eyebrows raise at that and you cock your head at him. You don’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t planning the honeymoon apparently. “And you don’t get to know where we’re going until we’re at the gate about to board.”

“How will I pack?” You look slightly stricken. “Jack, I love you and I trust you with my life, truly, but packing-”

“I’m going to give you,” Jack cuts you off with an oddly reassuring smirk, “two packing lists. You’ll make two piles. Once you’ve left to go get ready I’ll put one of the piles into a suitcase. That way I get my surprise and you’ve packed for yourself.”

You blink at him for a moment. “Jack,” you whisper, swallow hard and will away the tears you can feel forming. “You have this all planned out just to surprise me?”

“I thought you might like the idea, but it’s okay if you don’t.” He nods to emphasize that part. “But if we do decide to do it this way we’ll still talk about places of course, it’s not like I don’t want any input from you. I’ll just be the final decision maker.” 

“No, I love it.” The laugh you give him is breathless. “It makes me feel so loved and taken care of. It’s hard to wrap my head around.” You lean into him to give him a deep kiss. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“I think the general idea came to me a couple weeks after I knew I wanted to marry you.”

You beam up at him. “That long?” Jack nods. “Wow.” 

“Did you have a moment?” Jack asks you. You furrow your brows at him and shake your head slightly to ask him to explain. “A moment when you knew you wanted to marry me. That you knew you’d say yes if I asked. It’s okay if you don’t, honestly.”

“Of course I do!” You click your tongue at him. You let out a short laugh. “It actually wasn’t long after yours. Like two-ish weeks later, maybe? Things had been adding up, there were lots of things. This was just the first moment where I really consciously thought it.” You smile at him, wrap one arm around his neck so your fingers can scratch at the back of his scalp and nape of his neck how he likes. 

“You had just worked I think five nights in a row helping cover shifts. We hadn’t spoken on the phone that day, but exchanged some texts in the morning before you got home and went to sleep. And I could tell just from them that you were so beyond exhausted. My day, well. It was probably the worst and hardest day I had ever had at work and I felt so selfish but once I was able to leave I just went straight to your place. Without asking. So I knock and wait, get ready to leave because I know you’re asleep but then you open the door in your pajama pants, you’d clearly just woken up. And you give me this little ‘Hey Doll, come in’ as you open the door. I was frozen by that point. You took one look at me, grabbed my hand, pulled me inside and sat me on your couch and then disappeared. At some point you came back and gave me a tight hug, kissed my forehead and said ‘I’ve got you.’ And the next thing I know you’re stripping me and getting me into the bath you’d apparently drawn. You sat on the floor next to the tub with me. I still hadn’t said a single word to you at this point. Not even hi. And then you start talking to me. Just talking. I don’t remember about what. But you knew just from looking at me that I needed help getting out of my head. And as I listened I finally found my voice and was able to say I was sorry. You asked why and I said something along the lines of I was being selfish and knew you were exhausted and shouldn’t have come and made you do all this just because I had a bad day. And then you said, ‘Don’t apologize for needing me. Ever. For anything or for any reason. The day will never come where you need me and I am too tired for you.’ It wasn’t a big deal or a huge declaration. Just a casual fact you were stating. You knew what I needed just by looking at me. You didn’t care that I didn’t say a word to you while you did all this stuff for me. You didn’t ask what was wrong or for me to talk to you. You just met me where I was. And as you were helping me out of the bath and drying me off with a towel I just had the thought. I want to marry him.”

You wipe a few tears from your eyes. “Sorry, that was probably way more of a story than it needed to be to answer your question.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Jack murmurs. His eyes are glassy just like yours, a bit red. He gives a soft laugh. “I just feel kind of bad now that I didn’t give that much detail.” 

“Don’t.” You shake your head at him. “I promise, if I had been down on one knee on this floor that story would have been a whole lot fucking shorter.” 

That makes Jack laugh properly which makes you laugh properly. You turn a little and slide your arms around his neck to hug him, his arms sliding around you in return and holding you close. 

You nuzzle into his neck and then pull back for a kiss, let Jack deepen it as he begins moving to get you on your back on the couch, propping himself up on his elbows on top of you to keep too much weight off your chest and abdomen. You have to break apart for air but Jack goes straight to your neck, kissing and sucking and pulling all those pretty little sounds from you that he loves. 

“We have a date,” you whisper, hands tugging at his curls a little. 

Jack pulls back from your neck to look down at you, both of you grinning at each other. “We have a date.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jack walk into the Pitt together. He needed to grab some stuff and sign a few things and was going to have Robby drop it all off so he didn’t have to leave you. You haven’t been outside much since the shooting. But you convinced him that you guys should go together, that it would be good for him to see people. As long as he would drive you guys, which he would of course. 

Jack was weary at the idea. You seemed to be struggling a bit harder lately and he worried something about being in the Pitt specifically might be too triggering for you. He knows that you have a lot of unresolved anxiety and guilt about what happened still. And that, while you’ve spoken generally about feeling guilty for putting him through all of this, you, like him, struggle to talk about it with him because you see it as burdening him or guilting him.

But you reassured him that it would be fine. You’d been back to the hospital since everything for follow up appointments. Not to the Pitt, but if the hospital didn’t completely trigger you why would the Pitt? 

You feel a little twinge of something as you walk through the ambulance bay doors, the ones you’d come through that day. Jack can tell and he squeezes your hand, stops and pulls to the side. “You sure about this? We can leave, right now.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m sure. It’ll be good for me. I’m okay, really. It was just a little second of something.” 

He eyes you for a second but nods and starts walking you further in. It’s busy, nobody notices either of you as he leads you over to the break room. “You want to wait here? Shouldn’t take long. You can check the fridge. Anything with Robby’s name on it you can steal.” 

That makes you laugh, helps you relax. “I’ll wait here, yeah. Go do your thing, Dr. Abbot.” You wink at him. 

Jack lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head. “Don’t even start with me, Doll.” It makes you giggle as he leans down to kiss you. “I won’t be long, okay?” You nod at him, take a seat as he walks out. 

You scroll on your phone for a few minutes before your curiosity gets the better of you. You walk over and peek out the window of the door. It’s constant movement right now, people barely acknowledging each other as they rush to get somewhere else. You open the door and step out, just to look around. 

Before you’re even really aware of it you’re standing in front of one of the trauma rooms. That trauma room. The parts you can remember play in your head. Hugging Jack, Robby calling him over, you realizing what had happened and calling to Jack. And then nothing. Standing here you can only imagine what it must have been like for Jack, for him to have seen where you were shot and then watch you collapse. And then you made him live in the hospital with you for weeks. And now you’re making him stay home with you. Sometimes your guilt makes you feel like his jailer. 

Jack chats with Robby at the desk while he fills out one of the papers, gives whatever info it is HR so desperately needed to process all his leave correctly. Robby’s mid sentence when Jack spots you just in the corner of his eye, turns to see you standing in front of the trauma room. Jack leaves without a word to Robby and strides to you. 

“Hey,” he calls out as he gets close so that he won’t scare you when he steps in front of you and puts his hands on your arms. He sees that your eyes are a little glazed over when he gets a good look at you. “Why don’t you come over to the desk with me, yeah?” He’s not going to ask you why you were there like you’re a child who needs to explain yourself to him. He’s just going to redirect. “Yeah?” He asks again as he cups your face with one hand. 

“I just wanted to see. I, I got… curious. Just wanted to watch.” You explain anyway. “And then I was here.”

“That’s okay, Doll. You can sit at the desk with me, yeah?” 

You look around. There’s a chair against the wall a bit down, not facing the trauma room. “I’ll sit there. If that’s okay. Then I can watch.”

Jack glances over. “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s okay.” He walks you over to it, squeezes your hand. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

Being away from the room and back in Jack’s space snaps you back a little. “Okay, Peter.” You smile at him before he walks away. 

After a few minutes sitting there by yourself a woman rolls her wheelchair up to you. “And who are you that they’ve got sitting in time out?”

You glance around for a second to see if anyone’s coming after her and when nobody does you figure fuck it, and answer. “I’m Jack, um, Dr. Abbot’s fiancée.”

“Oh you lucky girl,” the woman smirks at you. “I’m Myrna.”

“Oh!” You smile widely at her. “Yes! I’ve heard a lot about you from Robby!”

“Have you now? Fruitcake’s talkin’ about me outside of this shithole. I knew I had that cocksucker wrapped around my finger.”

“Fruitcake?” You laugh. “That’s what you call Robby? Fruitcake?” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “He loves it.” Myrna gives you a conspiratorial wink. “He pretends it doesn’t, but I know it makes him feel things.” 

At the desk Robby looks up, sees you and Myrna talking and you laughing. “Oh that’s not good.” 

“Hm?” Jack raises his brows and then looks up. He smirks. “Not for you, but I think it’s going to be pretty funny for me.” Jack signs the last form and they both walk over to you. You and Myrna quiet as they get closer. 

“Myrna, are you harassing Jack’s fiancée?” Robby asks sternly, crossing his arms. 

“Not at all Fruitcake!” You answer for her. “We were just having a little chat.” 

Robby lets out a big sigh as Jack laughs. “See man, I told you. Not good for you, funny for me.” 

“Actually, we were talking and Myrna is free, Robby. She can be your plus one to the wedding! You said yesterday you were still looking!”

“That sounds perfect!” Jack smirks, clapping Robby on the shoulder. “I’ll let you see my vagina again for free Fruitcake,” Myrna offers, raising her eyebrows at Robby. 

Robby lets out another sigh and hangs his head. “The roof doth beckon.” 

You and Jack laugh while Myrna swats at him. “Ready Doll?”

“Yeah.” You look at Myrna. “It was lovely meeting you Myrna, I look forward to seeing you again.” You turn your attention to Robby, disguising your smirk with a warm smile quite well. “Bye Fruitcake!” You lean up and give Robby a quick kiss on the cheek as Jack snorts a laugh and holds his hand out for you. 

As the two of you walk away you hear Myrna giving Robby more shit.

“How come she’s allowed to kiss you on the cheek, cocksucker, but when I try you threaten to call the cops?” You and Jack laugh with each other as you walk out the ambulance bay doors to go back home. 

That night Jack thinks it’s a little strange, how long the shower has been running. And how it doesn’t sound like you’re in it. There’s no pause to the water raining down on the tiled shower floor, no slaps of water hitting against the floor suddenly when you step to rinse your hair or body, no muffled rain sound when you let yourself stand under the stream and soak. Only the uninterrupted sound of water raining from the shower head onto the tile. 

He glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. You have to have been in there for at least thirty minutes. Jack looks back over at the bathroom door. It’s unnerving. Something is wrong. 

He gets off the bed, shirtless and just in his sweatpants. You guys had been winding down for the night before you decided to shower. He tries the handle. It’s unlocked. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you can enter without asking if the door is unlocked. 

“Doll?” Jack calls to you softly as he opens the door. 

It’s like you don’t even hear him. Jack finds you in only your underwear staring in the mirror at your scars, one hand hovering over the bottom of the long laparotomy scar running up your stomach, another over your mouth, tears streaming down your face. Being at the Pitt today pushed you over some edge you didn’t realize you were so close to.

He knows now that you were using the sound of the shower to hide your muffled sobs. 

His eyes run over each of your scars, starting with the one up near your neck from your central line, that one fading quicker with how small it is, especially in comparison to the others. From there his eyes move down until he hits the scar from your thoracotomy. He traces the line with his eyes before he finds the laparotomy scar and lets his eyes drag along it. And then his eyes move over to the more circular scar. The bullet hole. 

“Doll, sweetheart,” Jack keeps his voice low as he walks into the bathroom. He steps over to the shower first and turns it off. Even that hardly seems to get through to you. He sees your eyes leave yourself in the mirror and flick to him for just a second. The tears start to fall harder. 

Jack walks up behind you so that his warm, bare chest presses against your back, his hands resting on your hips and lips kissing at your neck. Not teasing, just loving, soft and sweet and trying to soothe you when he knows words are only going to go so far. 

“What if you can never look at me the same way again?” You finally whisper, moving your hand from your mouth. 

You can see his brows furrow and a look of confusion fall over his face. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve kissed all of them, that you did the first time we had sex again after what happened. But I see you looking at them all, all the scars, whenever one is visible. And so what if you can never look at me the same way again, especially when they’re visible. What if my body is just always a reminder of one of the worst days of your life? A visual reminder that sends you right back there, that just, that just tortures you!” You let out a quiet sob. “What if that’s all you can ever see when you look at me?”

Jack takes in a deep breath and you can feel his chest press into you a little more as he does. He catches your eye contact in the mirror. “Doll,” he murmurs, “I think that you misunderstand why I look at your scars whenever one is visible.” Jack slides his hands from your hips around your front in a kind of backwards hug, pulls you back closer to him a bit. 

Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”

He nods. “Will you turn for me? Sit on the counter?” Jack tilts his head a little so that it rests against yours. “You can say no and I’ll still tell you of course. You know I just like my eye contact.” He says it with just a hint of a smile and self-teasing tone to try and get you to smile. 

And it’s small, but it works. Your lips pull up just slightly for a second. You chew on the inside of your cheek for a second before you turn around and let him help you get you up to sit on the edge of the counter. 

“Thank you.” Jack steps between your legs and leans down to kiss your forehead. “You want me to grab your shirt?” He’s cognizant of the conversation you’re having and the fact that you’re topless, scars on display. You give him a little nod and he grabs it from the pile of your clothes you made to the side of the door. “I say your shirt, but I really mean my shirt, don’t I?” 

You’d been wearing one of his old shirts that’s a bit oversized on him, soft and worn in and smelling like him. You stay quiet and nod. Jack’s heart almost throbs in his chest at how much he hates seeing you like this, this upset. Your tears have stopped now though. Little victories. Once it’s on he rests his hands on the tops of your thighs, rubs his thumbs in what he hopes are soothing circles. 

“Your scars don’t remind me of one of the worst days of my life. Looking at them doesn’t send me back to the hospital or torture me. Pretty much the exact opposite.” This time it’s your brows that furrow. “They’re a reminder of what happened, sure. Of what I almost lost. But it’s that part that’s important. What I almost lost.” 

“You know what you didn’t have in any of my nightmares?” Your eyes widen a little because you know what he means, what he’s going to say. “Scars. You only had wounds, fresh, stitches still in them. No scars.” Jack squeezes at your hands. “When I was in that operating room holding your dead body, you didn’t have any scars. So your scars, looking at them, when I look at them, they don’t torture me or send me back to one of the worst days of my life. They tell me that you’re alive. They remind me how hard you fought to stay here with me. They remind me how strong you are. They remind me that you’re here with me, healing and living.” 

Jack moves his hands from your legs and sets them on the outside of each of your thighs on the counter, hunches over a bit and leans on them as he moves forward to kiss your forehead again. You bring your arms up and set them on either side of his neck, fingers playing in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Your scars are proof that you’re alive. And so your scars will never be anything less than one of the most beautiful and important and comforting things I could ever look at.” He says it so seriously, so firm and settled, looks you straight in the eye as he says it. It makes a few tears slide down your cheeks again. “Second only to your face and you in general, okay?” He nods as he says it. 

He brings a hand up to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “Can I give you a kiss?”

You nod as a couple more tears fall. Jack takes your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up so he can kiss you. It’s gentle, soft and sweet and lingering as he just holds you there. He pulls back but then goes back for another quick one. 

Both you and Jack are surprised you haven’t started fully bawling into him, but there’s something in your chest that stops it from coming out like it needs to. You couldn’t describe it if you tried. 

“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”

It takes you a moment to answer. Not to decide. Just to answer. “Just bed, please.”

“Of course, Doll.” Jack steps back from between your legs and helps you get off the counter safely before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bed. You both slide in and Jack takes his prosthetic off and gets an arm around you, pulls you into him as he leans up against the headboard. 

You let him, let your head rest on his chest and let his arms wrap around you and let him hold you close as you think about everything he said. You believe him, you do. You know he would never lie to you and when you think about it all it makes sense. You just wish it were the same for you. Wish you could look at them and feel something, anything other than crushing guilt. 

Because for you they’re a reminder of a traumatic event but more than that they’re a reminder of what you put Jack through. What you continue to put him through now as you try to heal physically and mentally. 

Sometimes, maybe a lot of the time recently, you go back to that place. That place where you just wish it would stop, be over for the both of you. Wish you hadn’t made it out of the OR or the courthouse. That place where your brain tells you that Jack would be better off without you, that it’s unfair of you to ask him to do this all with you, that he’s only here with you still because he feels some sort of weird responsibility for what happened to you, that even if he doesn’t think he could, he would survive losing you and he would properly grieve and he would move on and find someone else. Someone who’s less work, less of a burden. Someone who’s better. That it wouldn’t even be that hard. 

The rational part of you knows that those thoughts aren’t true. That Jack is here because he loves you, more than anything, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. That he would not survive losing you or properly grieve or move on. That if he knew he would tell you that you’re not work at all, not a burden, that he could never do better. That he had an entire nightmare about having to bury you and it hurt so bad that even weeks later when he thought about it he was physically sick and broke down in the kitchen. 

Jack doesn’t push you, just like you never push him. He does get worried though. He hates to see you cry but this silence is somehow worse. 

“You wanna go to the bookstore tomorrow?” He asks it just to ask. Just to fill the silence and help distract you and maybe keep you out of your head. Or from getting further into it. 

You can feel the vibration of him speaking as your head rests on his chest. “Hm?”  

He kisses the top of your head. “Bookstore tomorrow?”

“Maybe, yeah.” It’s an odd answer from you. “I don’t know.” 

Jack nods slowly. “It’s okay to not know. And I’m here if you want to talk or have me listen. Whatever you need.”

You hum at his words. “I don’t know anything anymore Jack,” you admit. 

You feel his arms hold you a little tighter. He doesn’t understand and something about the way you say it scares him a little. “What do you mean?”

The something in your chest that was blocking everything from coming out starts to crack. “I don’t know,” you whisper, high pitched and cracking. “I don’t know how to do this.” You pull away from him and move so that you’re sitting next to him with your legs crossed so that you can face him. 

“I know I’m in therapy. And I know it helps. And I hate to think about what I’d be like without my therapist.” You shrug, chin trembling and tears lining your eyes as you look at him. You look so sad and it kills him. 

“But I still don’t know how to do this Jack. How to heal, how to grieve. I don’t know how to heal the tremendous guilt I feel. And everyone says to let myself grieve and what the fuck am I grieving? I don’t have anything to grieve. I didn’t lose anything! Not like you. It’s not the same as what you went through. You lost a piece of yourself. I happened to get shot and spent time in the hospital and yes I almost died but I didn’t lose a piece of me. And so I don’t know what I’m grieving and I don’t know how to grieve or what I’m grieving or how to heal from this… this amorphous concept. This thing, that just happened to me. This event. And I shouldn’t need to! I shouldn’t need to grieve or heal. There’s nothing there. I don’t have anything to grieve or heal from, and I shouldn’t be like this! And I’m not trying to throw what happened in your face Jack, I’m not, I promise, and I’m not for a second saying you somehow had it easier because there was a more tangible thing to grieve, if anything it’s the opposite, you lost a piece of yourself and I lost nothing. You had so much to grieve and heal from, you needing to grieve and heal and struggling that makes sense. I lost nothing. I don’t even know what I have to grieve. I don’t know.” 

All the tears in your eyes spill over at once. You bring your shoulders up to your ears in a held shrug. “I don’t know, Jack.” He’s never heard you sound so small. Not even that ‘okay’ you gave him in the hospital was like this. The guilt and shame and embarrassment all flood you, make it hard to look at him. “I didn’t say anything even though I’ve been struggling because-” 

You shake your head, try to wipe some of the tears off your face, look down at your hands in your lap. “I just don’t know how to do this, whatever this is. And it’s like recently I’ve lost all the words to even try and begin to explain how I feel or felt. I lost all the words.” You force yourself to look back up at him because when you admit this and apologize you need to be looking at him. “I lost all the words and my head got so fucked up that I didn’t know how to ask for help, from anyone.” 

Jack catches the change in tense. You had said you don’t know but now you’re saying you didn’t, like somewhere along the way in this conversation, this admission, this time with him, you found the words again. 

You shake your head a little as more tears slip down your cheeks. You whisper now, voice thicker than he’s ever heard with emotion. “Not even you. I didn’t know how to ask you for help Jack.” You try to hold back a small sob through your teeth. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t know, I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” You’re cut off by the wracking sob that you’re finally able to let out as that something in your chest shatters.

“Okay, shh.” Jack shushes you softly as he reaches for you while you let yourself fall forward into his chest, rolling on your side slightly to get your legs stretched out as he pulls you on top of him and cradles you against his bare chest. He isn’t shushing you to get you to stop, only for the comfort of it.

Jack hates this. He hates seeing you suffer so thoroughly. He hates the way he can’t hug you and put you back together, the way he can’t fix this for you, can’t take away your pain. Can’t take on all of the pain for you. Jack believes you when you say you didn’t know how to ask, knows that you weren’t trying to hide it from him, just like he wasn’t trying to hide his shit from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He repeats it as he continues to hold you, rocks with you at times like you did with him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” One arm keeps you close, his other hand rubbing your back in circles. He knows there’s very little he can do right now except hold you through it. 

With time, you run out of tears, exhaust yourself out of crying and just sniffle and hiccup into Jack. He keeps holding you, doesn’t push for more from you. 

“It’s just so hard.” Your whisper breaks the silence after a good five or so minutes. 

You can feel Jack nod. “Talk or listen?” he whispers. 

You try to think about it. You’re not really sure what you want. “I don’t know,” you admit, “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” You try to stop yourself from getting worked up again, the reality of one more thing you don’t know hitting you hard. 

“Shh,” Jack soothes you, “it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize and you don’t need to know. It’s okay. I promise.” His hands rub up and down your back and he kisses the top of your head. With how escalated you are right now he thinks eye contact will be too much so he just holds you tight as you are. “I’m going to talk. And if you want me to stop, just say so, okay?”

You nod. Jack takes a breath in as he tries to think of how to start and how he wants to say what he has to say. “You don’t ever need to apologize for struggling and not knowing how to ask for help.” There’s a pause as Jack realizes how guilty he feels about that. He knows he can’t focus on himself right now. You need him. “I think maybe we need to try and find something that you could do, that both of us could do honestly, that doesn’t require words but would let the other know we needed help. So then we don’t need words and can still get help.”

“Probably, would be good, yeah,” you mumble against him.

“Good. We’ll figure something out, promise.” He’s quiet for a moment to give you the chance to say you’ve talked enough for the night, but you don’t. “As for the other part, I know and understand and hear you when you say that you don’t know what you’re grieving and that you don’t have anything to grieve. But Doll, you do. You have so much to grieve, so much you are grieving even if it’s hard for you to see or understand right now. There doesn’t have to be some tangible loss like a foot or a person for you to have something to grieve. I hate it, and I wish that I could make it different and better for you, but you did lose a piece of yourself.” Jack feels new tears wet his chest but you don’t ask him to stop or make a noise so he continues. He knows he’s not what’s making you cry. That it’s just hard to hear and realize. “You lost a piece of yourself the moment that gun went off, and the moment you watched someone die in front of you,” he addresses the one thing you don’t talk a lot about because you’re not ready yet. It took a while for you to even be able to tell him. “And the moment,” he has to take a breath to steady himself because it’s still so hard to say, “the moment that bullet hit you, and when you almost died and over weeks in the hospital. All of those things take something from you, even if it’s not something tangible. You’ve lost a piece of yourself. And you’re grieving the person you were before you lost it. You’re grieving the you who didn’t know this type of violence, the you who didn’t know what it felt like to be shot, or what it felt like to be drowning in your own blood, or what it felt like to be septic or what it does to you to watch someone die in front of you or how it feels to see reminders of what you went through permanently on your skin. You’re grieving the person you were. And you’re grieving other things that I don’t know because I’m not in your brain. But those ones I said, those are ones I can see you grieving and struggling with and I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m being condescending or trying to define your grief for you, because I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you what I see in the hopes that it’ll help you be able to see, or give you a starting point.”

You shake your head against his chest. You know he’s not doing any of that, he didn’t even need to say it but you find it sweet that he did. “I know,” you sniffle. “I do. And it does help and somewhere deep down I know what I’m grieving, all of those things. Some things I probably can’t articulate. I just feel like I don’t know how to grieve. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to grieve obviously but I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s all the guilt making me feel like I don’t deserve to grieve or heal and should be stuck in this weird limbo forever or what. I just don’t know how.”

You both sit with your words for a minute. “I wish I had answers,” Jack finally murmurs. “But I’m not sure if anybody really knows how to grieve.” He tries to think of more to say that might be comforting or helpful. Before he can you speak.

“I got you all wet and snotty, I’m sorry.” You lean off his chest a little and put your hand under your shirt and bring it up to try and wipe him off. Jack understands you. You’ve talked enough for the night. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Jack laughs softly, grabbing at your hand to get you to stop. “Two of the most benign bodily fluids I’ve had on me, and they’re yours. Plus, I think I’ve done the same to you recently.”

“That’s different.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shakes his head, gives you a little tap on the ass. 

“It’s true!” you protest. “I was wearing a shirt. You’re not. That’s different.”

“Still.” He knows you’re technically correct. “I did the same to you. And I’m pretty sure I cried tears onto your face while we were, you know… at the table.”

You burst out laughing. “While we were at the table? That’s what we’re calling it?”

“It’s not incorrect.” He shrugs, beaming just from hearing you laugh and being the one to pull it from you. 

“Well, actually, I think it was more you were at the table. I was on the table,” you point out. 

Jack shakes his head and smiles at you. “Prepositions are overrated.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jack don’t argue often. But you’re humans. Humans who went through a major trauma together. And humans aren’t perfect. Individually or as a couple. 

Neither of you even remember how it started. And you’ve somehow moved far, far away from what you were initially discussing and starting to bicker about. But you’re here now and things are escalating into a kind of argument. Even with the escalation you never raise your voices at each other, never yell. Still. It’s neither your nor Jack’s finest moment. 

Jack has never pressured you into going outside. He knows it’s still hard for you, knows how much it scares you. But he also knows that you really need to and that it’s never going to get less scary. He knows that he needs to go outside but doesn’t want to leave you, feels like he can’t leave you or something will happen like when he left you that time in the hospital. And you know that you need to go outside. It’s just so scary. You were shot. You’ve put Jack through so much, and when you think about outside you think about what if something else happened, when will it be too much for him, you can’t keep asking him to do this.

Jack isn’t pressuring you to go outside but he does ask. Again. In the space of minutes.

“I don’t want to, Jack.” Your tone has a snappy edge to it. You’re getting frustrated. At yourself more than Jack. 

“You’re going to have to go outside eventually, Doll. For more than me driving you to a doctor or therapy or the bookstore.” Jack tries to keep his tone even. He’s getting frustrated too, also more at himself than you. Something about his words stings when you know he doesn’t mean them to, know it’s because you’re escalated and more sensitive in a way. The way he says it makes it seem like he’s not doing those things with you, just driving you somewhere. Chauffeuring you. Like he doesn’t want to be doing it. “Around the block, please. Nothing major. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You shake your head from where you’re sitting on the couch, knees coming up to your chest. “I don’t want to. Asking me eight more times isn’t going to change my answer.” 

“I’m worried about you!” Jack stands across the living from you in jeans and a shirt. Actually dressed compared to you in lounge clothes that are effectively pajamas. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” you can’t help the little face you make at that, “I’m really not, I promise. I’m just worried. You need to go outside. Get some fresh air. You’re holding yourself hostage here. You’re holding me-”

Jack stops as soon as he realizes what he was about to say. But he knows from the look on your face that it’s too late. And he’s right. It hits you like a slap to the face, far worse than he even realizes or could imagine. Because you’ve never really explicitly or in any detail told Jack about the guilt you have from effectively asking him to do all of this with and for you, about how guilty you feel that his entire life has been turned upside down and that he was confined to the hospital and is now confined to home because of you, because you’re scared to go outside. About the guilt of feeling like his jailer. Or hostage-keeper, apparently.

It’s a silent type of panic. One that pulls a band around your chest and stomach making it hard to breathe and sends adrenaline through your veins to chill your fingers and toes and has tears hitting your eyes. 

“Doll, I didn’t-”

“No, Jack, finish the goddamn sentence.” Your voice is eerily calm now. Jack takes in and lets out a breath, tilts his head and goes to speak. “No Jack. Finish the fucking sentence.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know that. I wasn’t thinking when I said it, phrased it like that.” Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Phrased it like what? Like you resent me? Like you’re getting tired of me? Of having to take care of me?” You’re pushing some of his buttons now, a little more deliberately than he had initially pushed yours. 

Jack clenches his jaw and tries to breathe through his hurt and rising frustration. “I don’t resent you, nor am I getting tired of you or having to take care of you.”

“You just feel like I’m keeping you hostage in your own home?” It’s cold, the way you say it. Icy. The guilt eats away at you. You hate yourself for what you’ve put him through. 

“You won’t even try, Doll! I know you know I need out of this house and you won’t even try!” A push back at your buttons. Jack knows that it’s not a matter of trying. He knows it’s not that simple. Just like you know he isn’t growing tired of you or caring for you. 

“You won’t try leaving me alone,” you fire back. “I got fucking shot and I don’t want to go outside. So why don’t you try just leaving me here alone if you want to go outside that badly?” That one really hits a nerve, harder than you realize because Jack hasn’t directly expressed just how guilty he feels about what happened when he left to go down to the ED that time in the hospital. How fucking responsible he feels for what ended up happening, for you almost dying. How he thinks it’s completely his fault and could have been prevented, easily. 

“Because the last time I left you alone you ended up coding in front of me and coming a centimeter and a half away from dying!” Jack takes a quick breath. He hates himself for what he let happen to you. “You don’t even know what you don’t fucking know! I watched my best fucking friend intubate you and do CPR on you and shock you. I watched them crack your chest. I have seen your literal fucking heart.” That’s all new information to you and it makes you hate yourself a little bit more even though you know that wasn’t Jack’s intention. “I have sat by you while you were in a coma for five fucking days, all because I-” 

You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. All because I left you and so I wasn’t there to notice you getting sicker and to feel your fever before you went septic and threw a PE. 

“Oh well I am so sorry Jack, that I went to work and got shot and almost died-”

“Don’t.” The way he says it is almost dark, low and deadly serious, face set and eyes piercing the thick tension between you. That’s the line for him. The almost flippancy in your tone. 

Jack holds his hands up. “I need air.” You don’t say anything as he walks over to the entryway and puts on his shoes. “I love you.” He puts his hand on the door handle and pauses.

“I love you too.” The door opens, Jack walks out and it shuts, key turning the deadbolt to lock a few seconds later. 

The sudden quiet of your apartment is what seems to bring you back down. You take a gasping breath in as everything you said to him sinks in. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, tears wetting the back of it. You’re pretty sure you’ve never hated yourself more. 

You stay there on the couch, are stuck there really, unable to bring yourself to move. All you can do is cry and think about how to apologize to Jack. You start ruminating and edging toward panic thinking about whether he’ll be able to forgive you, whether you guys will be able to work through this. You know it’s panic and that you guys will be able to. That both of you said things you didn’t mean and that were designed as jabs at the other. But yours feel so much worse than anything he said to you. Even when Jack forgives you, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself. 

Jack takes a couple of steps away from your apartment door but stops. He can’t. He can’t go any further. He knows he needed air and was right to step out and get some and help diffuse things between the two of you because that conversation was not going anywhere. But his fear is still there. So he walks back and slides down the wall right to the side of your door, convinces himself that this way he’ll hear you fall, if something happens. He’ll know. 

Sitting in the quiet brings Jack back down too, gives everything he said to you the chance to sink in. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair before bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing in. He’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself more. He gets panicky too, it gets hard for him to imagine how you could ever accept his apologies, how he could ever make this right. He knows that you’ll forgive him, and that you’ll work this out. He just doesn’t know how he’ll forgive himself.

Neither of you even cares what the other said to you. Not really. Both of you can hardly even remember what the other said to you now, in part because it doesn’t matter. It was said out of frustration and hurt and a deep grief, none of it was meant. Things just boiled over. And in part because all you can remember is the terrible things you said to the other. 

Jack doesn’t sit there long. It can’t be more than twenty minutes. You’re on your feet the second you hear the door start to unlock, walking closer to it and trying to wipe the tears from your face quickly. Jack pushes it open and looks at you, looks just as devastated as you feel and you hate it. He walks in and closes and locks the door. 

“I’m so sorry.” You both say it at the same time and it makes you smile a little at each other. You’re both moving then, walking towards one another until you meet and pull each other into the tightest hug. 

“I was so out of line Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.” Jack can feel your tears wet his neck and it makes him squeeze you a little tighter. 

“I was too. Way out of line. I didn’t mean it either. I’m so sorry, Doll.” Jack kisses the top of your head. 

The anxiety hits you a little harder being in Jack’s arms for some reason and you start to tremble. “I feel so awful, and I promise the tears aren’t manipulative or for guilt or to distract, I’m just so sorry and I hate myself for what I said and I don’t want to lose you.”

Jack frowns to himself. He’d like to have a strong word with whoever made you feel like you have to explain your tears. “I promise you that I never, for even a second, thought that. Now or any time in the past. I don’t want you to hate yourself, but I get it because I hate myself too right now. I don’t want to lose you either.” 

A few tears of Jack’s own slip down his face as he says it at the thought. “You’re not going to lose me,” you whisper.

“And you’re not going to lose me,” he whispers back. “Let’s go to bed.”

You pull away from him a little. “We can go out, if you just give me a couple of minutes to change-”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t want to go out right now, I just want to be in bed with you, holding you close.” Jack brings a hand to your face and cups it, brushes some of the tears away. “I’m just as insecure as you are right now. Just as shaken. And not by anything you said. By myself, for what I said.”

You lean into his hand. “How do you always manage to do that?” Jack raises his eyebrows to seek clarification. “Read me so well. Know how I’m really feeling.”

He shrugs, like it’s simple and obvious. “You’re my favorite book. I’ve got you so well memorized you’re an easy read.” You give him a sad nod and look down at his chest. “Hey,” he guides your head back to look at him when you don’t resist. “That was so cheesy and deserved at least a pity laugh.” 

You give him the smallest one through your nose. You love this about him, it’s one of the ways he takes care of you when you’re upset, tries to make you laugh a little when appropriate to help distract your mind. Usually it works. You’re just a little too shaken yourself for it to right now. 

“I,” you try to find the words. “I’m not upset or shaken by anything you said either. I just want to make sure you know that.” 

“I do.” Jack nods. “Honestly Doll, I barely remember what you said to me. All I can hear in my head right now are the things I said to you.”

You give a slightly bigger laugh through your nose. “Same. I can only hear myself, only remember my words.” You know you’re preventing him from getting you in bed where he wants to be, but you have one last thing to say. “I don’t want that to ever happen again Jack, I don’t ever want to hurt you like that again, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, and I don’t want to hurt you or say things like that to you ever again. But right now, I think we hurt ourselves more than we hurt each other.” He leans down and you share a kiss, three actually, each one lingering, an apology, forgiveness given and declaration of love from both of you to the other. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? I promise.”

Jack’s promise is how the two of you found yourselves here. Couples therapy. 

It wasn’t one person’s suggestion. After the argument the two of you had been talking in bed, trying to work some of what you each said out. You both talked about your own therapy and it just kind of dawned on you both at the same time and you both agreed, easily, even laughing together when you said it at nearly the same time. 

You stand outside the office with Jack. You hate the term, feel like it implies something. But nothing is wrong between the two of you. Just the opposite. After your argument you both knew you needed guidance on navigating your guilt and healing as a couple, not just as individuals. Both of your therapists had recommended the same couples therapist when asked, one who specializes in helping couples who have gone through an acute traumatic experience together.  

Nothing changed after the argument. You were both clingy the rest of that day and for a few days after. If anything in some ways it made you guys feel stronger as a couple. But at the same time neither of you ever want it to happen again. 

So here you are. You know it won’t make you as individuals or partners or your relationship perfect because that’s impossible. And you both know you’ll hurt each other again as you heal from this and move through life together because you’re human. Neither of you expect perfection.

Jack squeezes your hand as you stand there. You squeeze back, hard as you let out a big breath.

“Preventive medicine,” Jack reminds you. You’d admitted to him one day how much the term couples therapy freaked you out and how you knew it was stupid and nothing was wrong with you guys or between you guys but it still freaked you out. Jack had suggested calling it preventive medicine, asked if that might help. You weren’t sure you were sold but knew you’d pick apart any potential name for it and preventive medicine was better than couple’s therapy to you for some reason.

“Nothing is wrong?” Sometimes you just need reassurance from him. He’s always happy to give it. 

“Absolutely nothing. I’m not mad or upset with you. I’m not hurt. I don’t resent you. I love you. More than I did yesterday, less than I will tomorrow, whatever the fucking saying is. We’re okay. I promise. And if we’re ever not, if we ever even get remotely near being on the same planet as not being okay I will tell you.” Jack kisses your forehead. “This is a good thing. It’s smart. They tell people to do this before they get married even when one of them hasn’t just been shot and almost died.”

You smile at him, soft and a touch somber, but a smile nonetheless. “I know. And thank you. I’m sorry, I know I’ve been so insecure and worried lately and asking for so much reassurance.”

“I’ve been the same,” Jack reminds you. You hum and shake your head as if to question him. “I have been, at least a little bit. And you give me reassurance. You don’t mind. You say you’ll give it to me as much as I need it, never take it personally because you understand. The same is true for me. I will give you however much and whatever type of reassurance you need as much as you need whenever you need and I will never take it personally. I understand too. I’d rather you ask than live with worry that could be soothed by asking, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You lean into Jack for a second and take in a deep breath. “Alright. I’m ready. I don’t know why I even had to stand here and become ready, but whatever.” Jack smiles to himself because he loves when you do that kind of self-commentary. “You ready?”

“I’m always ready for anything with you Doll.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack is obviously the first of you to return to work. It’s not something either of you are looking forward to really. In a sense you both are because it checks off another box on the return to normalcy. But you’re not looking forward to being alone and Jack isn’t looking forward to leaving you.

The two of you talk and decide he’ll start with half shifts, give you both some time to adjust back into things. He had been working days but he thought maybe nights would be better until you were back to work, you’d be asleep when he was gone that way. You were fine with it and so that’s what he worked out with Robby. 

It’s strange sitting on the bed watching him pull on black scrubs that have been folded so long they’re a little creased. It’s been a long time since you last saw him in scrubs. It makes you smile because it reminds you of life before the shooting. And he still looks incredibly, incredibly fucking hot in them. 

“What?” He smirks as he looks at you after pulling his scrub top on over his undershirt. 

“I didn’t say anything!” You give him a look of mock offense. You really are doing your best to temper your anxiety about tonight. 

He narrows his eyes at you a little and walks to stand in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to say it. I could just feel it.”

You lean your head forward onto his tummy and rest your forehead there for a moment before looking up at him. “That so?” He gives you another smirk and nods. “I’m not allowed to appreciate how good you look in scrubs anymore, Dr. Abbot?”

Jack steps back and takes your hands to pull you off the bed. “Of course you are. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it.” He uses one hand to hold your face before leaning in and kissing you, hard, a little bit of tongue. Just because he can. He pulls back just far enough so you can see each other and gives you another smirked smile before kissing your forehead and releasing you. 

The two of you walk back into the front room together, and you sit on the couch and fidget with your fingers while Jack looks through his backpack to make sure he has everything he needs. You grab your phone, try to distract yourself with it so he doesn’t feel you staring at him the entire time. You don’t want to make this any harder for him. Both of you know the other is just as anxious. 

Jack glances down at his watch. He needs to leave. The urge to pull out his phone and call Robby to say he can’t make it in is immense. But he, and you, know that this day has to come eventually. He walks over and sits next to you on the couch. “You gonna be okay?” He grabs one of your hands in his to help ground you, get you to focus on him. 

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” You try to give him a brave smile but you’re not sure how well it lands. 

“I want you to call me or text me if you need anything, okay? I mean anything. If I have to leave early then I have to leave early.” His eyes flit around your face trying to make sure he’s reading every little bit of you. “And if for some reason I don’t answer the phone, call the hospital, yeah?”

“I know Peter,” you murmur, bring his hand up to your face and lean your cheek against the back of his hand. “I’ll be okay though. Really. It might be hard at first but I’ll probably just end up falling asleep and then you’ll slip into bed beside me before I even know it.”

“I really hope so, Doll.” Jack leans in and kisses your forehead, lingers for a moment before he pulls back and looks back down at you. His brows are creased, mouth just slightly pulled down, eyes a little wider than normal. He’s concerned, worried about you. You hate seeing him like this. You know part of it goes back to his nightmares about coming home and finding you dead.

“It’ll all be okay in the end. You’re coming home to me.” You manage to give him a real smile, as small as it is, and it visibly helps him relax. 

He’s able to return it. “Yes I am. Always.” He stands up and you follow, walk him over to the door. 

“Text me when you get there, yeah?”

“Course. And you text me during the night if you need, okay?” You nod at him, give him another little smile as he pulls his backpack over one shoulder. He pulls you close to him in a tight hug, kisses the top of your head before letting you pull back and kissing you. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“I love you more,” you murmur before stealing another kiss. Normally he’d argue with you, but tonight he lets you have it. 

Jack opens the door and steps out and you close it behind him. You both know that if he turned and looked at you he probably wouldn’t end up going in. He waits to hear the deadlock before he takes a few steps away. He has to stop though and just breathe for a minute before finally setting off. 

You lock the deadbolt and then rest your forehead against the door, one palm flat on it. Tears hit your eyes and you feel so fucking ridiculous about it. Like some clingy, codependent fiancée who can’t stand to be away from her man for more than ten minutes. You try and remind yourself that this is okay, you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling and you being upset isn’t because you’re clingy or codependent. It’s because you went through a major trauma and are healing and it’s your first time truly being on your own since you were shot. You know this won’t last, that it won’t always be like this, but in this moment it feels like it will and it overwhelms you.

Your hand itches to undo the deadbolt and dart out after him, beg him not to leave you. But you can’t do that. This is something that has to happen. So you pull yourself from the door and head back to the couch for a second before getting back up to go do the dishes from dinner. You thought it might be a good distraction. Instead it just reminds you that he’s not here doing them with you. 

Your phone dings as you finish loading the dishwasher and washing the pan that can’t go in it. It’s Jack letting you know he got to work. He keeps typing, and you chew on your lip as you wait to see what he’s going to say. 

J - I just want to let you know that it’s slammed here tonight so I’ll probably be busy and not around a ton. But I’ll check my phone often even if I can’t always reply. So text me if you need to, or call me or the ED. I love you. 

Your heart falls at his words and some part of you feels selfish for it. It’s good. It’s good for him to be there and be busy and have that distraction and get back to normal. It just sucks you won’t have him to talk to much. You had tried to prepare yourself for this, tried to operate under the assumption that he wouldn’t be around much but a part of you, apparently a big part, still held onto the hope he would. 

There’s also the unspoken meaning of the Pitt being slammed. The chances he’ll get off on time are probably slim to none unless some miracle happens. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re going to be asleep anyway. But will you really?

Jack is anxious to get a text back from you, glancing at his phone nonstop while Robby goes over the board with him. This was exactly what he did not want to happen. He didn’t want it to be slammed. Busy, fine. He appreciates the distraction it brings. He’d still be able to respond to you more even if not as frequently as he’d like. And slammed means the chances of him getting off in six hours are a fraction above non-existent. He knows you know that too. 

He also knows that he’s the lucky one out of the two of you. He can’t afford to be distracted here. So he has to do some kind of compartmentalization. It doesn’t mean he won’t miss or worry about you constantly. He will. He just has to force himself to stay present where he’s at. His inability to be distracted here is itself a distraction from his anxiety and missing you. 

It feels selfish. He knows that you don’t have the same luxury at home, if anything it’s the opposite. You have to try and find things to distract yourself so that you don’t end up getting too into your head. He knows that sometimes you struggle to come up with ways to do that, or that you think of ways but can’t convince yourself to do them. He gets it. He’s been there himself. And up until now he’d been there to distract you when you couldn’t do it for yourself. But now he’s not. 

So he’s anxious as he waits for a response. He knows you’re just staring at your phone trying to think of what to say. He’s trying not to think about the likelihood of teardrops hitting the screen of your phone and magnifying whatever they fall on. He’s trying not to think about what you look like when you cry like that, completely silent with the tears slipping down your face. 

You’re looking down at your phone enough that the first tear to roll off your face hits the screen. You shake your head at yourself. You need to get a grip. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jack will be fine. 

You - I’m glad you made it there safely. Thanks for letting me know, I hope the night isn’t awful. Let me know when you’re on your way home. I love you

Jack feels better for about half a second when your name finally flashes on his screen. But then he reads your message. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a second before looking back down at his phone. He can feel your dejection through the phone. For his part Robby gives Jack space, doesn’t comment on it, intercepts a couple of people who want to welcome Jack back. It takes Jack a moment to decide on what to reply. He knows that it doesn’t matter what his reply is, it’s not going to make anything better. 

J - Of course. Don’t forget you have a couple new books on the kitchen table and all of wedding pinterest and the knot to explore. I love you more

His message does manage to pull a little laugh from you. He’s so sweet, your Jack. Reminding you of things you could do to keep yourself occupied and distracted. You look around the kitchen and take in a deep breath, try to hype yourself up. 

It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do this and be fine and Jack will be so proud of you. You can do this. You grab your laptop and settle on the couch, put a show you like on and start looking through pinterest like Jack said. It goes well at first. Until you see something you really like and go to turn your computer and look over at Jack to show him. The realization hits you then that you’ve only ever done this with him. 

Fine. That’s okay. You have books. You turn the TV off and go look through the stack, pick one out and curl back up on the couch. Reading also goes well at first until it finally hits you that you’ve been staring at the same page for quite a while now because it’s hard to see through your tears. You set the book down and feel so defeated. You want to be okay so badly, for Jack and for yourself. But it seems the more you try to be the more you aren’t. 

You check your phone. 7:47. Nothing from Jack, not that you expected anything, especially since effectively no time has passed since his last message. You don’t know why you can’t do this, why it’s so hard. And that just makes you more upset. 

You get up once you start sniffling from the tears and just take yourself to bed, curl up in a ball on it with a box of tissues and let yourself cry. You grab your phone several times, have to fight the urge to call him and plead for him to come home. You have to fight the urge to get up and grab an uber and show up at the ED. The only good thing about crying is that it’s exhausting, and the swelling of your eyes makes you feel even more tired. And so you slip under without even realizing it. 

When Jack finally gets a second to check in and look at his phone sometime around 10:00 he’s a little surprised to see nothing from you. It’s unlike you. Normally you’ll text him often throughout your day, even if he can’t reply. Just little things. What you’re doing. Something funny that happened or that you saw. A photo of something that made you think of him. A moment on a show he doesn’t watch but that you want him to see. But then he realizes the problem with his thinking. Normally. 

Normal at this point is synonymous with ‘before you were shot.’ Because nothing has been remotely normal since then. It’s all been temporary. The hospital was temporary. Him being at home with you was temporary. Even his half shifts are temporary. And you both want normal back. But it’s not. And even when it is you both know it’ll be different, and that’s okay. A new normal is okay. But you’re not there yet and so, Jack realizes, thinking about what you’d normally do is futile and deceptive. He is surprised he hasn’t gotten anything wedding related though. He thought you’d take him up on that suggestion, go on pinterest, send him things you find and like. 

J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?

Before he can even start to wait for your reply Parker is grabbing him for help with a patient and his phone is back in his pocket. He tells himself he’s just been moving a lot and so that’s why he hasn’t felt his phone vibrate with your message. But when he pulls his phone out at 12:23 and there’s nothing from you he can’t help the pit of dread that starts to form in his stomach. 

Flashbacks of nightmares play in his head. You dead on the kitchen floor. You dead in your bed. You dead on the couch. He stops himself. You must be asleep. You just fell asleep early. Hell, maybe you took some sleeping meds just to make it easier for yourself and were asleep before his last text. That has to be it. Even though he’s sure you won’t see it, because you’re sleeping, he sends another one with the news you both saw coming. 

J - Hope you’re sleeping well. I’m going to be stuck here past 1. I’m hoping for 3/3:30, at most 4. I promise as soon as I can get out I will. I’m sorry. Love you

You wake with a start, covered in cold sweat, heart racing, chest heaving. It takes you a minute to fully come to. You had a nightmare. You were back in that courtroom with gunshots deafening you as you tried to hide. And then that body collapsed in front of you just like it did that day but this time you do recognize the person when their face rolls towards you as they bleed out, eyes fluttering closed. 

Jack.

You think you woke up before you even got shot, though you’re not sure. You’ve never been able to remember exactly when it happened. All you know is you saw Jack’s face and Jack’s blood and then mercifully woke the fuck up. You take a second to try and come down, look over at your phone and see it’s just after 2:00 and Jack’s messages. Your heart is crushed a little by the disappointment of him being home late even though you expected it. If he had gotten off on time he’d have been here, might have woken you getting into bed, might have stopped you from having that nightmare and that image of him seared in your brain. You know it’s not fair to put that on him and you aren’t, you don’t blame him. You just can’t help but think it. 

It’s what makes you burst into tears, again. Your disgust at yourself for even coming close to thinking about blaming him. And then you’re crying about all of it. Tears of anger at yourself, tears of frustration with yourself, tears of despondency about getting better, tears of panic from seeing Jack in your nightmare, tears of sorrow that he’s not home, tears of disappointment with yourself that you couldn’t do this one night, tears of confliction about being alive. You wear yourself out again. 

But this time you don’t go back to sleep. Instead you get up and take a shower to rid yourself of the sticky cold sweat that covers you. You hold some ice to your face once you’re out, hope it’ll help with the swelling of your eyes and lips enough that Jack won’t notice, especially in the dark. You toss the copious tear soaked tissues in the bathroom garbage and put the tissue box back where it was so that Jack won't see anything amiss and crawl back into bed. The exhaustion of crying pulls you under again. 

Jack’s out at 3:13. He hates it. He’s still on edge because still nothing from you even though he didn’t expect anything. He lets you know he's on his way home anyway. He cannot be home and have eyes on you soon enough. The drive is at least short at this time of night. There’s no lights on when he opens the door. Part of him is relieved because that would make sense if you were sleeping. But part of him is just put more on edge by the darkness. He doesn’t let himself think about it much, drops his backpack and gets his shoes off quickly and then is heading for your room. 

As much as he wants to, he doesn’t turn the overhead light on. He can make out your form on the bed so he steps over to the bathroom and reaches in to flick the light on, leaves the door open to give him just enough light in the bedroom to look at you. Normally the sight would turn him on, immensely. It still does, he can feel it. But tonight that’s overshadowed by the way it breaks his heart because he knows what it means. 

You’re curled up on his side of the bed, head on his pillow, wearing one of his shirts and holding another close to you, clutching it to your chest really. He lets out a slow breath through his nose as he takes you in. His brows furrow a little. He’s not sure if it’s the lighting or if your eyes and lips are really a little swollen. He makes himself let go of the thought for the moment so that he can grab a pair of pajama pants and just get in bed with you. 

When he walks in the bathroom properly it hits him. It’s a bit warmer than your bedroom, a bit more humid. And the smell. It smells like he just showered. Which means you showered recently and used all of his products so that you’d smell like him. It’s so sweet but it hurts, that he wasn’t here when you so clearly needed him. He tries to set that aside and not feel guilty, think about and apply what you guys have learned in couple’s therapy but it’s hard. And it gets harder when the pile of white catches his eye and he sees all of the tissues in the trash can. It wasn’t the lighting. The swelling is real. You cried. A lot. 

You’re not sure what wakes you but when you force your eyes open you realize the bathroom light is on which means Jack is home. It’s the first time you’ve smiled since he left. “Peter?” you call softly as you get out of bed to walk to the bathroom. Jack’s out of his scrubs in just his pajama bottoms.

“Hey, I’m sorry Doll, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You shake your head at him, meeting him at the doorway to the bathroom. 

“I’m just glad you’re home.” You push your lips out for a kiss he happily gives you. “Missed you. Were you okay?” 

“I was yeah. Being slammed was good at keeping me distracted." He frowns for a second because he knows how not the case that was for you. He leans in for another kiss. "I missed you more,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding your waist. 

You hum back against his lips as he kisses you again. “I’m going to let you have that only because I was passed out most of the night.” 

Jack nods at you. But you can tell from the speed of it that he knows. You just give him a little shrug to tell him you know he knows. 

“Why didn’t you call?” It’s soft. He’s not angry at you or upset with you in any way. Just curious. You look away from his eyes down at his bare chest and give another little shrug. “Did you need me?”

“I was okay… eventually,” you admit. One of his hands finds your chin, gently pushes it up to see if you’ll move your head up to look at him. You don’t resist so he tilts your chin up. 

Jack gives you a small smile and keeps his voice low and gentle and he hopes comforting. “That doesn’t answer my question.” The hand still on your waist gives it a small squeeze. “You can be okay and still need me, or trying to convince yourself you’re okay and still need me, or trying to be okay and still need me.” He raises his eyebrows a little at you. 

You look at him for a beat and then let out a big sigh, lean forward and into him a bit so that your forehead rests against his chest. “I hate it when you do that,” you grumble against him. 

“What’s that?” He leans down and kisses the top of your head. 

You move your forehead off his chest but plant a kiss there before looking back up at him. “See right through me,” you murmur through a watery smile. “I don’t know how you’re so damn good at it.”

“Well,” Jack nods slowly, “in your fourth year of med school they pull a couple of students aside, obviously the ones they think are the best since I was one of them, and they teach us x-ray vision.” 

You let out a huffed laugh but smile at him. “I really thought I was about to learn something about med school.”  

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?!” He gives you his best surprised face. 

You roll your eyes at him and laugh a little with him but it quickly turns into trembling lips and you shaking your head. 

“Okay baby, come here,” Jack whispers, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, one hand finding the back of your head and holding your face against his chest. 

“It was so bad Jack, it was so bad,” you choke out through a strangled sob. “And I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to cry into you tonight or this morning or whatever the fuck it is. I just want to get in bed and be with you.” You sniffle and try to pull yourself together. 

“I know.” He rocks you just a little, presses his lips to the top of your head and lets them linger. “But we can be in bed together and you can be crying if that’s what you need.” As he speaks he flicks the light off and settles one hand on your hip and slowly begins walking you backwards toward the bed. 

“I’m tired of it being what I need,” you mumble. At least you’ve managed to stop the tears. You turn once your knees hit the back of the bed so that you can slide in, Jack following you once he has his prosthetic off. “I just…I had a nightmare.”

Jack cringes as he settles and holds his arms open for you. “I’m so sorry.” He knows all too well how much they can rattle you and fuck you up for days. How long it can take to get them to a point of only happening a few times a year. How much therapy and EMDR he’s had to do to help with his over the years. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sigh as you curl into his side and drape your top leg over his, rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. The hand of Jack’s arm that’s now behind you starts rubbing your back up and down. “I was back there. In that courtroom on that day. And it was all the same and as much as that sucked it was fine. But then I got to the part where that woman collapsed in front of me and died but,” you have to pause and try and get yourself closer to Jack. “But it wasn’t her. It was you.” Jack’s shifting onto his side a bit more at that and pulling you closer into him, pressing the front of his body against yours. He positions you so that you can rest your ear up against his chest. “And unlike her you rolled your head to look at me as you were bleeding out and then I woke up.” 

You hear the click of Jack’s jaw as he opens it to say something. But it never comes, instead you just feel his head shake a little. You let yourself focus on the beat of his heart underneath your ear, the warmth of his skin. “I’m so sorry,” he finally whispers. “I know it’s not my fault but I am so sorry that you had to experience that Doll.”

You shrug a little. Apparently you’re all out of tears for the night. You’re too tired for them. And here in Jack’s arms with his heart beating under your ear it’s not so scary. There’s an odd sense of calm that fills both of you. You feel kind of bad, like you've taken this for yourself, haven't talked about how he did at work. But you know there's time. “Don’t be,” you whisper, turn your face a bit to nuzzle into his chest. “At least I didn’t have to live through your funeral. I’ve got that goin’ for me. More than you can say.”

He can feel your lips turn up in a smile against his chest. And he has to let out a laugh at it too. Because you’ve hit a point where you can start to make small jokes about what’s happened, what you’ve both been through. Because it’s all so miserable and horrific that if you guys don’t laugh you’ll cry. After a second you pull your head from his chest and look up at him. He looks so amused with his wide closed lip smile, shaking his head at you slightly that you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing. But that makes him crack and start properly laughing and so you do too. 

You guys laugh until it hurts, until the smallest tears slide out the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, that was probably so insensitive of me-”

“No,” Jack keeps laughing, “no. No, Doll that was so fucking needed, fuck me. The laughing feels just as cathartic as crying right now.”

“I agree,” you giggle as you both start to wind down. You lean in to kiss him and Jack keeps you there, nipping at your bottom lip and tugging at it a little when you try to pull away. “Needy,” you murmur teasingly.

“For you? Always.” You lay there and kiss. Kiss and make out in bed pressed against each other simply because you want to feel close and because you can. It’s not leading anywhere as good as it feels and as wired as it makes both of you. You can feel him growing hard against you and yourself growing wetter for him but you’re both content to stay like you are. 

Eventually the kisses slow. You’re both sleepy, and between snuggling with each other and all the kissing it’s quick to catch up with you. Just as you both start to nod off you think of something. “Hey Jack? Maybe no more night shifts.” It’s all sleep slurred and in that drowsy tone you get that he finds particularly adorable.

He laughs a little through his nose. “No more night shifts,” he agrees, just as groggy.

When you wake up the next day Jack is able to get in touch with Robby and switch things back so that he’s on days again. Something about the daylight makes it a little easier for you, and you don’t seem to have any nightmares when you sleep snuggled into Jack. The next time he goes to work for half a day shift sucks still, but significantly less than that first half a night shift. Each time it gets a little bit easier, even when Jack is finally back to regular twelve hour shifts. 

And then eventually it’s your turn to go back to work. It’s not just going back to work, it’s going back to the place you were shot. Both of you are on edge. Jack hates the thought of you having to go back there, it sends his anxiety through the roof even though he knows logically it’s probably the safest courthouse in the entire country right now with all the heightened security. 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Jack asks you for probably the tenth time this morning alone. 

“I’m sure,” you call to him from the bathroom as you finish getting ready. Jack appears in the mirror behind you, stopping at the doorway of the bathroom. You look at him in the mirror. “It’s okay, I’m ready. I can do this.” 

You sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself than you are Jack. “You can call me. If you need anything.” 

“I know,” you nod, “I promise I know and that if I need you I’ll call.” You turn to look at Jack and start walking towards him. Half of you feels ready for this, is craving the normalcy that being at work will bring. The other half knows you’re probably not quite ready. You haven’t even been by the building to expose yourself to it.

You pick at the breakfast Jack made you, stomach churning too much to feel hungry and making it hard to swallow anything down. He doesn’t comment on it as he sits at the table across from you working on today’s crossword, isn’t going to pressure you into eating more or potentially make you feel bad by calling you out on it. He gets it. He didn’t eat much dinner the night he went back to work for that one half a night shift. 

It’s going to put your shoes on where you really start to let yourself realize how not ready you are for this. You stare down at them for what feels like ten or so seconds but is in reality close to a full minute. Jack knows because he glances at his watch after the first few seconds pass and you don’t move to put them on. 

Finally you force yourself to and grab your bag. You take in and let out a deep breath and ignore how shaky it is as Jack walks over to you. He doesn’t want to smother you in reassurance and reminders you can call him or end up letting an ask for you to stay home slip out. “Have a good day Doll. Call if you need and I’ll be here waiting for you when you get home. I love you.” 

Jack leans down and kisses you, one that lingers followed by a bunch of softer pecks. “I will,” you nod. “I’ll see you tonight.” You put your hand on the door handle and open it a little. “I love you more,” you smile up at him. He lets you have it this morning. 

As you walk out the door and close it you know immediately you’re not ready. Jack knows you aren’t ready. But you try anyway and he doesn’t try to stop you because this is something you need to do for yourself. 

It doesn’t take too long to get there, the commute is generally fairly easy even though it’s busy. You walk up to the courtyard of the courthouse and stare at the entrance. It feels like you can’t breathe and you’re aware of how badly your hands shake. Your heart races as you try and tell yourself you just need a minute and then you’ll go in. 

But everything just gets worse. All you can hear is screaming and gunshots, taste that metallic flavor of adrenaline, and smell sulphur and smoke. You can’t do this. You so cannot fucking do this.

You get yourself back enough so a trembling hand can get your phone out of your bag, unlock it and hit Jack’s name. He answers on the first ring. “I’m not ready Jack, I can’t do this, I, I, I’m stuck outside and I need you, please come, I’m sor-”

“Doll,” Jack interrupts you. “Turn around.”

You do and standing at the edge of the courtyard is Jack. 

He hangs up his phone as he starts moving to you, shoving past a couple people with a distracted excuse me because he just needs to get to you. He knows that you don’t want to fully lose it here, not with the potential for people you know or work with every day to see. And Jack doesn’t want it for you either. He knows you hate crying in front of people, that it took a while for you to be able to cry in front of him. 

“I’m here,” he’s saying as he gets to you, arms reaching out before he’s even all the way there to start pulling you into him. “I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” Your hands slide around his waist and clutch at the back of his shirt as you close your eyes and press the side of your head to his chest. 

You breathe him in, smell your laundry detergent and his body wash and him. You focus and let his heart beating become the only thing you can hear. The metallic taste in your mouth starts to fade.

“Ready to walk?” Jack whispers as he feels you start to calm down. You nod against him and so he lets go of you. A hand finds your lower back and starts directing you over to a bench outside of the courtyard facing away from the courthouse.

You both sit and he pulls you as close as possible, wraps the arm closest to you around your waist to keep you close as you rest a hand on his knee. Jack brings his other hand across his body and rests it on top of your hand, laces your fingers together from above. 

Jack doesn’t pressure you, doesn’t ask you for details or if you want to talk or what exactly happened. He just sits there with you holding you close. You tilt your head and let it fall onto his shoulder. He tilts his head and his lips press against you where they can reach before he lets his head rest on yours lightly. 

“I feel so ridiculous,” you murmur after a while. 

Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”

“I knew the entire morning I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to be so bad so I didn’t listen to myself.” 

“I know. I knew,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t make you ridiculous. Just human.”

“You knew?” you whisper, pull away to look at him. “How?”

“You told me as much with your eyes and the way you hesitated before you did anything related to getting ready this morning.” He squeezes your hand. “Before picking up your hairbrush and putting your bra on and picking up your mascara, that type of stuff. Your hand hesitated for just a second or two before you grabbed whatever it was. And then when it took you as long as it did to get your shoes on I just had an intuition or gut feeling or whatever you want to call it that I should be here.” 

“You didn’t try to stop me?” 

“No,” he shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “It was obvious that you needed to do this. Come here. Try. Get yourself back in front of this building. You needed to do it for yourself and I wasn’t going to interfere with that, no matter how badly I wanted to stop you so you wouldn’t hurt. You needed to do this. My role is to support you and help you with your healing. Not to dictate how you do it.”

You take in and hold a long breath before letting it out through your nose and shaking your head a little. “You’re way too fucking good for me.”

Jack gives you a look. “Not even gracing that bullshit with a reply,” he parrots the phrase you love to use back at you.

You give him a little eye roll and a smile. “I just should be better, Jack. I should be able to go back and get back to normal. But then I got here and it’s like it was yesterday.”

He nods slowly. “I think it was yesterday in a sense, Doll. This is your first time even being in front of the courthouse since it happened. That’s one. Two,” he pauses to take a breath and look down and away from you for a second. “A very, very smart woman,” he looks back up at you with a small smile, “once told me that should is a stupid word. Nothing should or shouldn’t be. Things just are. And it’s okay for them to be as they are. It’s okay for this to be as it is.” 

You’re quiet for a few seconds before you let out a huffed laugh through your nose. “I can’t believe you just used my own words against me twice in a row.” 

Jack clicks his tongue and shrugs. “I can be a real dick sometimes can’t I?”

You roll your eyes at him again and lean back into him. “Maybe. But you’re my dick, so it’s okay, I’ll allow it.” 

That makes him roll his eyes at you and chuckle. “Yeah, I’m your dick, alright. I’m glad to hear you’ll allow it,” he teases. 

“I’m actually quite impressed that you remember that entire little speech I gave you,” you admit after a few minutes. 

“Repeated it to myself a lot. Still do. Well, really in my head you’re saying it to me and I hear it in your voice. So I guess I have you repeating it to me a lot.” He pauses. “It’s important to remember.”

“I suppose it is.” You pull away again to look up at him. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Always, Doll.” The kiss he gives you is quick yet ardent. “I love you too.” 

There’s a lull as the two of you just sit on the bench and exist together, soak in the sun.

“You wanna go to bath and body works?” Jack breaks the silence. An amused smirk pulls on your face as you pull away to look up at him. “Candles are on sale. $12.95. And they just released a bunch of new scents.” 

You know he’s offering and that he keeps tabs on when they’re on sale and when new scents come out because he knows how much you enjoy candles and the fun of smelling them. You bite your lip and look up at him all dreamy. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head and stands up, offers you his hand and helps you off the bench so you can head to the store. “Just in love.”

You take a bit more time for yourself before you try going back again, go and sit outside the courthouse with Jack and alone. And the next time you go back to work Jack goes with you, holds your hand all the way up to the employee entrance. He gives you a kiss goodbye and holds the door open for you, watches you for a second before he lets the door close. He waits outside on a bench for a bit, just in case you decide you’re not ready again and need him. But you don’t. And so Jack smiles to himself as he gets up and heads back home. 

Normal. Things are finally starting to get back to normal.

But, as it turns out, normalcy is a fragile thing. And so things are finally starting to get back to normal.

Until they aren’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so so much for reading, I hope it was okay!

Part 4 will be out soon!! This weekend for sure! And then we're straight into Quiet 2 which I am so fucking excited for! I have many many plans! How many exclamation points can I use in a row!!!!!

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[applereid]

— MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND, AARON HOTCHNER.

sorry if this is bad i needed to churn something out today, the next one will be better i promise!!

No one truly knew much about Aaron Hotchner’s personal life following his divorce from Haley. He was notoriously private, reserved even among close colleagues.

Unlike Morgan, who wore charm like cologne, Hotch never flirted, never hinted at a workplace crush, never so much as entertained office gossip.

The general consensus was that he simply went home— to an empty apartment and a quiet, solitary routine. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Each evening, Aaron returned home to you— his radiant, warm-hearted girlfriend. You met him at the door with that bright, effortless smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, grounding him in a peace he rarely found elsewhere.

It wasn’t something he broadcasted. His relationship with you was his own— private, meaningful, and not something he felt compelled to share with coworkers. Especially not Morgan.

That privacy, however, came crashing down on a rare paperwork-heavy day. The team was still at their desks, buried in reports, when the elevator doors opened and you walked confidently into the bullpen. All heads turned as you made your way over to the first familiar-looking face— Emily Prentiss.

“Hi,” you greeted with a kind smile, a paper bag in hand. “I was looking for Aaron? I’m dropping off his lunch.”

Emily blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Hotch?” she repeated, brows raised. “His office is just over—”

But before she could finish, Hotch was already descending the steps from his office, eyes only for you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand settling instinctively on the small of your back as he gently ushered you away from the now very curious stares of his team.

“Not so fast, Hotch!” Morgan called out behind him, followed closely by Emily, JJ, and Reid. “You’re not going to introduce us?” Emily added, a playful glint in her eye.

“No,” Hotch replied without missing a beat, smoothly guiding you into his office and closing the door behind you, shutting out the murmurs from the bullpen.

You laughed softly, leaning against his desk, still holding the lunch bag. “Work got you all grumpy?”

“Not work,” he said, stepping closer with a faint smile. “Just them.” He took the bag from your hand, setting it aside before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You giggled against his mouth, looping your arms around his neck as he steadied himself with a hand on the desk behind you.

“Thank you for lunch,” he whispered.

“Of course.” You reached up to wipe a smudge of your lip gloss from his mouth, making him chuckle as he playfully nipped at your finger.

“There’s pasta, some greens, and I slipped in a snack cake. Just in case,” you added with a grin.

“A snack cake?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “What am I, ten?” Still smiling, he moved around to his chair and sat down. “Why don’t you stay with me while I eat?”

You followed, walking around the desk and settling onto his lap. His arm wrapped securely around your waist, hand resting warmly against your stomach as he tilted his head to press a kiss just beneath your ear.

You smiled at first— until the kiss lingered, deepened, his mouth moving deliberately against your skin. You squirmed slightly, breath catching.

“Aaron?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer with words— just a hum of affirmation as his other hand pulled you closer.

“Turn around,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing.

You obeyed, as you always did, shifting to straddle his lap. His hands found their place on your hips, then lower, as his lips sought yours once more with increasing urgency.

Outside the office, Spencer's voice broke the stunned silence. "Guys... maybe we should get back to work."

The rest of the team stood frozen, eyes wide and cheeks red, as they quickly realized that Hotch had, for once, forgotten to close the blinds.

All of them staring just long enough to see Aaron’s hand slip somewhere it definitely shouldn’t have in a federal building.

"I didn't see anything," JJ said quickly, turning around.

"Yep, back to work, back to work," Morgan muttered, practically jogging away.

Emily just blinked, then slowly followed, shaking her head. "Well. That explains the mystery girlfriend."

[himasgod]

Can I request the first years finding out that their S/O is touch-aversed? She still loves them, she's just uncomfortable with being touched by other people.

FIRST YEARS X READER

Where you are touch-aversed

How would guys react if they tried physical contact with you, and you told them you are not comfortable with physical contact?

Epel had always felt like people underestimated him.

Too soft, too cute, too “girlish”—words that stung worse than a hex.

So when he started dating you, he was determined to prove he could be a strong n reliable partner. Not clingy. Not needy. Just dependable.

Except he also kind of wanted to hold your hand.

The idea kept floating in his mind. Every time you smiled at him like he’d just handed you the moon, every time you tucked your head when you laughed—it made him want to hold you close, just a little.

So one afternoon, after sneaking off to an apple orchard near Ramshackle, he reached for your hand as you stood beneath a tree. You gently stepped aside, not rude, just… careful. And Epel paused, hand mid-air.

“Ah… sorry. Did I mess up?”

“No. I just... don’t like being touched. Not really by anyone. It’s not about you.”

Epel blinked, lowering his hand slowly. He rubbed his neck, thinking.

“I see. That’s alright.”

You tilted your head. “Really?”

“‘Course. Granny always said that love ain’t about what you take—it’s what you give without expectin’ nothin’ back,” he said, voice a little quieter than usual.

You smiled, eyes a little wide.

Epel picked up a fallen apple and tossed it into his hand, smirking faintly. “I don’t need to touch you to know you care. You bein’ here with me says enough.”

He offered you the apple instead of his hand. You took it.

“Maybe someday, you’ll let me hold your hand. But if not, no big deal. I’ll just find other ways to make you feel special. Like teachin’ you how to climb trees or sneakin’ out with me for pie.”

You leaned into his shoulder—not quite touching, but close enough to count.

Epel flushed. “Whoa, okay, that’s kinda intimate for you, huh?”

You laughed. “I’m trying.”

He grinned, fiercely proud.

“You’re doin’ great. I’ll go your pace, always.”

Sebek prided himself on being the most dutiful boyfriend anyone could have. Protective, watchful, vocal about his admiration (often too vocal).

But subtlety? That wasn’t exactly his strongest suit.

So when you gently pulled away the first time he tried to offer his arm during a stroll around Diasomnia, he froze like someone had cast spell on him.

“You… recoiled?” he asked, stunned.

You winced.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just... not good with being touched. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Sebek looked like he’d been slapped with a wet fish.

“You mean to say you dislike physical closeness in general? Even from me?”

“Yes. But I still like you, Sebek. I just... express affection differently.”

He went quiet for once, lips parting and closing again like he didn’t know how to argue with something so… personal.

Then, after a long pause, he straightened his spine.

“Very well. If this is your nature, then I shall honor it to the fullest extent! Affection does not solely rely on touch!”

He cleared his throat, raising a finger dramatically.

“I shall serenade you with sonnets of adoration instead!”

You stared.

“Sonnets?”

“Yes! Glorious declarations of loyalty, recited from a safe distance!” he beamed.

You snorted, unable to help yourself.

“That’s... actually kind of sweet.”

“Of course it is,” he huffed proudly. “I am no crude brute. I am capable of restraint and—above all—respect.”

From that day forward, Sebek began to show his love with grand words, acts of service, and excessive praise.

He’d always ask permission before getting close, and though his voice was loud, his intentions were always gentle.

Jack wasn’t one for public displays of affection anyway. He liked his space, liked his quiet.

But when he started dating you, he found himself wondering what it’d be like to hold you—just once. Maybe sling his arm around your waist walkin side by side, something simple.

The first time he brushed your fingers and saw you recoil slightly, he froze mid-step.

You were quick to reassure him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to react like that—it’s just... I don’t really like being touched.”

Jack stared for a second, ears twitching. “…Got it.”

You looked at him nervously. “Does that bother you?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It surprised me. But I get it.”

You waited for more, but he didn’t speak right away.

Jack wasn’t the type to talk just to fill space. When he did finally speak, it was with quiet conviction.

“I don’t need to touch you to be close to you.”

You exhaled in relief, and Jack gave you a small smile.

“You’re important to me,” he said, looking straight ahead. “If that means showing I care by keeping my distance, that’s fine. I’ll be right here anyway.”

From then on, Jack would stand just close enough for comfort, always aware of your space. He’d open doors, carry your bag, walk you to class—even leave fresh bottles of water near your locker with your name written on them in neat blocky letters.

He didn’t say “I love you” out loud much—but you could feel it in the steadiness of his presence, the quiet loyalty in his gaze, and the respectful distance he never dared cross without your okay.

Ace had always been casual with touch.

Slinging his arm around your shoulder, ruffling your hair, poking your cheek when you pouted—it was all part of how he expressed affection. So when you flinched the first time he held your hand, his smile faltered for half a second.

He didn’t say anything right then.

You laughed it off quickly, and he let it slide.

But it started happening more. A subtle tense in your shoulders when he leaned too close. A quiet step back when he jokingly tried to pick you up. The realization came slow.

So one lazy afternoon, with you both sitting in Heartslabyul’s lounge after a round of magical history tutoring, he brought it up.

“Hey… can I ask you something?”

You looked up from your notes.

“Yeah?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wandering to the roses outside.

“You don’t like being touched, do you?”

There was a flicker of guilt in your eyes, and you opened your mouth—but he was quick to wave his hands, sitting upright.

“Wait—don’t freak out. I’m not mad or anything! I just... wanna know if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You hesitated, but nodded.

“Yeah. It’s not about you. I just don’t like... being touched. It makes my skin crawl sometimes.”

He blinked, taking that in. No teasing grin. No smug quip.

“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, grinning now but softer this time. “You think I’m gonna make you hug me if it makes you uncomfortable? I’m annoying, not evil.”

You laughed, a bit breathless, and he leaned back on his hands, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Still,” he added, tilting his head your way, “if there’s ever a way you do like affection—just tell me. I’m good at switching tactics, y’know. Might even start writing you love letters or something dramatic like Sebek.”

You giggled, warmth in your chest, and bumped your shoulder gently against his.

He looked shocked, then smug. “Hey—was that your version of a kiss?!”

“Shut up, Ace.”

Deuce wasn’t exactly the smoothest when it came to romance, but he tried. Maker, did he try. Carrying your books, pulling your chair out, offering you his jacket even when it wasn’t cold. He’d blush furiously every time—but your smile made it worth it.

But the one time he reached out to hold your hand after class and you instinctively pulled away, his heart sank.

He’d pulled back immediately, stammering an apology. You'd assured him it wasn’t personal.

But he’d spent the rest of the day racking his brain, worried he’d messed up somehow.

It wasn’t until the weekend—when you two sat by the Ramshackle steps, sharing snacks—that you brought it up.

“I’m not mad about earlier,” you said gently, watching the sky. “I just... I’m not good with physical touch.”

Deuce blinked, fingers tightening slightly around his sandwich wrapper.

“You’re not?”

You shook your head. “Even hugs or hand-holding. It’s not something I’m comfortable with. I still love being with you, though.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him something precious.

“Okay,” he said softly.

You glanced at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean—yeah, I’d like to hold your hand and stuff someday. But it’s not more important than you being happy. I’d rather walk beside you without touching than make you uncomfortable.”

The way your lips parted made his cheeks turn red.

“I’ll learn what works for you,” he added quickly. “Like, if you like words better, or... if there’s something else I can do. I want to be someone who makes you feel safe.”

Your heart swelled, and you gently placed your hand over his—not quite holding, just a light touch of fingers.

He froze, eyes wide.

“Like that?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Sometimes.”

His grin was shy but proud, like he’d just passed the world’s most important exam.

From then on, Deuce never reached out without asking. He’d offer a hand with a quiet “Is this okay?” or send sweet notes folded into perfect rectangles. He still blushed every time you smiled at him. But more than anything, he was patient.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Delicate ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: You first meet The Winter Soldier persona that Bucky worked so hard to hide.

Author’s Note: This is more of a prequel to this imagine.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings/Tags: mentions of mind control, grumpy x sunshine trope, i used google translation so if it's bad, you know why, reader is not from New York, reader is used as a test subject but nothing bad really happens to her tbh

Do not repost this anywhere!

Bucky could trust Steve ever since he began to remember him. That's why he went to him four months after leaving Hydra.

But during the time he's been with the Avengers, the hold that Hydra had on him continued to linger. Throughout the time he's been with the Avengers, trying to get better, there were a few slip ups when he would revert to The Winter Soldier persona.

That was until he met you.

Tony had brought you after meeting you when you saved his life with your special weapon that impressed him. Your dice that affects your opponents based on what the number it landed on. One could either blind people enough for you to take them down or six that can send people flying back and cause the room to burst into flames.

Not to mention you were an excellent fighter and held a bachelors and Masters in computer science and information science. Along with a minor in physics. So Tony brought you in.

That was three months ago. Three months since you've joined the Avengers. Three months since you've met Bucky and became close to him. Three months since Bucky did everything he can to make sure he didn't show up again.

~~~~~

It was your free week after a mission. A week to recover. And you wanted to get your favorite pasties as a reward for being able to get the mission done sooner than estimated.

"Are you sure you have to have these pastries?" Bucky asked you as you were getting ready to head out.

"Yes. I've been wanting them all week and I am going to get them. You can come with me if you'd like," you offered.

"We were comfortable on the couch," Bucky tells you with a small pout.

"It's just a fifteen minute walk. I will be back soon," you smiled at him.

You got into the elevator before pressing the button.

"What do you want by the way?" You asked him.

"Surprise me," Bucky tells you with a soft smile.

"Ooh! Okay," you say excitedly as the doors closed.

You had been gone for an hour. No texts from you, no calls. Nothing. Bucky grew worried. And then he appeared.

"Где она? (Where is she?)" Steve heard. Steve quickly turned around to see Bucky standing behind him. Sam looked up from his phone as he noticed the sudden change in Bucky.

"Friday, alert everyone and let them know we have a Code Snow," Tony says calmly to prevent The Winter Soldier from being provoked.

Everyone looked at The Winter Soldier as they got ready to fight him just in case. No one knew what triggered him.

"Bucky. You're okay. It's me," Steve says. The Winter Solider stared at him with a dark look.

"Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry it took so long. Line was super long and my phone died while I played Candy Crush," you say, walking out of the elevator with the to go bag from the bakery shop.

"Y/n! Stay back!" You heard. You looked over to see everyone in a defensive position.

"What's wrong?" You asked confused. You looked over at Bucky who stared intensely at you. As if he was on a mission to protect you.

"Bucky? Is everything okay?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

"Y/n, I wouldn't do that," Steve advised, stopping you in your tracks.

"What? Why?" You asked confused, looking over at Steve.

"He's back to his Winter Soldier mindset," Steve said.

"His what?" You asked confused. Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what he just said.

"Did Bucky not tell you about when he was under control by Hydra?" Steve asked you.

"He was part of Hydra?" You asked confused and in shock.

"Did you not read the files I gave you?" Tony questioned. A mixture of upset, annoyed, and confusion mixed in his tone.

"I... may have just skimmed through them," you admitted, looking away so you didn't have to look at him in the eye.

"Just come here," Tony said before grabbing your wrist.

Before Tony could pull you back to everyone else, Bucky quickly grabbed Tony's arm. Bucky pulled you back to him before throwing Tony back. Luckily, Steve quickly caught Tony.

"Bucky! No!" You yell, grabbing his right arm. He looked back at you before cupping your face.

"Ты в порядке? (Are you okay?)" The Winter Soldier asked you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't speak Russian," you tell him.

"Are you okay?" The Winter Soldier asked you again in English.

"I'm fine. But you shouldn't have done that! Tony could've gotten seriously hurt!" You yelled at him.

"He grabbed your wrist," The Winter Soldier pointed out, remaining calm as if nothing had happened.

"But he didn't hurt me," you tell him. "Please. Don't fight them. Let us help you get back to normal."

You stared up at The Winter Soldier with a look. The Winter Soldier stared at you before giving you a nod. He stood behind you as you looked at everyone else.

"What do I do now?" You asked nervously.

"Huh. That's new," Sam said.

"Y/n, can you lead him to the lab? We need to see something," Bruce asked you.

"Okay. Um, Bucky?"

"I'm not him," The Winter Soldier tells you.

"Okay. Um what do I call you?" You asked.

"Солдат. (Soldier)"

"I'm sorry. What?" You asked.

"Soldat," The Winter Soldier corrected. But this time, he said it slower and in a way you could understand.

"Soldat. Follow me," you tell him as you followed Bruce to the lab.

You stayed next to Bucky as he sat down for Bruce to look over at him.

"Interesting," Bruce says.

"What?" You asked.

"He seems more calm when it comes to you. Before you got here, his levels were high. But now, he seems more stable around you," Bruce tells you.

"Oh. That's good?"

"I would like to try something out if that's okay?" Bruce says.

"Okay."

"Go to the training room," Bruce says.

"Do I need to change?" You asked.

"No. But just know, this is a test," Bruce tells you.

"Okay," you nervously say.

You and Bucky walked into the training room while Steve, Tony, Sam, and Bruce watched from the side.

"Y/n, remember. This is a test," Bruce tells you.

You looked at him in confusion before seeing one of Tony's training bots walk over with a knife.

"Target acquired," the robot said as it walked over to you with a knife.

It tried to attack you but you quickly dodged it. The Winter Soldier quickly grabbed the bot but it's head with his mental arm before crushing it with his hand. You looked at The Winter Soldier as he looked over at the four. He began to walk over to them, ready to attack them.

"Soldat! Stand down!" You yelled.

The Winter Soldier stopped as you rushed over to him. He looked down at you, making sure you were okay.

"I'm okay," you tell him.

"Okay. Y/n, stand here with us and Steve, you go in," Bruce tells you both.

You walked over to Bruce and Tony as you watched Steve and the Winter Soldier stand in the middle of the room. Another bot attacked Steve but The Winter Soldier didn't do anything, he stood near you, as if he was protecting you. Tony controlled the bot to come towards you but The Winter Soldier quickly stopped it. Crushing it as he did with the one before.

"Okay. It's clear to say that he's only going to protect Y/n."

"What do I do now? When will Bucky be back?" You questioned.

"Usually we keep him contained until Bucky reverts back. But if he's not letting anything or anyone hurt you, then there is a chance he could be okay to roam around as long as you're with him," Bruce says.

"Is that a good idea?" Sam asked.

"We can give it a shot. And if something goes wrong, we'll keep hm contained until he reverts back to Bucky," Steve said.

"I'm willing to try it," you tell the boys.

"Are you sure? You saw what he can do to my bots," Tony asked.

"I'll be okay. And if something goes wrong, I'll call you guys," you tell them.

"Keep this with you," Tony said, handing you a small remote with one button on it. "If he starts to hurt you, just click it and we'll rush to you."

"Okay. Thank you," you say. You looked back at the Winter Soldier who stayed nearby, staring at you.

"I am feeling hungry so come on. I'm gonna make some lunch," you tell The Winter Soldier. He nodded as he followed you out.

Throughout the day, The Winter Soldier stayed close to you. While everyone kept their distance (mostly in fear that The Winter Solider would attack them if they got too close to you), you seemed to be fine with The Winter Soldier lingering near you.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight everyone," you say as you walked over to your room. You noticed The Winter Soldier stand by your door as you grabbed your pajamas.

"Oh right. Soldat, you can go to your room. I'm just gonna shower and sleep," you tell him.

"Я должен остаться здесь на случай, если у тебя возникнут проблемы. (I must stay here in case you are in trouble)," he tells you.

"English please. I don't speak Russian," you remind him.

"I must stay here in case you are in trouble," he tells you.

"Um okay. I'm just gonna shower and change really quickly," you tell him before walking into your bathroom. You closed the door and locked it before turning on the shower.

After the shower, you changed into your pajamas before blow drying your hair. You walked out of the shower to see The Winter Soldier sitting on your bed.

"Do you need to shower or change into your clothes as well?" You asked.

"I don't need to."

"If you're gonna stay here you're gonna shower. Come on," you tell him before walking out of your room. You led him to his room which was as bare as when you joined the Avengers. You took out his spare clothes before handing them to The Winter Soldier.

"Go shower. If you want, I'll stay out here until you finish," you tell the Winter Soldier. Bucky nodded before walking in the bathroom. You lied on his bed, feeling yourself grow comfortable.

The Winter Soldier walked out of the bathroom in his new clothes to see you asleep on his bed. He turned off the lights for you before sitting on a chair, watching you sleep.

You could feel him watching you, making you slightly wake up.

"You know, that's really creepy," you yawned. "Just come into the bed. You're gonna give me nightmares.

The Winter Soldier sat on the bed, staring at the door, waiting for anyone to come in. You pulled in down onto the bed, making him lie down. The Winter Soldier looked at you as you slept soundly, facing him. He moved his hand, placing it on top of yours.

~~~~~

Bucky had been avoiding you ever since you both woke up in his bed after he reverted back from the Winter Soldier. No matter how hard you tried to talk to him, he was good at hiding away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked Wanda and Natasha.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Bucky has been ignoring me for the past couple of days. I've tried talking to him but he keeps avoiding me," you pouted.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I think Bucky's embarrassed. I'm surprised he didn't tell you about The Winter Soldier," Wanda said.

"Is it cause I'm new?" You asked.

"You can't be that clueless," Natasha tells you.

"Clearly I am because I don't know what you're talking about," you continued to pout.

"He didn't want you to know because he likes you."

"What? What do you mean?" You asked, sitting up.

"Come on. Ever since you've joined, Bucky has been by your side. If he's not with Steve or Sam, he's with you. And even on missions, he's by your side or close nearby," Natasha says.

"He could just be friendly. Last time I thought someone liked me, they were just being nice and I felt embarrassed and never showed my face to them again," you admitted.

"Bucky is different. He likes you and it's easy for us to see that but you," Wanda says.

"But do you like him?" Natasha asked.

"Yes. He's tall, handsome, he's nice to me and I will admit, it was kinda hot seeing him all protective," you admitted.

"Go talk to him. He should be done with training by now," Natasha tells you. You nodded before getting up to find Bucky.

You found him walking to his room which you quickly caught up to him.

"Bucky. Can we please talk," you asked.

"I have to shower," Bucky says, still trying to avoid you.

"Fine then. I'll make it quick. I like you. And I don't care if you're still struggling with dealing what Hydra put you through. I want to help you anyway that I can. Because that's how much I like you. I like you for who you are. And you're just gonna have to deal with that," you tell him.

Bucky stared at you, surprised at your confession, as you stared at him.

"And now I am going to go because building up that confidence was a lot of energy and if you don't like me back, then that's fine. I just wanted you to know that I like you," you tell him before quickly turning around to leave.

~~~~~

You sat alone up on the roof as you stared out at the city. This was a long way from home but at least the view was nice to look at. You heard someone clear their throat, turning your attention over to them. You found Bucky standing nearby with a pastry box that had a slice of your favorite flavored cake.

"What's that for?" You asked.

"It's an apology cake slice. I'm sorry I've been ignoring you the past couple of days," Bucky said, handing you the cake.

"Thank you for the cake. Please be honest, did I do something wrong?" You asked him, putting the cake next to you.

"You did nothing wrong. It's mostly me," Bucky says as he sat down with you. "To be honest, I really like you too. But I was afraid you would get hurt by The Winter Soldier. Then when I woke up and you were in bed with me, I was afraid he or I took advantage of you.

"Well just to be clear, you didn't. And if you want, we can start things off slowly. I really do like you Bucky," you offered.

"I'd like that. I really do like you too, Y/n and I don't want to ruin anything between us. Believe it or not, you're the only other person I'm comfortable here with," Bucky tells you. You smiled at him.

"I'm comfortable with you too," you tell him.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Bucky asked.

"Not really. Why?" You asked.

"Well, I was thinking, would you want to go on a date? We can go to Coney Island and grab some dinner. Or we can just take a stroll around Central Park," Bucky suggested.

"I like any of those. I've never fully experienced Central Park and I haven't been to Coney Island yet so surprise me," you tell Bucky.

"Alright. Will do," Bucky smiled.

"Do you want to stay here with me and stare out the city? It's one hell of a view," you say.

"I'd like that," Bucky says.

You scooted closer to Bucky before leaning your head on his shoulder. Bucky put his arm around you as you both stared out at the city.

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 4

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: ~2.4k

cw: angst, flirty rafayel but he’s suspicious, em and reader argue but make up, reader wears a dress, existentialism, nero’s at the beginning and he’s really shy, implied stalking, existentialism part 2, envy, idk reader is having a crisis in every part i feel like you know the drill by now

Synopsis: You’re getting used to life in Linkon, used to the Hunter’s Association working alongside Nero, used to coming home with Em. You’re slightly panicked about your interactions with Zayne and Xavier, but as long as you don’t meet any other Love Interests, it should be fine, right? Just one problem: you and Em were invited to a certain artist’s newest exhibit, and he seems interested in something more than explaining his vision.

author’s note: I love writing Rafayel so much he’s so fun! I’m really looking forward to the next part with a certain crow. I’m trying to slowly escalate things, am I doing a good job? Eh, we’ll see. I’m trying not to pit Em and Reader against each other but I also have to create some sort of tension between them for it to make sense soooo oh well. I still don’t know how many parts this will be or how I’m gonna end it :( let me know if y’all have any ideas, ending or just random plot points! You can send an ask or leave a comment <3

tag list: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa

Series Masterlist

“Hey, Nero, what do you think of this dress?” You turned your phone around to show him a picture of you in a flattering navy dress. It showed more of your body than the clothes you frequently wore to the Association, which clearly caught Nero by surprise given the dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Uh, it’s very…” he stuttered as his cheeks grew redder and redder. He finally glanced away from you and the picture. “You look very pretty,” he muttered.

You turned the phone back around, looking at the picture yourself. “Do you think it’s alright for a fancy art exhibit? I don’t want to look out of place,” you explained.

Nero shook his head softly. “You look perfect.” His eyes widened. “I mean, it’s perfect! I didn’t— I wasn’t— I’m not flirting with you!” He dropped his face into his hands. “I’m sorry.” His words were muffled.

You laughed, causing him to turn his head and peek at you through his hands. “It’s alright, Nero. And thank you.” You smiled, and he looked back away. You stood up, ruffling his hair as you walked away. “You’re so cute, Nero.” You heard him make a small squeak of surprise before you shut the door.

Quickly making your way through the Hunter’s Association, you dodged carts and hunters in different sections. Research, medic, combat, until finally you reached the rows of desks and cubicles belonging to the Hunters.

The layout of the Hunter’s Association was much harder to learn than your apartment. Which made sense, of course. An entire corporation is obviously more complex than a simple two bedroom apartment.

It was unnecessarily complicated, though, you thought. Research was so secluded from the rest of the employees, and the setup for Hunters was so messy. You understood that they weren’t at their desks often, instead off on missions, but it was still ridiculous.

Luckily, Em’s desk was easy to find; Just look for the smaller claw machine plushies she proudly displayed. Catching sight of Artsy Birb, you weaved through desks and Hunters alike before standing in front of Em. You drummed your fingers on her desk, waiting for her to finish typing before you spoke. When she stopped and looked at you, you took it as your cue.

“So, about this art exhibit tonight,” you began.

“Oh, yeah!” Em smiled. “I think it starts at around eight o’clock. Something about the night emphasizing the beauty of the art or whatever.” She waved her hand carelessly. “We can get dinner before hand! It’s been a while since we had a fancy night out,” she said excitedly.

You grinned. “Alright, but I don’t know if I can afford too fancy.”

“I know,” Em groaned. “Our humble hunters’ salary can barely get us our dresses for tonight.” She rolled her eyes.

“Do you think we need to leave early? How far away is this exhibit?” you asked.

Em shrugged noncommittally. “It shouldn’t take too long. I don’t think we’ll need to leave early.”

It was 6:00 by the time you left the Association.

It took the both of you around an hour to get ready despite rushing.

It was 7:20 by the time you left the apartment.

“I knew we should have left earlier,” you muttered.

Em scoffed. “Well, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re the one who knew where we had to go!” Your hands tightened against the steering wheel. “Why wouldn’t I trust your judgment?”

Em huffed, looking out the passenger window. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

You sighed, making another turn. Em looked at you hesitantly, A few minutes passed in silence.

“I’m sorry!”she blurted out.

You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. “I am, too,” you agreed.

“No, you were right. I shouldn’t have gotten mad.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“You had every right to, though.” Her shoulders slumped. “Do you hate me now?” She looked to you with wide eyes.

“No,” you murmured. “Bonds can’t be so easily broken.”

The crash of waves could barely be heard over the loud chatter of the exhibition. Moonlight poured in from the windowed ceilings, casting an ethereal light on the paintings displayed.

When you’d first arrived, you hovered around Em. You let her take control of social situations like she always did, offering polite smiles and nods whenever you were briefly addressed. Although she didn’t know much about art, she certainly knew people. She gracefully navigated each interaction, and you felt like you were scrambling to catch up, trying to not be left behind.

You weren’t sure when exactly you’d gotten separated, but you managed to find a part of the exhibit that didn’t receive as much traffic. There were only a handful of people within sight, each in their own worlds. You weren’t approached, weren’t tugged along to be introduced to anyone knew, weren’t pressured to socialize. You felt your the pressure in your chest ease as you observed the swirl of colors on the canvas before you.

The canvas, despite being startling in size, was one of the smaller ones on display. You suspected that was why there weren’t as many people gathered around it as some of the other, larger paintings. It wasn’t as eye-catching, didn’t take up as much space as some of the others.

Something you understood more than you’d like to admit.

It was beautiful, though, blues and pinks mixing and mingling in perfect harmony. There were flashes of brighter colors here and there, like the deep red interspersed throughout. You knew nearly all of the paintings here depicted the sea, but there was something different about this one. You didn’t think it was the ocean, but something else.

Something familiar. Something mysterious.

“Do you like that one?” A voice came from behind you.

You turned, breath catching as you immediately caught sight of purple hair. You tilted your chin to meet his eyes, a similar swirl of blue and pink to the painting in front of you.

He was taller than you expected. You’d known Xavier and Zayne were tall, and they certainly acted like it, but there was something about him that didn’t seem to carry that height. Like he tried to make himself smaller, easier to fit.

Against your better judgment, you smiled, offering a slight nod.

Maybe it’s best not to say much this time.

He nodded approvingly. “So do I. Haven’t seen many people stop in front of it, though.” He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as you both faced the painting. He leaned closer to your ear. “I’m Rafayel, by the way.”

You swallowed thickly. “I know.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean—” You cursed yourself internally for not just introducing yourself. “It’s just that your friends with my roommate, so I know who you are,” you explained.

He nodded in understanding. “I know who you are, too.” When he caught sight of your widened eyes, he chuckled. “What kind of friend would I be to Em if I didn’t even know who her roommate was?”

It sounded like such a casual comment, not something to linger on, but you knew: He knew who you were because he’d been stalking Em. It was a plot point in Love and Deepspace, how had you forgotten that?

And just how much did he know?

“Are you looking for her?” you asked. “Because I won’t be much help. I lost her a while ago.”

Rafayel shook his head softly. “No, she’s somewhere over there.” He made a vague motion towards the main room of the exhibit. “I think she was talking to Thomas. For some reason.” You didn’t notice his watchful eyes on you as you laughed at his exaggerated expression. “No, I’m much more interested in you,” he murmured with a teasing smile.

Despite your internal screams, you laughed lightly.

What does he mean interested?

You wouldn’t put it past him to try and get you on his side to get some more personal information on Em, what with the whole stalker thing and everything, but would he really need your help with that?

One thought came to your mind, though: Zayne and Xavier.

You knew Rafayel wore many masks, so he could just be charming as a means to an end, but the thought of the other Love Interests gave you pause. Something was clearly affected because of your presence here. They seemed more comfortable with you than with Em, but why was that?

Why should someone from an entirely different world forge a greater connection than a love across lifetimes?

You couldn’t deny it, though. There was something so comfortable when interacting with each of the Love Interests. You were immediately put at ease, like you were talking to a friend you’d known for years and not a man you’d only just been introduced to. It was as Zayne said: Like I’ve loved you before.

“Helloooo?” Rafayel lightly knocked on your forehead, bringing you back to the conversation in front of you.

“Sorry,” you muttered, averting your eyes. “Shouldn’t you be talking to patrons or something?”

“Nah,” he dismissed carelessly. “They only like my paintings because they’re popular.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. The ends of his lips threatened to curve upwards. “I’d much prefer to talk to someone that actually enjoys it and understands it.” Though he kept his eyes on you, Rafayel directed your gaze back to the canvas. “This piece is different from anything else I’ve painted. I always paint what I feel, but that afternoon I felt something shift. I wanted to paint the feeling.”

You nodded, enthralled by his explanation. The way he spoke was mesmerizing, intriguing, like he always aimed to leave you wanting more. “What happened that afternoon?”

“I actually don’t know,” he chuckled. “It was about a week ago. Or maybe it was two? It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “It must have been around lunchtime that I just felt something change. Like the universe was molding into something different.”

An afternoon a week or two ago?

Your chest tightened again.

That was when you first arrived in Linkon.

What if the universe was molding into something different to fit you?

“There you are!” Em’s voice rang through the exhibit, bright and cheery. You had to hold yourself back from groaning as she approached. Now was the perfect time for you to get more information from a Love Interest, but it was as if Em have a gravitational pull to each of them. She was constantly around them if she could be, unless she decided she didn’t want them.

They bent to her will, something you’d relate to but couldn’t fully understand. Why would they willingly have their hearts crushed? Each man knew at least one other Love Interest, knew there was competition, so why were they all so certain they would win her love? What would happen to those that didn’t?

“I didn’t know you two knew each other.” Em smiled, looking between you and Rafayel.

“Actually, we just met.” Rafayel slung a loose arm around you, a movement that seemed so practiced you barely even flinched. Em, however, did, something almost unreadable passing through her eyes. You tried to place it. Was it jealousy? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was gone nearly as soon as it appeared.

Em nodded, silence lingering for a moment too long. “Well, I think we should be getting home. It’s been a long week and I’m tired.” She made a show of sagging her shoulders, earning a laugh out of Rafayel that sounded ever so slightly forced to you.

You were probably just imagining it, right?

Em grabbed your arm, pulling you out of Rafayel’s grasp and next to her. He stumbled slightly but quickly recovered, his blinding smile appearing.

“Here, let me get your phone number.” At your raised eyebrow, he explained, “In case there’s something about Em we need to talk about.”

How were you supposed to argue with that. You took his phone without saying a word, trying to remember your number as you typed it. Finding yourself typing in your number from your other life, you quickly erased it, wondering how much of that you would remain after you got used to this life.

You handed it back, muttering a quick goodbye as Em swept you away. Rafayel watched you both as you left, his smile slowly dropping until you were out of sight.

Em drove home, a sort of tension in her that neither of you addressed. The ride was silent for the most part, save for some small bits of conversation here and there.

Why couldn’t you click with Em when you could with the Love Interests? What was so different?

The apartment was as dark as the night sky when you entered, flicking on the light and kicking your shoes off. You checked the clock.

Nearly midnight.

“I’m so glad we don’t have work tomorrow,” you groaned.

“I know!” Em kicked off her own heels, turning around in front of you. “Could you unzip me please?”

You murmured a quick yes and helped her out of her gown, thankful when she helped you with yours. There was an unspoken intimacy between you two that you’d notice grow as you spent more time together. It’d been so long since you’d had a friend so close by, you’d almost forgotten how to act.

As you slipped on a worn pair of sweatpants, your phone chimed with an unknown number.

hey cutie

dun forget me

if you do ill blow bubbles at you

Rafayel.

You stared at the message for what felt like forever.

How were you supposed to respond?

And who was he calling cutie?

You could hear Em in the living room, giggling over the phone. One of her reverse harem, you figured. Saying something sweet and flirty and acting dumb about it.

You loved Em. You did. It was hard not to. But there was still something so unnerving about her. She was made to be liked as a main character. It was all a script. Nothing felt genuine. Nothing felt real.

And then there was the envy.

Just like liking her, it was hard not to be envious of her. She had everything. A career, recognition, and so much love.

You knew she suffered, that there was so much trauma behind her smile, but it still resulted in so much happiness.

How come yours couldn’t?

Yours, that stuck behind you like a shadow, constantly looming.

A constant reminder.

You weren’t experimented on as a child, didn’t lose your best friend and your guardian in early adulthood. Your trauma wasn’t worse than Em’s, you thought.

So how come it affected you so much?

Where was your happiness?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[fuyungus]

thinking about staying to sleep at your boyfriend's (Megumi) house and end up fucking his hot dad (Toji) ?!?!?

disclaimer: reader is about 19!!!

You have been dating Megumi for approximately 3 months, you love him like you have never loved anyone. But, there is a problem, he doesn't want to start having sex yet, he says he needs to know you better, and you respect that, obviously, but you can't stop thinking about fucking him.

You have a plan, having a sleepover and end up at least sucking his dick, so you're having dinner with his parents and start making them feel pit for you. "Babe, I have to go right now, I don't want to get home at night" you get up to leave, but Megumi's mom grabs you softly by the arm. "Sleep here, sweetheart, I'm sure Toji won't have any problem with that, right, honey?". The man nods across the table, he doesn't really talk when you're around.

After finishing dinner, Megumi's mom suggests you both should go to his room and put on pajamas. So you go upstairs and put on a big shirt of your boyfriend's, while he puts on shorts and a tank top.

You both went downstairs, you were going to get blankets and Megumi was going to help his mom. But when you went to the room were the blankets were, you bumped into someone's chest. "I'm so sorry Mr. Fushiguro" you apologized with your face all red. "Don't worry darling" he winked and got out of your way, going upstairs. You got the blankets and started thinking, maybe if you can't fuck your boyfriend, you can fuck his dad!.

At night you couldn't stop thinking about him, maybe you should stop trying to get Megumi to do something he's not ready for.

Suddenly you hear the fridge opening, so you go to the kitchen without Megumi noticing.

"Do you need anything, darling?" Toji asks, pouring whisky on a little glass. "Um- No, I just- Um..." he chuckles "Wanna join me?" you nodded and he got another glass, serving you some whisky as well.

After a couple of glasses, he leans on, and finally gives you a kiss, you start wrapping your hands on his neck, he separates from the kiss and grabs your hand so you can feel how hard he is. You start moving your hand and jump on the kitchen table to be more close to his face, you two start making out with hunger. He pulls down your panties, making you gasp softly, took out his big cock and wet it on your folds, he doesn't even prepare you, he just whispers; "Deep breath" and when you do, he insters his dick inside of your cunt, you moan, but your moans are instantly shutted up with his big hand.

"I bet my stupid son doesn't fuck you like a real man like me does" you deny with your head, his hand goes down to where your bodies connect and start thumbing your little clit. "Fucking tight pussy, taking me so well" you squirm and scratch his back with your long nails.

"I'm so close!" you say quietly, he starts going faster and faster until you're creaming on his cock, he doesn't even think about it and cum inside of you.

"Don't you ever tell anyone about this, am I clear?" you nod and he gives you a long kiss before putting your panties back on "Now go to sleep with your boyfriend with my cum on your panties".

[writingdevil]

Hi. Is there a way we can hunted and smitten? Doesn't matter if they're platonic or romantic.

(We can absolutely have Hunted and Smitten! They're such a cute duo no matter the relationship, so enjoy!)

(Warning-Blood and injury, implied violence)

"Dear?"

Nothing.

"My love?"

Nothing but shaking.

"My darling, everything is alright. You don't need to feel so frightened."

But Hunted just frantically shook his head, and Smitten's heart broke at how terrified his lover looked, pressing himself back against the corner of the room, blood dripping from his lips.

Hunted's eyes were wide and his expression was an awful mixture of panic, fear, and horror. He hugged himself desperately, as if afraid of his body acting out without his permission.

Smitten hated seeing his love like this.

Smitten made sure to keep his composure relaxed as he kneeled in front of Hunted, despite the sting on his forearm, and the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Hunted," Smitten called out, keeping his voice light and calm, "can you hear me?"

Hunted flinched, but didn't respond, still trembling, his eyes unfocused and cloudy with fear.

"My love, everything is all well and good. I am in no way upset with you, and all I wish is to make sure that you're okay now."

Hunted blinked, and then his eyes darted to Smitten's arm, where blood dripped down onto the floor, punctures of a small bitemark allowing blood to trickle out.

Hunted's face crumpled with grief, and he whimpered as he tried to push himself further back into the corner.

"I'm sorry," Hunted whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and letting tears slowly fall down his face. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-"

Smitten couldn't help but crawl closer, only stopping once Hunted flinched, but he kept his arms spread out, as if waiting for Hunted to jump into them.

"Oh, honey," Smitten cooed, "you don't have to apologise-I know it was an accident, and I forgave you the moment that it happened. I'm truly not angry with you, just worried, my love."

But Hunted shook his head, his eyes never leaving Smitten's arm. "No," Hunted mumbled, shaking his head more feverishly. "No, no, no-I hurt you-I'm supposed to protect, not attack."

"You still do, my love. You were startled- you simply used those instincts that I love so much about you."

Hunted finally lifted his head up enough to look Smitten in the eye, and then he whispered, "But it's you."

Smitten's heart broke even more.

"I-I shouldn't be able to hurt you," Hunted whimpered, tears falling faster down his face, and he tucked his wings against his back, trying to keep himself as far away from Smitten as possible.

Now Smitten was beginning to get choked up. He couldn't bear to see his beloved acting so afraid of himself, so scared to be near him in case something happened. Smitten would not allow his dear partner to live with this guilt- he refused to.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then he moved closer to Hunted, keeping his movements calm and relaxed so that he didn't frightening Hunted.

"Mishaps happen, darling. I'm not mad at you because I know you, and I know in my heart that you would never intentionally harm me, nor anyone in the flock." As he spoke, he kept getting closer to Hunted, until he was right in front of him, and Smitten could so clearly see the guilt, terror, and longing in his eyes.

Smitten smiled softly at him. "You could wound me a thousand times over, love, and I would still happily embrace you."

He could see the way Hunted started to relax, little by little, but he was still keeping to himself and refusing to stare too long at Smitten.

"But I'm a monster," Hunted whispered. "I don't deserve you if I hurt you."

That was the final straw for Smitten, and determination coursed through him as he lowly said, "Would you like to see how I still feel about you, sweetheart?"

He didn't wait for a response, immediately reaching out to grab Hunted to pull him into his lap. Hunted gasped in surprise but didn't resist, and his hands easily found Smitten's shoulders as Smitten pulled him into a passionate kiss.

He made sure the kiss meant safety to Hunted. Safety to their relationship. Safety to Smitten. Safety that Smitten's love for him was still very much intact.

Hunted's shaking lessened with every second, until he was melting into the kiss, and Smitten smiled in success, licking the blood from the corner of Hunted's mouth, making him jump in surprise.

Smitten chuckled as they pulled away, and he stared lovingly into Hunted's eyes as he said, "You could never be a monster to me, darling."

Hunted finally smiled down at him, and Smitten couldn't of been happier to see it.

[arthurstinmug]

Dangerous Temptation

Arthur Morgan X Fem! reader

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Arthur is drinking in Smithfield's Saloon in Valentine. He's thirsty for a drink but what pulls him in is the young pretty thing that runs the place. Driven by desire and encouraged by the liquor, they both give into temptation.

CW: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, smut, mature themes, reader discretion advised.

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic that I am posting! It took me a while to get the courage to do so, so while I appreciate feedback, please be kind! This may or may not be part of a series. I am working on other stuff, but life gets busy, and I don't get to post often. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Photo is from Pinterest.

Strangers:

Water stains smeared the whiskey glass you held in your hands as you rubbed it with a cloth trying to get it clean. But it seemed the more you rubbed, the worse it got. The day was slow and lazy in your saloon in Valentine with only a few patrons scattered about. An old man sitting in the corner of the bar, a table full of rowdy men who just can’t keep it down and the cowboy from the other night. The one who got into a fight and was thrown out the window by a guy bigger than him, and yet… he won. 

It’s one of the slowest days in the saloon, so you are working alone behind the bar, attending to all the patrons that come in and preparing for the evening rush.You didn’t pick this life, this life picked you and now you are the only woman in Valentine, and for more miles around, to own and run a saloon, something completely unheard of in 1899. 

He’s back, you think to yourself. Something about him just… draws you in. You feel like he just needs to be in your line of sight every time he’s in your saloon. He’s definitely a noticeable presence. For you, at least. Eyeing the saloon, you try to focus on what needs to be restocked behind the bar, but your gaze keeps lingering back to the cowboy, as sinful thoughts fill your head. 

The rowdy cowboys at the table across the bar laugh out loud, snapping you out of your thoughts and internally you groan in annoyance trying your best not to roll your eyes. You don’t care that they are loud as long as they behave and don't cause any trouble. You glance once more at the cowboy to the right of you at the bar, the glass of whiskey now empty, lost in his thoughts with a cigarette in his hand. You’ve seen him in here a few times before. You don’t notice, but he’s also stealing glances at you. 

From behind the bar, glass still in hand, you watch him and your mind begins to wander again. What is it about him that draws you to him? His dirty blonde hair and matching stubble? The fact that he is armed to the teeth? Or maybe this dry spell is simply getting to you. 

You can’t pinpoint it… but he is definitely handsome, you admit to yourself, although you’d never give any of your patrons the time of day. And yet, you can't help but wonder what else those strong arms can do, besides fight, and how it must feel to be held by them. To be pinned by them. He brings his cigarette to his lips. Oh, to be that cigarette…

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” he asks in a deep, gravelly voice, with a crooked smirk on his face. You must’ve been staring for a bit too long because he eventually looks up and meets your gaze. 

You look down at the glass in your hand with a bashful smile, embarrassed you just been caught staring. “Sorry, I was just wondering if you wanted another drink. It’s been awhile since you finished that one,” you replied smoothly, jutting your chin towards the empty glass before him. 

He gives you a crooked smirk that makes your insides flutter and nods. “Sure, I'll take, another,” he drawls. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey on the counter, you saunter over to him and pour him another shot, never spilling a drop. Your eyes meet his once more and they are the most piercing blue-green eyes you’ve seen. You hold his gaze for a bit longer than you should then lower it to the shit glass in front of you. 

“So you’re back. How’s your jaw?” you ask with a smirk. The last time he was in here, he was with a group of men equally intimidating as him. On second thought, this guy is definitely more intimidating, now that you’re closer to him. Everything about him screams “outlaw,” but you don’t waiver. In your line of work, you've learned to distinguish outlaws, ranch hands and lawmen. As long as they behave, you don't care who comes into your saloon 

“I recovered. Didn’t even feel it,” he says with a chuckle, rubbing his jaw with his hand. Gah, his jawline. “You should’ve seen the other guy,” he jokes. He keeps his eyes on you, seeing something flicker in your (y/e/c) eyes.

You snort at his corny joke causing him to smile. “I did, actually. You did a number on him. But he’ll live.”

“I see you got your window fixed,” he says in a deep voice, his southern drawl thick. 

“I did. Ya do that everywhere you go?”

“You can say that. Sorry about that,” he replies with a smirk, feigning innocence. 

Your grin widens, lowering your gaze. “Arthur, right? I’ve heard the guys you were with call you that.”

He seems surprised but responds anyway. “Arthur is right,” he says, leaving out his last name on purpose.

Outlaw, for sure.

“(Y/n),” you respond, also excluding your last name. “I should charge you double for those drinks to pay for the window,” you tease him. He nods and chuckles, but before he can answer, the old man catches your eye as he waves and thanks you, hobbling out of the saloon. You’re snapped back to reality, remembering you’ve got things to do. You want to talk more, but you've got a saloon to run. 

“Hmm. Well, holler if you need anything,” you say to him walking away with a flirtatious smile to continue organizing the bar. Arthur’s gaze follows you, watching how your skirt sways as you move and he sighs, taking a sip of the whiskey. 

Across the saloon, one of the rowdy cowboys whistles for your attention. “Another round!” On cue, you open three beer bottles and walk over to them and walk them over to them. As you set them down, one of the men runs his hand down your arm. 

“Give us a smile, darling.”

You take a step back and notice his eyes raking up and down your body only serving to annoy you.

“You know, you’re quite the tempting little thing. Why don’t you have a seat right here?” the disgusting man says, patting his lap.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Arthur has completely turned in his seat, facing you and the men.

“Mister, this is a saloon, not a whorehouse,” you respond firmly, a serious expression on your face. After years of doing this, you’ve learned to not let your emotions get the better of you, although deep down, you want to punch the man.

Turning on your heel, you hear the man laugh mockingly at you. His arm wraps around your waist pulling you aggressively onto his lap. The smell of beer and body odor fill your nostrils, and you have to suppress the need to gag. You can’t see him and nobody seems to notice, but Arthur is already on his feet, watching the scene unfold before him. 

“Get your filthy hands off me or you lose the hand,” you threaten him, struggling to get away. 

“Feisty, ain’t ya?”

“Unhand the girl,” Arthur speaks up in a demanding tone already on his feet. Immediately, his two friends are on their feet staring him down. The man’s grin disappears and scowls at Arthur. 

“Let. The girl. Go,” he threatens, his hand hovering over his revolver.

There’s a tense pause, before the drunkard responds. “Eh, take the frigid bitch. She ain’t that good anyway,” he says, shoving you hard towards Arthur. Luckily, he’s there to catch you, preventing you from falling. 

By now, your anger has reached a boiling point, about to turn to lunge at the disgusting individual, but Arthur’s grip tightens, holding you in place. From where you stand in his arms, you can see the scowl on his face, glaring at the men as they walk out of your saloon. His glare alone causes you to relax in his grip.

You follow them with your eyes, making sure they leave. 

“You’re alright there?” Arthur asked. He looks you over to see if you’re hurt at all, while he keeps you close to him before releasing you. 

“M’fine. Thank you,” you respond, glancing up briefly. Taking steady breaths, you go to a corner of the bar to ground yourself, wiping the hell out of a shot glass you picked up. 

“For a second there, I thought you were gonna kill him,” he said, trying to make light of the situation. 

“I just might’ve,” you answer as your anger begins to dissipate, glancing at the shotgun you keep under the bar.

“I think you would’ve,” he teases.

“Don't make fun.”

“Ain't makin’ fun’, darlin’,” he smirks. 

He paused for a moment to finish his whiskey, wincing slightly as the liquid burned his throat. “So how long have you been working here, (Y/n)?”

“All my life,” you respond, not looking up. You fear if you do, he’s just going to draw you in even further.  

He frowns, intrigued. “All your life?”

You look up now, your eyes look him over for a second, studying him before you respond. “I run this place. I… inherited it about five years ago when my Pa passed. I guess you can say I grew up here.” What impulses you to share this information with an outlaw, you don’t know, but you relaxed a bit with him, your anger finally evaporated.

He stood up and walked over closer to you. “That must be difficult, especially for a woman as beautiful as you.”

You grinned and rolled your eyes, but your smile wasn't genuine. “You think so, huh? Tell me, what do you find so ‘beautiful’ about me?” You ask with sarcasm in your tone because you've heard them all.

He smirks slyly, and it alone makes your heart flutter. “Just the way you carry yourself, I guess.”

You raise your eyebrows as you're taken aback a bit. “I’ll say I’ve never heard that one.” 

He chuckles, “I’m sure you’ve heard them all.” He saunters around the bar closer to you. He is towering over you, but you are rooted to the ground, enjoying the push and pull between you two.

“And they’re not wrong.” He whispers, now fully standing in your space. From this angle, you could see a tiny scar on his chin, cheeks covered with just the right amount of stubble, and you briefly imagine yourself nibbling on his jaw.

His smirk widens as he runs his fingers down your cheek and your breath hitches in your chest. Did he notice?

“I’ve been watching you for some time now.”

“Have you?” you whisper, shuddering under his touch. “Took you long enough to say something.” 

Arthur steps closer as he chuckles and his eyes darken. A hand finds its way to your waist, pushing you gently against the back counter, the edge resting on the small of your back. 

“Noticed other things, too. Like… your eyes. Your lips…” he says, his hand cupping your cheek, running his thumb along your bottom lip. You can see the hunger in his eyes, making you shiver.

“When's the last time you've been kissed darlin'?”

“Don't know.”

“May I?”

He's a stranger.

Your cheeks and neck are rosy with heat. The words don’t come. You simply nod, your eyes drop to his lips. 

“Words, darlin’.”

An outlaw.

“Y-yes.”

His grin widens. “Good girl.”

I shouldn't. But he's tempting.

His grip on your waist tightens, his hand on your cheek slips to the back of your neck. He gazes into your eyes for a second before his lips crash against yours.

Fuck…

You can taste a mix of whiskey and the natural sweetness of his lips, causing you to sigh with pleasure. His lips were surprisingly soft. Not what you were expecting.

A low growl escaped his throat as he deepened the kiss, his tongue grazing your bottom lip asking for access to your mouth, and you obliged. God, he kisses divinely. You practically melted like butter. 

He broke the kiss and you both gasped for air before his lips traveled down your jaw and neck.

“Arthur, I… please…”

He stopped to look at you, his face inches from yours. “Please, what?” he whispers.

God, that voice… “Please, I want more..”

Suddenly, he lifts you up by your waist and places you on the wooden bar. 

“Do you want this?” he asks

You nod. “Mh-mm”

“You need to speak to me, darlin’.”

“Y-yes. Let me… thank you properly.”

His lips curl into a sly smirk as his grip tightens around your waist. “Who am I to refuse a lady?” he whispers.

He dips his head to kiss your neck, nipping gently at your skin, as you wrap your arms around him. His hands slide down to your hips gripping them tightly, pulling you closer to him. Your legs are dangling on either side of him as he steps between them. His lips never leave your neck, as one hand begins to fumble with the buttons of your top. You mirror his actions, aching to see more of him, to taste his skin, and you can feel him grin against your neck. He pulls back slightly to meet your gaze as his shirt falls open, your eyes and hands rake over his perfect chest.

“So needy, ain’t ya?” He dips his head low to kiss the hint of cleavage he was able to expose, a low growl escaping his throat. With his free hand, he slides his hand up your thighs, bunching up your dress higher and higher. Eagerly, his fingers tease you over the fabric of your pantalettes already damp with your arousal. “Goddamn, darlin’. I've barely touched you.”

The color rises to your cheeks and neck, blushing at his comment, but your mind is too fogged with lust to even care. Your hips shift towards him to meet his hand as he teases you. You're desperate for more but the sounds of the roads of Valentine snap you out of it. This isn't exactly private even though you are alone. In your saloon, no less. “Wait, wait… I should lock the door.”

“No time. I have to have you,” He growls.

“But, what if -”

“No one will interrupt us. I’ll make sure of it.” He removes his hat and gun belt, placing them next to you on the bar. “Do you trust me?”

You nod eagerly. “Good girl,” he growls. 

With that, he pushes your thighs further apart as his fingers push the fabric aside finding your entrance. You flinch slightly at his touch. 

“So wet…” 

He explores your slick folds, sliding his thick digits into you, filling you nicely. You moan against his lips, your eyes locked on him as he slides in and out of you. Leaning far back against the bar, an arm wrapped around his neck, you let yourself relish in his delightful and sinful ministrations. 

Your walls begin to clamp around him as he moves his fingers in a come-hither motion, hitting that spot you didn’t even know existed. No one has ever made you feel this way before. He can feel you getting close and rubs small rapid circles on your swollen bud with his thumb, making you moan with delight “Come for me, darlin’. I want to feel ya.”

You bury your face in his neck to muffle your sounds as that delightful feeling washes over you. Meeting his gaze, you kiss his jawline. “Arthur, I need you..”

“I got ya, darlin’.” 

Slipping his hand away from you, he undoes his jeans bringing them down only as far as he needs to. He grabs the back of your neck to kiss you fiercely.

Just then, you hear the sounds of heavy boots walking into the saloon. You gasp, about to jump off the counter, but he grips the back of your neck tightly, burying your face into his shoulder to hide you. 

“Saloon’s closed!” he yelled in a booming voice.

“Just want a drink, mist -” 

The man was cut off as Arthur pulled his revolver from the counter, pointing it at the man and pulling the hammer back. 

The man's heavy footsteps quickly receded out of the saloon and you turned your head to the door before looking up at Arthur. “You can’t be good for business,” you tease.

“I never am. Now… where were we?”

Gripping your hips tightly, he pulls you closer to him positioning himself at your entrance. With one slow thrust, he guides himself into you, stretching you.

You both moan at the sensation. Your brow furrows trying to adjust to his size as he was bigger than what you were used to. 

“You okay?”

You nod. “Please, don't stop.”

The first thrust was the only slow one you got, as he slammed into you, causing you to cry out with pleasure.

He sets a steady pace, pounding into you as you grip his neck and shoulders, trying to hang on. Your soft moans become louder, echoing through the empty saloon. You’re hyper aware that you may be heard by people on the street, and you do your best to muffle your sounds , but you're so far gone that you don't really care. “Fuuck… Arthur…”

“So tight… you feel so damn good around me,” he moaned, his voice 

The risk of getting caught intensified the moment for you and you relished in the pleasure Arthur was bestowing upon you. 

You knew you weren't going to last and he could feel you clamping up around him once more. Your nails dig into his neck, tilting your head back. “Arthur, I’m so close…”

“I know, darlin,” he says through gritted teeth. His hand trails to your inner thighs finding your clit and begins to rub tight circles with his fingers, earning himself louder moans from you. Your mind is completely clouded, no longer caring who is around. With that, he drives you over the edge, your climax washing over you, dragging his own release with you. 

With one last hard thrust, he pulls out releasing his spend onto your thigh. 

He collapses forward against you, gripping the edge of the bar behind you so as not to crush you. 

Breathing heavily, you both come down from your high. He pulls back to look at you, his brow glistening with sweat and presses his lips to your. He takes his bandana and gently wipes your thighs before fixing your skirt for you. 

You can’t believe that just happened, but you're so satisfied. The fact that he is being so gentle and caring afterwards makes the moment even better. But it didn’t last.

“Damn, sweetheart. You’re something else. I wasn’t expecting this today,” he chuckles, as he tucks himself in, raking his fingers through his hair.

“Neither was I,” you respond, as you button up your blouse. 

“Well, I’m glad I came in here. I was only coming for a drink.”

He puts on his hat and gun belt back on, before kissing your lips once more. He holds your waist and helps you off the bar. 

Before you can think, you ask, “Will I see you again?”

“You won’t get rid of me that easily, darlin’. I’ll definitely be back. I got business to tend to, but I’ll be back,” he said with a smirk that made you melt. 

He pinches your chin, kissing you once more, then makes his way out of the saloon to mount his horse. He tips his hat at you then rides away. 

You watch from the doorway of your saloon, leaning on the door frame. 

“Until next time,” you whisper to yourself and head back into your saloon. 

[lostwysteria]

Part 20

Final part to the Nice Arc and the segue into the E-Soul Arc! Lets go!!!! This has been wild so far. Holy crap. Thank you guys, so much. Again, always feel free to ask me questions or just speculation. Today, work is hell. Mock inspection. *Dies like several tbhx characters*

Masterlist

Nice felt his world fall out from under him. He wouldn't make it in time. Nice could vaguely hear screaming. He didn't know that it was his own. 

The robots were all destroyed and Moon had punched Enlighter's lights out.

He rushed forward, hoping against hope that he would make it. 

A surge of blue lightning lit up the buildings. 

E-Soul zipped up a nearby building.

Nice collapsed to the ground. 

E-Soul had caught Lin Ling. 

“Sorry. I’m going to borrow him for a bit. I hope you don't mind? We have some catching up to do and he needs medical attention as soon as possible. See you later!”

Nice was frozen in so many different emotions. “What. The. Fuck.” He said, voice sounding a bit dead.

…

Shang Chao was pacing as he waited for his lover to return with their friend. A doctor was waiting on their floor as well. His heart had stopped when Lin Ling went over the edge of the building. It had only started again when Yang Cheng had caught him. 

The hidden panel slid back in the wall, revealing the stairwell that was mostly used in emergency situations. Yang Cheng entered and quickly laid Lin Ling on the couch. 

The doctor got to work immediately. He was a Trusted doctor and could diagone with just a touch. Thankfully nothing required a hospital visit. The unconscious hero just needed rest, fluids, food, and time to heal from mild torture.

He bandaged up what needed bandages and left soon after. 

…

Lin Ling felt like he had been run over. He groaned in discomfort as he woke up.

“Oh, thank goodness. You're awake." A vaguely familiar voice said. It made a pang of longing go through him.

It took him a few moments to be able to pry his eyes open.

Shang Chao’s smiling face greeted him. “Good morning.”

"Shang Chao? What? Where am I?" Lin Ling asked.

“Minevand A-Cheng’s apartment in Hero Tower. He caught you." 

“Caught me? I think I passed out some time after Nice and-" Lin Ling bolted up and immediately regretted it. “Nice! Wreck! Moon! Are they okay?!” He gasped out, pain stealing his breath away.

“They're fine! Don't worry! Lay back down!" Shang Chao fussed. “A-Cheng and I are more worried about you right now." 

"A-Chao’s right. What in the world has been going on?” Yang Cheng said as he walked over. He was in casual clothes and not his hero costume.

“You just disappeared after saving me that night. After revealing you were a hero the whole time we knew you! It's been four years!" Chao exclaimed.

“My parents died, my phone was busted in the altercation, and I had to transfer to a cheaper college. I hated it! But my life was falling down around me. I refused to drag you three down as well. Then the Threads of my powers connected to you three snapped and I just couldn't get up the nerve to try dnd reach out." Lin Ling told them. "How is Xia Qing, anyway?”

"She's in America on a work vacation in Florida. Miami to be exact. She met a girl there from our neck of the woods. They might start dating.” Yang Cheng let him know.

"That's not the point. Don't distract us!” Chao scolded. "Powers? Theads? Explain please?”

“One of my powers is ugh.” Ling groaned before saying the next part “has been named, by others, Maternal Instinct. I have metaphysical threads connecting people under my care back to me. It gives a general location and state of being. I knew you were in danger immediately even before I saw the guy pointing a gun at you.”

“Under your care?” Cheng asked.

“My powers came from being a super nanny and my homemaking skills. Over time that gained me Trust and my Hero Identity as Homemaker. If I consistently take care of someone and consciously claim them, then they come under my powers. I call those people my wards/charges. You three and my own parents were my only connections like that. For years. Until recently.” Lining sighed. “I was literally your mom-friend.” 

“That actually makes sense now. Why it felt like we lost a parent all of the sudden after you vanished. And why A-Cheng used to slip up and call you mom on accident sometimes. Behind your back.” Shang Chao said as he was looking on his tablet. Homemaker's internal only comprehensive hero profile was on it. All of his current abilities were listed along with explanations of them.

Yang Cheng was blushing from mortification at that revelation.

…

It was an hour later that the two helped Lin Ling back to his own apartment that he shared with Nice and Wreck.

“Are you sure you're alright with them? Nice gives me the creeps, honestly.” Yang Cheng asked. Lin Ling was glad that being a hero brought out Cheng’s confidence.

“I’m more than fine with them. Cone on. Don't be like that.” Ling scolded gently as the two made faces.

…

Nice burst into the apartment and collapsed at Lin Ling's feet. He buried his face into Ling’s knees and started sobbing. Wreck wasn't much better. He buried his own face in his thigh. Moon immediately went to get the massive blanket that Ling had finished. She cuddled into Ling’s side and covered them all up with it. 

Yang Cheng and Shang Chao shared a look and silently left. They would be back later to check in. Even if they didn't like it, the four needed space.

…

Lin Ling ran his fingers through Moon’s tangled hair and muttered nonsense soothing words as he calmed his family down.

“I can't. I just…” Nice wailed before ever so gently grabbing at his hands. “I love you. I'm in love with you.” Nice confessed while looking in Lin Ling’s eyes. The blanket had fallen off of them a bit.

“I am, too.” Wreck covered both of their hands with his larger ones. Moon scooched over to the other end of the couch. 

Lin Ling knew that no words needed to be spoken as he guided Nice up on to the couch and then Wreck. He then took his hands back. 

He cupped Nice’s face in both of them. He looked in to those tear filled sapphire eyes and leaned in. Their lips met in their first kiss. Ling poured all of his love for the man into it. By the end, Nice was dazed and gasping for breath. Ling then did the same for Wreck.

“I am in love with you both, as well.”

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j.b.

chapter four, manuals

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: planned out the entire fic and am excited for the coming chapters!!

prev. series masterlist! next.

Summer stretched on like a golden thread. Slow, warm, and full of stolen moments.

That Friday, he showed up at your door with two milkshakes and a crease between his brows. That one was on you. Texting Help me and Come now probably made it sound more life-threatening than it was.

To be fair, it was urgent… ish.

You hadn’t packed for fancy. When you threw things into your suitcase for the summer, you were thinking lake days, bonfires, and living in sweat shorts and oversized tees. Not a birthday dinner at some nice restaurant where your parents expected you to wear a dress.

Which–you didn’t bring.

Jake shut the door behind him, holding out one of the milkshakes. Chocolate, extra whipped cream, hold the cherry, straw already in.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, careful. His expression was all concern, like he thought he’d find blood on the floor.

You grinned and took the shake. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it sound… catastrophic.”

He raised an eyebrow, already halfway through his own milkshake. “That’s one word for it.”

“I have a wardrobe emergency.”

He blinked. “You dragged me here for… fashion advice?”

“I didn’t drag you,” you argued, sipping. “I invited you.”

“To shop.”

“Yes. Please?”

Jake looked at you like he was trying to be annoyed, but his mouth twitched like he was losing the battle. “You couldn’t just ask like a normal person?”

“You would’ve said no.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is why I had to be a little dramatic. You’re here, aren’t you?”

He gave you a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Let’s go, but you owe me.”

“For what?”

“For emotional distress.”

You grinned. “You’re such a baby.”

“You keep calling me names, but I still showed up with milkshakes. Because I’m nice.”

“And handsome,” you added, sarcastic.

“And humble,” he continued, deadpan.

You headed for the passenger side door, about to open it when he groaned.

“I’m driving again?” he muttered, resting his hands on the hood of the car like this was the greatest injustice he’d ever known.

“I prefer to be called your passenger princess,” you respond sweetly. “You know you love it.”

He rolled his eyes but opened the door for you anyway, mock-chivalrous. “Milady.”

You curtsied dramatically before getting in. “What a gentleman.”

Jake shut the door with a shake of his head and walked around to the driver’s side.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he said as he slid in beside you.

“You’d be lost without me.”

“Tragically,” he agreed. But he was still smiling. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Seriously though,” he starts. “What if I was doing something important when you texted? Like… saving someone’s life?”

You shot him a look. “Didn’t know Jacob Black was a local repairman during the day and Batman at night.”

He smirked. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly. And even if you were doing something heroic, you still came anyway.”

“Of course I did,” he replied, voice steady. “Anything for you.”

You felt your face warm. Jacob had always been a sweet talker. Maybe too good at it. Sometimes his words wrapped around you like ribbon—easy to get tangled in. You could never tell if it was intentional or just him being… Jake. It was probably why your parents adored him so much.

“Okay, Mister Smooth Talker,” you said, trying to shake it off. “Let’s go. Take me shopping, since you’re the best, kindest, most caring friend ever.”

Friend.

You cringed the second the word left your mouth–and caught him doing the same.

Growing up, Jake was always just that. Your friend. Your best friend. But coming back after being apart for over a year, something felt off. Or maybe too much. The butterflies you tried to ignore when he looked at you like you were the only person on Earth. The way he touched you—casual but intentional—like the arm he threw over your shoulder during movies or the hand he wrapped around your waist to steer you away from the edge of the street downtown.

Your hormones said one thing, but your brain wouldn’t let you gamble a decade and about a half of friendship on a crush you weren’t even sure you had. Plus, you weren’t someone who followed feelings anyway. You buried them. Swallowed them down before they could complicate things, not because you’d been burned before–but because the future was terrifying. Relationships, careers, everything that forced you to commit or risk falling.

Or maybe some deep, unspoken part of you already knew.

That no one else could ever really fill that space the way one person could. Just one person.

You shook the thought out of your head and leaned back in your seat, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the song he was blasting.

Thankfully, Jacob Black likes you.

No one else in the world would volunteer for a multi-hour shopping trip, drive the full hour to Port Angeles, hold all your bags, and trail behind you like a very large, very reluctant puppy.

Originally, the plan was simple: one dress, maybe a pair of shoes. But that plan unraveled quickly. You weren’t built for restraint when it came to shopping. One store turned into five. Then you remembered you needed a gift for your dad. Then you thought about your friends back home and how they’d want little trinkets. And then you saw a fishing lure you thought Billy would love.

And for all his sighing and groaning and dramatic dragging of feet, Jacob didn’t actually mind. He liked being with you. Always had. Even if you were dragging him into—

“No. Not another one,” he groaned as you tugged on his arm, pointing to a small antique shop tucked between a bakery and a dive bar.

“Jacob, I swear this is the last one. Please.” You gave him the eyes–the ones he could never say no to when you were younger.

He exhaled like you had just asked him to lift the Eiffel Tower. “Fine. But you owe me ice cream.”

“Of course.”

The bell above the door chimed as you both stepped inside. The shop smelled like cedarwood, salt air, and dust. Shelves were packed too tightly, old jazz hummed softly from a crackling speaker behind the counter and the entire place felt like someone’s cluttered memory box.

You drifted to the far right aisle, fingers brushing old trinkets, worn postcards, cracked teacups. Jake veered off in the opposite direction. As much as he liked to complain, you knew he like to get lost in places like this—easily entertained by weird old knickknacks and gadgets.

You weren’t even sure why you came in. You already had everything, but something about places like this always made you linger.

And then a glint of silver caught your eye.

Dangling from a spinning display was a small, slightly tarnished keychain. Manual gear shift. Realistic detailing. The knob even moved. It looked like something pulled straight from a decades-old set of keys. Without thinking, you plucked it off the hook and turned it in your fingers.

It reminded you of the garage. Of Jacob’s hands stained with grease. Of the way he half-smiled when something finally worked after hours of tinkering. Of how you’d sit on the old stool, legs curled up, watching him work in the golden light of late afternoon. Somehow, that had become your thing.

You wanted to buy it without a second thought.

As you approached the front counter, still scanning for Jacob, you placed the keychain down and fished out your wallet.

“Just this?” the cashier asked.

You nodded without looking up, pulling your card from your back pocket. He was young. Shaggy blond hair. Disheveled. Looked about your age.

“How much?” you asked, card in hand.

“Five bucks,” he answered, smiling. You gave him a polite, tight-lipped smile back and started digging for cash instead.

“You from around her?” he asked casually.

“Uh, no. Just visiting from Forks. You know it?”

“Yeah, I know Forks. Kinda guessed you weren’t local. Think I’ve met every pretty girl in Port Angeles already.”

He was flirting, awkwardly. You gave a soft laugh that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thanks, I, uh… yeah. I only have four.”

“That’s alright. Four is good for–” he was cut off by a dollar sliding across the counter beside you.

You turned. Jacob.

His jaw was tense, eyes sharp on the cashier. You could tell he was grinding his teeth–something you’d told him a million times to stop doing.

“Oh, um–receipt?” you asked, flustered.

The cashier handed it over quickly. You grabbed it and the keychain, shoving both into your pocket before heading for the door, Jacob at your heels. The sound of all the bags rustling behind you made you laugh quietly.

Outside, Jake placed a hand on your back and steered you toward the sidewalk.

“We’re never going back there,” he muttered, jaw still tight.

“Jacob,” you giggled, “It’s all good. He wasn’t being weird.”

“He was two seconds away from being weird.”

You hesitated. You didn’t know what to say. Jacob had always been protective. But that? That felt like something else.

“Thought Batman only came out at night,” you teased, bumping his shoulder. “Thanks for saving me from the horror of being flirted with.” You widened your eyes and dropped your jaw, planting your hands dramatically on either side of your face like you were reenacting The Scream.

“You look like a psycho next to me. Stop that.”

And you do. You slowed near the crosswalk and stepped aside, stopping in front of a cozy little restaurant. Jacob followed closely. You pulled the keychain from your pocket and held it in your fist.

“Wait.”

He raised a brow as you stepped in front of him.

You opened your hands and held it out for him. “For you.”

He blinked, surprised. Gently, he took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against yours.

“You weren’t supposed to pay for it, but I guess it’s a team effort now. It just… reminded me of you. And the garage. Us, y’know?”

He stared at it. Turned it over in his palm. Flicked the tiny shift knob with his thumb. Silent for a long moment.

“Do you like it?” you asked, unsure.

Finally, he looked up.

His smile was slow, wide, and genuine. And in the sunlight, you could see it–the warm streak of caramel hidden in his dark eyes. You never noticed it and always thought they were just a shade of dark brown, but now you do.

“I love it,” he said quietly, voice low and sincere.

“Good.” You grinned. “Ice cream now?”

He nodded, and the two of you started walking, shoulders brushing, toward the pier and the rundown little shack that had the best cones in town.

As you walked ahead of him, Jacob couldn’t help it—his thoughts went back to you. To the way you looked in the antique shop, the way you always knew what would make him smile. To the day you came back to Forks. The day he imprinted on you.

[sibling-neighbor-comrade]

//KINGFISHER

Ah hell, forgot I hadn't answered this.

Calling it an H/A battleship is...technically true. Though I admit, it doesn't paint the most accurate picture.

The ship was originally a Dreadnaught, but now it belongs to the pirate crew I was flying with at the time. Not entirely sure how they got it in the first place. (You know pirates - every person you ask gives you a different story.) It'd been stolen by a low-ranking Armory officer right before I hitched a ride with them, and I just helped 'em steal it back.

Anyway, the captain and her crew handled most of the maneuvers to get us close. I don't think I could recount many of the details since I was inside the boarding vessel for all of it. Once inside the ship, my job was fairly simple. Mechs got us past the worst of the opposition, and my team gave me cover while I did my thing.

Now, I'm not much of a hacker. But I am excellent at breaking shit. I had access to the schematics ahead of time (it being the pirates' ship and all), and I'd pinpointed key systems to cripple the ship from the inside. A fork bomb is just one line of code, but it can keep an NHP busy rebooting every computer system you touch. Electrical fires are pretty easy to set up, too, and they're great at sending people running where you want them too. As long as I have someone watching my back, I can cause some mighty-sized chaos with just a bit of effort. The crew took care of the rest.

I did actually get a bounty on my head for this, though - at least for a little while. When I started working with my current team again, Squad Lead pulled some strings. Had it lifted as part of our contract. I'm not sure what he did, but I've said before that he's important enough to have a bodyguard, so. Either he or Bodyguard said something to somebody they knew. Had to promise not to pull this kind of shit again - not against the Armory, anyway.

So, yeah! Sorry for making it sound more exciting than it actually was. As for the kind of Dreadnaught, it's been so many decades, I'm not sure if anyone remembers. It's been repaired and upgraded and modified so many times that it's a bit of a battleship-of-thesus situation anyway. It's, uh. Old.

[walnutcookie]

HELLO!!! Rodger from the Easter run. Uh, that run was such an adrenaline rush I wrote my perspective of it

Sorry for it being long

Floor 18.

Me (Rodger), oneway (bassie) and a third bassie (I am so sad I forgot their name) were alive from a previous floor slaughter. As the elevator’s door opened in front of us stood the tax man, pebbles. (An inside joke that after a long time of not seeing pebbles he come back showing up again and again as if trying to get my tax money) We still had 19 and 20 to reach bassie. One of the bassies (I forgot who) called it over, I was determined to get bassie, I was just 10 research away.

We began chipping away as toodles, looey, pebbles, poppy and eggson would hunt us down. I eventually escaped from eggson and turned to one of the bassies (one way), he drops a med kit at my feet. Before I could protest at that moment I knew he wasn’t going to get past floor 18, so I took the med kit and thanked him. We continued chipping away before we hear the other bassie die. 3 to 2, me and one way. I worked on a machine as toodles saw me and took a heart. I was soon spotted by looey and poppy. As I sprinted away, an airhorn went off, oneway got the attention of the twisteds to get them away from me. I knew they weren’t gonna make it so I hid as pebbles charged in and slaughtered him.

It was down to one. I continued to clear the floor without taking hits. Thanks to the other bassie, the remaining machines were halfway completed. I was going to make it to floor 20, the one thing stopping me was just pebbles. I swiftly cleared the floor and headed to the elevator.

Floor 19

I just needed to live one more

Just one more.

Just one-

In the distance of Astro’s floor I saw it. Bassie’s flowers. I was free. I didn’t need to get to floor 20, I was free as I grabbed my baskets and ran to bassie I was free from getting my research.

I felt as if I was in a movie with how it all went down, I am so glad it’s over but no fanfic writer could predict that would happen.

HELP IM ASTONISHED YOU REMEMBER ALL OF THIS SO WELL. IM GLAD YOU GOT YOUR BASSIE RESEARCH THOUGH !! >:] Good Ending

[lednet-sorrow-au-blog]

Writing this because Aurora GENUINELY NEEDS a hug AND I NEED TO GIVE THE MECHANICAL SHARK FAMILY COMFORT!!

(Yeah, a long one, SORRY!!!)

Aurora awoken to a strange sound in the living room. She walks down the stairs, still in her pajamas. She yawns. The clock read 3:20 am, meaning it was still dark outside.

“Hello? Is anybody here??” Aurora asked, rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t see anything, and her rays aren’t working correctly. Some shuffling could be heard from the couch. Aurora, being the small little child she is, immediately gets scared of the sound. She runs to the light switch, flipping it on.

“AHH! Dear, you could’ve warned me first before turning on the lights! My fragile eyes!!”

That voice…it was Ruin’s. Aurora thought she was hallucinating again, till she heard the voice again.

“Heh…not exactly how I wanted to come back, but still.”

Aurora turns around. It actually was Ruin. He was a little scuffed up, but okay nonetheless. 

“Hello Aurora. It’s nice to see you again…”Ruin responded, smiling weakly. 

Aurora paused, just standing still.

Ruin sighs. “I know this isn’t the BEST way to say hi again…considering it’s late, but-“

Before Ruin could even finish his sentence, Aurora ran up to him and immediately hugged his leg. 

“P-PAPA!! YOU’RE BACK!! P-papa…” Aurora cried into his leg, shaking. Ruin pauses. He smiles and kneels down to Aurora’s level.

“Yes…I’m here, dear…I’m here…” Ruin ends up pausing once more, realizing he can still she the wound on Aurora’s faceplate. The wound Rusty caused…

How Ruin couldn’t stop him…

How it took SO LONG to finally be able to see his family again…

“Papa? Papa??” Ruin snapped out of it once he heard Aurora.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, just a habit…” Ruin hugs Aurora, keeping her in a tight embrace. Tear were running down both of their faces.

Both Solar and Jack awoke after all the noise. They’re both heavy sleepers, so it took them a while to finally wake up.

Solar sighs. “Aurora, why are awake at this-“ Solar pauses. “RUIN?!?”

“MAMA RUIN!!” Jack immediately yelled, running over to hug him. He did almost knock them both down, but he didn’t, luckily.

“Heh…glad to see you too, pumpkin…”

Solar was just dumbfounded. “But…how-Eclipse and Ballora said you were taken!! I’ve been trying to find you and-“

“Darling.” Ruin interrupted. “Just…come over here.”

Solar was already close to crying at this point as well, so he joined the little group hug.

They were basically like this for a while, till they did eventually fell asleep right there in the living room. It was honestly sweet. At last, they were whole again…

(MWHAHAHAHA-)

HOW DARE YOU ANGST ME AT 1 IN THE MORNING- ARRGGG(I'm kidding,it's not 1 am)

Goddamn me be remembering Rust throw Aurora across to a wall-

Ruru back with the fam with this one!(Tempted to draw tbh of this)

One thing:This reminded me of those old videos I remember watching and it gives this vibe nbwhfvueirb

Nah,this was great!Hope you feel good and that your well!(I do not know if we share close enough time or not!)

[weirdcoregal35]

Writing this because Aurora GENUINELY NEEDS a hug AND I NEED TO GIVE THE MECHANICAL SHARK FAMILY COMFORT!!

(Yeah, a long one, SORRY!!!)

Aurora awoken to a strange sound in the living room. She walks down the stairs, still in her pajamas. She yawns. The clock read 3:20 am, meaning it was still dark outside.

“Hello? Is anybody here??” Aurora asked, rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t see anything, and her rays aren’t working correctly. Some shuffling could be heard from the couch. Aurora, being the small little child she is, immediately gets scared of the sound. She runs to the light switch, flipping it on.

“AHH! Dear, you could’ve warned me first before turning on the lights! My fragile eyes!!”

That voice…it was Ruin’s. Aurora thought she was hallucinating again, till she heard the voice again.

“Heh…not exactly how I wanted to come back, but still.”

Aurora turns around. It actually was Ruin. He was a little scuffed up, but okay nonetheless. 

“Hello Aurora. It’s nice to see you again…”Ruin responded, smiling weakly. 

Aurora paused, just standing still.

Ruin sighs. “I know this isn’t the BEST way to say hi again…considering it’s late, but-“

Before Ruin could even finish his sentence, Aurora ran up to him and immediately hugged his leg. 

“P-PAPA!! YOU’RE BACK!! P-papa…” Aurora cried into his leg, shaking. Ruin pauses. He smiles and kneels down to Aurora’s level.

“Yes…I’m here, dear…I’m here…” Ruin ends up pausing once more, realizing he can still she the wound on Aurora’s faceplate. The wound Rusty caused…

How Ruin couldn’t stop him…

How it took SO LONG to finally be able to see his family again…

“Papa? Papa??” Ruin snapped out of it once he heard Aurora.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, just a habit…” Ruin hugs Aurora, keeping her in a tight embrace. Tear were running down both of their faces.

Both Solar and Jack awoke after all the noise. They’re both heavy sleepers, so it took them a while to finally wake up.

Solar sighs. “Aurora, why are awake at this-“ Solar pauses. “RUIN?!?”

“MAMA RUIN!!” Jack immediately yelled, running over to hug him. He did almost knock them both down, but he didn’t, luckily.

“Heh…glad to see you too, pumpkin…”

Solar was just dumbfounded. “But…how-Eclipse and Ballora said you were taken!! I’ve been trying to find you and-“

“Darling.” Ruin interrupted. “Just…come over here.”

Solar was already close to crying at this point as well, so he joined the little group hug.

They were basically like this for a while, till they did eventually fell asleep right there in the living room. It was honestly sweet. At last, they were whole again…

(YIPPEE!!)

[rox-of-iu]

my old blorbos are back in my brain

heart pirates my absolute beloved. shame theyre chillin somewhere in the ocean lol (do not mention the pre-time skip hats of penguin and shachi I'm still attached even tho its already been a million years since then)

anyway every time i remember that Law and Kid are assigned german and Scottish by Oda i gain one hundred years

[1-800-i-ship-it]

omg i just finished orv im going insane im im i can finally look at that doc of things i saved for after i finished orv and can look at spoilers...i can finally unblock that orv spoiler tag...im so normal about orv