#Because all you really need is to think about it just a little bit more critically and then you'd find the most glaring issue about it

[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!!!!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack!

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[caleignii]

Caleb Fluff Headcanons

a/n: can't get enough of my sweet boy calebyy, so here are some headcanons that I think about him sometimes. My requests are open btww! Have fun reading dolls. (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Caleb who's love speaks softly—never with grand declarations, but in the quiet consistency of care. A warm drink materializes on your counter, perfectly timed to your worst days. The bulb that flickered last night? Fixed before morning. When the frost settles on the windows, your coat and gloves are already waiting by the door, touched by hands that never ask for thanks. He never says, “I did this for you.” But when you catch his eye after noticing, there’s a flicker of a smile there—like he’s trying not to glow too much. Like loving you is something sacred he’s choosing to keep humble.

Caleb after his missions, when the adrenaline fades and silence stretches thin, he drives—somewhere quiet, somewhere star-swept. He doesn’t speak much on the way, only reaches for your hand as though that’s all the grounding he needs. You lie beside him under the cosmos, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the universe breathe. Sometimes he whispers things—not to the stars, but to you. “When the stars get loud, I look at you, and they get quiet again.” You don’t always answer. You just squeeze his hand and let the silence cradle you both. Stars don’t speak, but Caleb does.

Caleb who secretly has an interest in riding a big bike. Okay here me out, with him as a pilot whenever he's flying in a small/open-cockpit plane—sends of freedom, thrill, and wind-in-your-face exhilaration that he may miss when flying sealed aircraft. Just like when riding a bike, the breeze during a fast ride contributes to that immersive, high-energy feeling, similar to low-altitude flying. The rush of wind on a fast-moving bike closely mimics the sensory experience of flying in an open cockpit or glider. Both activities provide an adrenaline rush and it attracted him who enjoy controlled risk and excitement.

Caleb's insomnia visits often, but so does he. He settles beside you, opens a worn book, and starts to read—not to pass the time, but to share space with you. His voice is low, smooth, like waves against the hull of a ship. You rest your head on his chest, feeling every word more than hearing them. When your breathing slows, he doesn’t stop. He keeps reading—quietly, carefully—as if the story might guard your dreams better than silence ever could.

Caleb has a photo of you he keeps hidden, tucked in the lining of his helmet like a secret prayer. Every mission, just before the launch seals him away, he looks at it. Only for a second. No one else sees. No one needs to. Once, you asked him why. He said, “Because there are places out there that want to strip the human out of you. But when I look at this... I remember who I am. And who I’m coming back to.”

Caleb doesn’t talk about his soft side. But you see it in the way a stray dog curls up at his feet, or how a kitten somehow finds its way into his arms, even on a space station. Once, you caught him crouched beside a baby bird, gently feeding it crumbs. He didn’t know you were watching. He just murmured, “You’re cold, aren’t you?” He looked up, startled, and gave the smallest shrug. “Someone had to help.” You didn’t tell him, but in that moment, your heart broke a little wider for him.

Caleb when someone flirts with you, doesn’t get angry, just quiet. A subtle shift. A glance. His fingers graze yours, almost like a question. Are you still with me? You smile at him—really smile—and that’s all it takes. The tension slides off his shoulders like water off armor. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, says nothing, but holds your hand just a bit tighter. The message is clear: I don’t need to fight for you. You’ve already chosen me.

Caleb even when the world freezes around you, hands stay warm. On distant moons, in frostbitten ships, when your bones ache from the cold, he reaches for you. Always. His palms are steady, wrapping yours like a promise. No words—just touch. Gentle, grounding, there. It’s not just about warmth. It’s about reminding you: You are not drifting. You are not alone. I’m here.

[shuastar]

can u do a one-shot with seungcheol x reader where they basically talking about all their like sexual fantasies and stuff, like a really fluff convo/healthy communication (cuz communication is sexy) The readers one is basically just wanting to be praised and overestimated and being called a good girl and stuff, u can decide what cheollies fantasy is!!

pairing: established relationship!seungcheol warnings: Discussions of sexual fantasies (praise kink, light dom/sub dynamic), healthy relationship themes, swearing, cuddling a/n: erm so idk if you wanted smut BUT i passed out asleep before i even got to writing it so... yeah!! but cheol is so cute here :< wc: 1.3k

The blankets were tangled around your legs, limbs a mess of warmth and bare skin, his arm lazily draped over your waist. The glow from the lamp cast a soft golden pool over the room, painting Seungcheol’s cheekbones in honey and shadow.

It was quiet. Not uncomfortable silence — the kind of quiet that meant peace. That you were safe. That nothing outside of this bedroom needed your attention.

His thumb traced circles on your hip absentmindedly. “You ever think about… stuff?”

You huffed a laugh against his chest. “That’s vague. I think about lots of stuff.”

“No,” he said, a little shyly, a little whine. “Like. Stuff you want.”

Your eyebrow arched. “You mean, like—”

“Mhm,” Seungcheol murmured, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “That kind of stuff.”

He was blushing a little, which was adorable, considering the way he usually manhandled you around the bed like you weighed nothing and kissed like he wanted to claim you, ruin you, steal your breath away. Seeing him shy like this, vulnerable, felt intimate in a different way.

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice soft. “Sometimes.”

He looked at you expectantly. You narrowed your eyes.

“You first.”

“Not fair,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “Why do I have to go first?”

“Because you brought it up,” you giggled, carding your fingers through his hair. “Fair’s fair, Cheol.”

He groaned again, deeper this time, like he was suffering, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“…Okay,” he finally said, voice muffled against your skin. “Promise you won’t think it’s stupid?”

You twisted to look at him properly. “Promise.”

Seungcheol hesitated for a second, then pulled back to meet your eyes. “I think I really like the idea of… taking care of you. Like, properly. Not just during but… making you feel so good, so safe, you don't even have to think. Like, I want to spoil you, but in a way where you're never unsure, y’know?”

Your heart fluttered. Not just because it was hot — which, undeniably, it was — but because it was so him. Protective, intense, grounding. Everything you’d ever loved about him distilled into a fantasy.

“You’re already halfway there,” you whispered, cupping his cheek. “That’s not even a fantasy, that’s Tuesday night.”

He snorted, nose crinkling. “Yeah, but like… I want you to fully let go.”

There was silence for a beat.

“That’s hot,” you admitted, and he let out a small, relieved laugh.

“Okay,” he nudged. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip. “Mine’s kind of boring.”

“I literally just told you I wanted to spoil you and call the shots like a horny knight or something. There’s no boring here.”

You flushed a little, eyes darting away. “I just want to be… praised.”

Seungcheol blinked. “Praised?”

You nodded, more embarrassed than you expected. “Like. I want you to overestimate me. Tell me I’m doing amazing even if I’m not. Call me your good girl and tell me you’re proud of me for taking it so well. Like… like you mean it.”

His eyes softened. “That’s not boring at all. That’s adorable.”

You groaned and pressed your face into the pillow. “Don’t say it’s adorable.”

“It is!” he laughed, grabbing you and pulling you half on top of him. “You want to be told you’re a good girl? Baby, you are a good girl.”

Your breath hitched, just a little, at the casual way he said it.

“Oh?” he teased, noticing immediately. “You like that?”

You nodded wordlessly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Seungcheol grinned against your hair. “God, I’m gonna have so much fun with this.”

You peeked up at him, cheeks warm, eyes shining. “You really don’t think it’s lame?”

“Sweetheart,” he said seriously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think the sexiest thing in the world is knowing exactly how to make you feel good. Talking about it like this? Telling me what you want? That’s so fucking sexy.”

Your heart swelled, a little dizzy with affection. “You’re gonna use this against me, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he said smugly. “But only when you want me to.”

You kissed him then — slow, smiling into it, letting yourself feel wanted. Understood. The kind of kiss that promised hours more of this — talking, touching, discovering each other’s softest places.

He pulled back just long enough to murmur, “You’re such a good girl, you know.”

You whined into his mouth.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, mentions of food and eating in this chapter.

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Sweet Tooth

2.3K words

You didn’t really know what to expect of your new job. From what you understood from your conversation with Yelena, it was mostly intended for you to stick around Bob when they went on missions. But then came the unexpected attacks, or last-minute meetings. Alexei had concluded it’d be easiest if you just spent most of your time at the Watchtower. Your classes were mostly online, so it didn’t make too much of a difference in your life. It was good for you, too, to socialize with someone other than your laptop. 

The first week was somewhat awkward. You’d tried a little too hard to keep Bob engaged, but soon realized he much preferred a silent companion. Not that he didn’t enjoy conversation, or your presence, but more that he craved actual genuine interest and not the artifice you were trying to engage him with. The happy inbetween ended up being him reading in the windowsill while you did your coursework. 

The rest of the team was busier in their day to day life than you’d expected. John spent most of his time in his own home, trying to rekindle his relationship with his wife and child. He still came to the Watchtower every other day, joining the team for dinner and meetings. So many meetings. What they were about, you had no clue. You’d expected the life of a superhero to be a bit more eventful than the many, many meetings they attended. 

Ava’d explained it was mainly because of their past as mercenaries and current connection to Val that they had to have a lot of meetings about the legality of things. Every step they took had to be approved until they could be trusted enough to make their own decisions. 

Speaking of trusting someone enough to make their own decisions.

“Can we go to the store later?” It’d been about an hour or 2 since Bob last spoke. His voice startled you out of your focus. He quickly apologized for scaring you. 

“Hey, hey, no worries. I was just really focussed. What do you want to go to the store for? And not that I don’t wanna come, but can’t you go alone?” You wondered. 

“I mean, I can, I think. I’m pretty sure Yelena would prefer it if I stayed inside at all times wrapped up in bubble wrap. I don’t really need anything, I’ve just read about every book to be found in this place. Need some new material,” Bob chuckled. 

“How about this, I’m almost done with this assignment. Let’s go to a bookstore and we can go get some lunch after, yeah?” 

Bob beamed at the suggestion, clearly done with being cooped up inside at all times. He put the book he finished back on the shelf and walked into the hallway, presumably to go get his things. You typed a few more words into your document before saving it and closing your laptop. 

You grabbed your bag off the floor and took out only a few essentials. No need to bring the entire thing if you were just going for lunch. 

Bob was taking a little longer than expected, so you went to check in on him. You went to knock, but the door to his room was open. Just as you were about to ask if he was ready to go, he tugged the loose shirt he was wearing over his head to change it for another. 

Holy shit. Bob is ripped. 

You felt heat rush to your face as you quickly backed away from the door. Sure, Bob was cute, you weren’t blind. He had the whole soft broken boy thing going on. You never would’ve guessed he was built like a brick house under all those baggy sweaters. Sweet lord. 

“Hey, you ready?” Speak of the devil. Incredibly toned devil. Very good looking devil. 

“YEAH, I’m– Let’s go,” you walked towards the elevator before you could embarrass yourself any further. If your flushed complexion was even noticeable, Bob didn’t mention it. You had the instinct to fan your face, but resisted. You also resisted looking at Bob’s abdomen, now covered by yet another baggy shirt. 

How hadn’t you noticed? His arms were quite toned, as well. He didn’t wear short sleeves very often in the week you’d known him. God, you had to get past this, mentally, or your job was suddenly going to be a lot harder. Like his hard abs. STOP THAT.

Wait, can Bob read minds? He better not. Bob? Bob? BOB? BOB!? BOB!! Alright, safe… For now. 

“You alright?” Bob asked when you’d reached the bottom floor. He was waiting for you to get out of the elevator. You quickly got out and followed him past the reconstruction of the entryway.  Bob had looked up a few bookstores in the area. You let him lead the way, even when you’d probably been in New York longer than he had. 

You reached the first bookstore, a dusty secondhand one, after about 10 minutes of walking in silence. It wasn’t awkward, even if you’d expected it to be. Bob liked the silence, even when it was also one of his biggest enemies in life. The city made it so it was never actually quiet, though. 

A small bell rang as you entered the store. Bob held the door for you, like a true gentleman. 

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” You whispered as Bob bent his neck to read the spines. You browsed a little for yourself, as well, letting him take his time. 

“Not particularly, no. Just anything that piques my interest. I like fiction, though,” he mumbled the last part as he took a book off the shelf. 

“I thought you might be a fiction guy,” you smiled. In a different timeline where life hadn’t severely fucked him over, he was probably a big nerd. He was really smart, smarter than he let on. 

“Really? What gives it away?” Bob chuckled, thumbing a few spines, looking for a specific title by the same author. 

“Hmm, your general vibes, maybe? You just seem like the kind of guy who wants to escape reality every now and then.” You picked a book off the shelf you’d been meaning to read. College took up most of your time, you didn’t even remember the last time you’d actually sat down to read a book.

“That’s true, I guess. I like exploring new worlds, especially when worldbuilding is good,” Bob let you know. He’d put a few of the books he grabbed back, but held onto one you assumed he intended on buying. 

He was slowly opening up, something you were glad for. He was a lot more confident in himself when he was more comfortable, you noticed. 

Bob finished browsing and went to the register, taking your book out of your hands to pay for both. It was then he realized he had brought no means to pay besides a few stray dollars in the pockets of his pants. 

You chuckled and playfully rolled your eyes. You paid for the books and the clerk put them in a bag, handing them to you. You gave the bag to Bob. “If I’m gonna be paying, the least you can do is carry them. They’re mostly yours, anyway.” 

“I’ll pay you back. You’re not supposed to be spending money. If anything you’re supposed to be making it right now.” Bob promised. 

You told him there was no need. It wasn’t an expensive store, and the pay you received for pretty much just being his friend more than covered the costs. 

“Coffee?” You asked after you’d hit another bookstore. Bob agreed. Neither of you’d found anything at the last store. The books were mainly about business and finance, not the most interesting. 

You were about to pull up your phone to search for a café when Bob spotted the cutest little one just across the street, ‘Little Paris.’ 

Bob held the door for you once again. He would have to stop being all chivalrous if you wanted any chance of escaping today emotionally unscathed. 

You were led to a small booth in the back and got your menus. Bob seemingly had a hard time choosing between the many pastry and lunch options. In the end he settled for a stack of crėpes with chocolate sauce and an espresso. 

“They balance each other out,” he tried to convince you, to no avail. 

“If I’d known you had such a sweet tooth I’d have been trying to win you over with all the candy over the last week,” you laughed. 

The waitress came and took your orders, taking back the menus and leaving you with Bob once again. 

“You wouldn’t need candy to win me over, you’re sweet enough,” Bob said. Your eyebrows raised as far as they would go, 

“Robert Reynolds, was that a pickup line?” Your jaw hung open in mock offense. 

“Wh- No, that’s not what I meant! I meant you’ve been very nice, ‘s all…” 

“Damn, here I thought you were hitting on me. Might’ve made this a lunch date.” 

Bob flushed visibly, and you knew to take the teasing down a notch. Whether he was blushing because he had accidentally hit on you or because of the implication you’d go on a date with him, you weren’t sure.

Your drinks arrived just in time to break the awkward tension. You made Bob do a haul of the books he’d bought while you waited for your food to be served. They were mainly fantasy books, but there were a few self-help ones. 

“To be honest, I don’t really think you can get the kind of help I need from books, but it might be a good start to at least read up on it, I suppose,” Bob explained. 

“Somehow I don’t think those books cover superpowers,” you chimed in. Bob chuckled and agreed. 

Your food arrived, and you’d never seen a grown man so delighted to see a plate of sweet gooeyness. 

“Y’know–” Bob spoke in between bites. “Ever since I got these powers I’ve been crazy hungry. Bucky says it’s because your body burns so much more so your metabolism goes up, but sometimes I feel like an empty pit.” 

You pointed to the corner of his mouth, where a little chocolate sauce had escaped. He quickly wiped it with a napkin before continuing his ravaging. 

“It makes sense. Muscles… Assuming you have… Those… Uh, require energy, so…,” you chimed in, not really giving it much more thought. Mentally, you smacked your head against the wall. Physically, you just took another sip of your drink. 

“I mean, I’m not sure I’d be sitting here if I had zero muscles at all, so… You’re probably right,” Bob took a big gulp of the espresso, wincing at the bitter aftertaste. 

“You should eat until you feel full, though. We have plenty of time,” you smiled. You were nowhere near as far with your plate as Bob was with his, which was pretty much gone. 

“Hmm, we’ll still be here by midnight, then. I’m sure they’d wanna close before that. I’m not a monster, these people deserve to go home at some point,” the statement was followed by his last bite. 

“At some point, yes, but in the meantime, feel free to order more food.” 

“Oh, I will. I don’t even remember what you’re having, but it looks really good,” Bob stared at your plate as he sipped his coffee. “You want some?” You offered, raising your fork with a bite on it. 

“I mean, I– I’ll order my own,” Bob smiled awkwardly. 

“You can still have a taste, if you want,” you dangled the fork in front of his face tauntingly. 

Bob caught your wrist and snatched the fork out of your hand, putting the bite in his mouth. Your jaw dropped in shock, not expecting him to do that. His grip on your wrist had been stronger than he’d likely intended for it to be, but it had stung a little. It might bruise, but you didn’t care. Not if he was having a good time. 

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely ordering this,” Bob nodded as he swallowed the bite. The waitress came over at the exact right moment, allowing him to order another plate. 

You ordered another drink, even when yours hadn’t been entirely empty yet, just so Bob wouldn’t feel weird about ordering more. 

When Bob was finally satiated you called the waitress for the bill. Bob blanched, once again remembering he was relying on you for money right now. “At least let me get the tip,” he offered, putting whatever bills were left in his pocket on the table. You let him. 

When you finally made your way back to the tower it was later than you’d scheduled. You got up to the penthouse and saw Yelena and Ava sitting on the couch, watching some shitty reality show. 

Bob put his new books on the shelves and handed you the one you’d picked out for yourself. You thanked him and put it in your bag, taking the opportunity to gather your stuff. 

“I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow?” It was a question directed at both Yelena and Bob. You never knew what their schedule was like. Yelena nodded as she munched on some chips. “I’ll be here until like 2, so if you can come by before that, that’d be great!” 

Before you got on the elevator your name rang from Bob’s lips. You turned back to look at him as you waited for the doors to open. “Thank you, for today I mean.” It was accompanied by a warm smile. 

You returned the same warm smile. “Anytime.”

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki @chimchoom @spidermiraculous-blog @s00ty-feet @28cnn @tinythebunni @softpia @roeroeroeyourboet @secretkittydreamland @cultish-corner

[records-of-a-slacker]

as i've said many times, you need to let your stories marinate and the audience kind of sit down for a little bit and think about what they just consumed before the next part comes out. You need to give them time to get invested, form their own ideas and theories and analyze and think about the characters. Often times when I watch shows or read and binge them all at once or have new content release back to back, I end up a missing a lot of things because I just keep pressing next again and again, and only when I enter fandom spaces to talk about it after there's no more content to consume do I really absorb it and what it's trying to serve through discussions and analysis and headcanons and theories and all the various perspectives, and I end up loving characters I never thought I would like as much as I would. If there was never any time between content, people wouldn't have felt the need to want to look closer and sate their curiosity because their questions would be quickly answered.

The audience needs to get bored for a little, because when they get bored, they go out and engage with the media more.

this this this

[inseobts]

Heartstrings pt.2

trafalgar law x reader

part 1 - part 3

amid the chaos of punk hazard, you reunite with trafalgar law, stirring old memories, buried emotions, and a shared past haunted by corazon’s death. but there's no time to dwell—doflamingo’s name resurfaces, and this time, you refuse to let history repeat itself.

tags: punk hazard and dressrosa spoilers I guess, angst to fluff, childhood friends, slow burn

a/n: this isn't really what happened in the anime/manga but I couldn't remember it all and couldn't make it too long lmao

word count: 3.4k

masterlist || ko-fi

You don’t know how long you stand there, wrapped around Law like you’re afraid he’ll vanish. Maybe a few seconds. Maybe a lifetime.

All you know is that for the first time in years, the weight on your chest feels just a little lighter.

Eventually, though, Law shifts.

You feel it before he actually moves, the slight tension returning to his frame, the way his fingers twitch like he’s restraining himself. And then, with a sigh, he pulls away.

Not all at once. It’s slow, almost reluctant. But it happens. And you let him.

Because even if he won’t say it, you know this was a lot for him.

He clears his throat, glancing away, shoving his hands back into his pockets. His usual mask slides back into place, the unreadable, too-cool-to-care captain of the Heart Pirates.

But you don’t miss the slight red tint at the tips of his ears.

“You done being dramatic?” he mutters.

You snort, rolling your eyes “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I ruin your broody loner aesthetic?”

Law gives you a flat look “You ruined it the second you showed up.”

You grin “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He mutters something under his breath but you catch it.

“…Should’ve known you’d be like this.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel lighter.

The mood doesn’t stay light for long.

Dressrosa looms ahead.

The tension on the ship shifts the moment the island comes into view. The crew gathers on the deck, eyes fixed on the landmass in the distance.

Even Luffy, who’s usually oblivious to tension, seems unusually serious.

You stand beside Law, arms crossed, heart pounding.

“We have a plan,” Law says, addressing the Straw Hats. His voice is level, but you can hear the edge beneath it “We need to be careful. Doflamingo isn’t someone you can take lightly.”

Luffy grins, cracking his knuckles “We’re taking him down, right? Sounds simple to me.”

You groan “Luffy... this isn’t a bar fight, this is—”

“—war,” Law finishes, cutting you off. His gaze flickers to you for a second before returning to the others “And we can’t afford to lose.”

You swallow hard.

Lose.

You don’t like that word. Because losing means watching everything fall apart. It means losing more people.

It means losing Law, and you’re not letting that happen.

Luffy, of course, is completely unfazed “We won’t lose.” He grins, full of confidence, full of that ridiculous faith of his “We’ve got you and Y/N with us, right?”

You blink “Huh?”

Luffy just laughs “You and Law are like, super serious about this guy. It’s personal, yeah?”

Your stomach twists.

Law goes rigid.

Luffy doesn’t seem to notice. He just grins wider “Then we’ll win for sure.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Law doesn’t either.

But when you glance at him, when your eyes meet there’s something unspoken there, something that means, we’re in this together.

No matter what happens next.

The Thousand Sunny docks at Green Bit, just off Dressrosa’s coast. The island is as beautiful as it is deceptive with its bright skies, warm air, a paradise hiding a monster beneath.

Law stands at the railing, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distant city. You don’t need to ask what he’s thinking.

You already know.

You step beside him “We’re really doing this.”

Law doesn’t respond right away. Then, in a quiet voice, he says, “It’s not too late for you to stay behind.”

You scoff “Are you serious?”

“I don’t want you involved more than you have to be.”

You stare at him “Law, I’ve been looking for you for years. I followed every scrap of news, chased every rumor, just to find out if you were still alive—and now you think I’m gonna just sit this out?”

Law’s fingers twitch at his sides. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Your voice softens “I’m not leaving you to fight this alone.”

His jaw tightens. But he doesn’t argue.

Because he knows you won’t back down.

Because deep down, he doesn’t want you to.

The plan is set.

Law, Usopp, and Robin will exchange Caesar for their end of the deal with Doflamingo. Meanwhile, Luffy and the others will head into Dressrosa.

Simple.

At least, it’s supposed to be.

You’re supposed to stay with Luffy’s group. That was the agreement.

But as you step onto Dressrosa’s streets, surrounded by laughter, music, the scent of fresh food filling the air, you feel like your skin is on fire.

Like you’re walking straight into the past.

Like he’s watching you already.

You swallow hard.

Luffy is already distracted by the town’s wonders (and the scent of meat). The crew is focused on blending in. But you... you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

That something is waiting for you.

Your stomach churns. Your fists clench.

And before you know it you’re running.

Ignoring Luffy’s shout behind you. Ignoring the looks you get from people on the street.

You don’t stop.

Not until you reach the one place you know Law is supposed to be, because something tells you you don’t have time to wait.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you race through Dressrosa’s streets. The sun is bright, the people are laughing, but to you, it’s all wrong.

Your instincts scream at you that something isn’t right.

Law is walking into Doflamingo’s hands.

And you’re not about to let that happen.

You weave through the crowd, nearly knocking over a vendor’s cart. The shopkeeper yells after you, but you don’t care. You have one goal.

Find him.

You don’t know how long you run before you finally spot Law, Usopp, and Robin, standing near the bridge to Green Bit.

You barely slow down before skidding to a stop in front of them, panting “Law—!”

Law’s eyes snap to you immediately, sharp and questioning “What are you doing here?”

Robin and Usopp look confused, but you don’t have time to explain.

“You can’t go through with this” you blurt out.

Law’s expression hardens “We don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, we do!” You step closer, your chest tightening “You think Doflamingo’s just going to let this trade happen? You think he’s going to honor any kind of deal? It’s a trap, Law.”

Law doesn’t flinch. He just stares at you, completely unreadable.

“I know.”

You freeze “What?”

“I know it’s a trap,” he says calmly, like it doesn’t even matter “But we don’t have any other options.”

You feel like you’ve been punched.

“Then why are you walking into it?!” you snap, grabbing his coat “I didn’t come all this way just to watch him take you again!”

Law’s golden eyes widen, just for a second.

Then his expression shifts.

“…Take me again?”

Your breath catches.

Shit.

You didn’t mean to say that.

Law doesn’t look away “You think I wouldn’t fight?” his voice is low, measured “You think I’d let him take me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling in your chest “I meant—”

I meant I can’t lose you.

I meant I’ve been chasing after you for years, and I only just got you back, and I can’t... ugh

You swallow hard, shaking your head “I meant I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Law exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

But then, his expression darkens. He steps closer, voice quieter “This isn’t just about me. It never was.”

You know what he means.

Corazon.

Doflamingo.

Everything you lost.

Everything he lost.

You take a slow breath “…I’m coming with you.”

Law doesn’t argue. But his jaw tightens.

You don’t have to wait long.

The moment Law steps onto Green Bit’s bridge to make the exchange with Doflamingo, the air turns heavy.

The jungle hums with life, but everything else is too quiet. Too still.

You tense, standing just behind Law, Usopp, and Robin. Your eyes scan the treeline, your stomach twisting.

Then the sound of footsteps. And a voice you haven’t heard in years.

“Well, well…”

Your blood freezes.

A shadow steps out from the trees, a tall figure in pink feathers, grinning like a demon.

Doflamingo.

His sunglasses gleam in the light, his expression unreadable until his gaze lands on you.

He stops dead.

“…Oh?”

You grip your fists, trying not to react.

Law tenses beside you, his hand already on Kikoku.

Doflamingo’s grin widens.

“Well, now THIS is a surprise.” His voice is mocking, laced with amusement “I thought you were dead.”

Your stomach churns, but you keep your face blank “Sorry to disappoint.”

Doflamingo laughs. A low, slow chuckle, like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all day.

His eyes flick to Law.

“Didn’t know you were the sentimental type, Corazon’s little brat.”

Law’s grip tightens on his sword “Shut up.”

Doflamingo ignores him. His grin turns sharp, wolfish.

“Now it makes sense. I always wondered what kept you going after Corazon died.” His sunglasses flash as he tilts his head “Tell me, Law… how long have you been dragging your little lover into your mess?”

Your brain short-circuits “Excuse me?”

Law visibly twitches “She’s not—”

“Oh, come on.” Doflamingo smirks, stepping forward “The way you’re standing in front of her? The way she’s glaring at me like she’s ready to rip my throat out? Cute.”

Your face burns.

You point at him, scowling “First of all, you’re disgusting. Second, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be bleeding.”

Doflamingo grins wider “Spicy. No wonder Law likes you.”

Law looks murderous.

Usopp, watching from the sidelines, whispers, “Uh. Should we be here for this?”

Robin hums “It’s getting interesting.”

Meanwhile, you’re seething “Don’t act like you know anything about me.”

Doflamingo just laughs again “Oh, but I do. I remember everything, little one.” His voice drops, something darker curling beneath it.

“I remember how Corazon used to look at you two.”

Your breath catches.

Law goes rigid.

Doflamingo grins “You were both his stupid, dumb kids.”

The world feels smaller, colder.

Because you remember it too.

Corazon’s laughter. His warmth. The way he used to ruffle Law’s hair, the way he used to pull you into his coat when you were cold.

The way he died for you both.

Law’s voice is low, dangerous “Enough.”

Doflamingo chuckles “What? Can’t handle the truth?”

Your hands shake. Not from fear but from rage.

You clench your fists, stepping forward “You have no right to talk about him.”

Doflamingo smiles lazily, but his eyes are sharp “Oh, but you do?”

The words sting.

Because for years, you avoided this. Avoided thinking too hard about Corazon, about Law, about everything you lost.

You ran.

And now, it’s caught up to you.

Law moves before you can.

His sword is out, his stance set. “We’re done here.”

Doflamingo tilts his head “Oh, I don’t think so.”

And then everything happens at once.

The bridge shakes. Threads of white string shoot toward you.

And before you can react Law grabs your arm and shambles you away.

Your vision blurs. One moment, you’re staring at Doflamingo’s smug face, the next, you’re standing on the other side of the bridge.

Too far from Law.

“Damn it—!” You whip around, just in time to see threads cut through the air where you’d just been. Thin, deadly, fast.

Law dodges, barely. But his coat tears, a red line appearing on his arm.

Doflamingo laughs “Tch, still quick on your feet.”

Your stomach twists. Law is alone over there.

And Doflamingo is still smiling.

You move without thinking.

But the second you take a step forward more strings fly.

“Shit!” You barely dodge, hitting the ground in a roll. The threads slice through the bridge like butter.

Doflamingo tilts his head at you “You should be careful. I might start to think you care.”

Your teeth grind “Oh, screw you.”

Law snaps his fingers “Room.”

A blue sphere expands. He teleports to your side in an instant, his hand grabbing your wrist, tight, grounding.

“You’re reckless” he mutters.

You glare up at him “Like you’re any better?”

Law doesn’t answer. But his grip doesn’t loosen either.

Doflamingo clicks his tongue “You two really are inseparable, gives me a good idea.”

He lifts a hand and suddenly, the sky turns white.

Threads spread above you like a spider’s web, casting a shadow over the bridge.

Your heart races.

Doflamingo smiles “Let’s see if Corazon’s little brats can survive this.”

Then he brings his hand down and the web falls.

You barely see it happen.

Law’s beside you, his hand wrapped tight around your wrist, his breath ragged with effort, “Room” stretched to its limit.

Snap.

A glint of string. A flicker of movement.

And then you’re gone.

The air leaves your lungs as you’re yanked backward, the force like a hook in your gut. You scream, twisting, but the threads around your limbs are too tight. They bite into your skin, slicing deeper with every movement.

You hear Law shout your name. Hear the panic, raw and sharp in his voice.

But it’s too late.

Doflamingo is smiling.

The next thing you know, you’re slammed onto cold stone. Disoriented. Gasping.

You’re inside some kind of ornate chamber, gaudy, too gold, too bright. A palace dressed in blood.

You’re in his domain now.

Doflamingo stands above you, relaxed, calm, like this is just another game. His threads retract into his fingers with lazy grace.

“You know,” he drawls, brushing imaginary dust off his coat, “I wasn’t planning on taking any souvenirs today.”

You glare up at him, trying to get your limbs under you “I’m not a souvenir.”

He laughs amused “No, no. You’re something else, aren’t you?”

He crouches beside you, sunglasses gleaming. His grin is all teeth “You're Law’s little shadow, just as the good old times.”

You jerk back instinctively, but you’re still bound. His strings have you like shackles.

“You should’ve seen his face instead of fainting like an idiot” Doflamingo continues, voice smooth and cruel “Utter panic. I never saw him like that.”

You go still.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, tilting his head like he’s studying a curiosity “You think you’re just part of this little rebellion. But you—you’re actually Law’s weakness right now. I can use Corazon’s name a million times to make Law lose control but you… you could do so much better than just that ghost.”

You don’t speak. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

He stands, turning his back to you like he’s already won “I wonder what he’ll do to get you back.”

Your chest twists because you know Law will come for you and that’s exactly what Doflamingo wants.

He gestures with one hand and the threads yank you to your feet. Your body screams in protest, muscles burning.

He leans in close.

“You two aren’t subtle, you know,” he murmurs, low and mocking “The way he looks at you? Like he’d burn the world down just to keep you breathing.”

You snap, “He’s not—”

But Doflamingo cuts you off with a smirk “Oh, but he is, little one.”

His smile turns cold “And now I have you.”

He strides to the door, tossing a glance over his shoulder “Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

The door slams shut and you’re alone. Bleeding. Furious... Afraid.

Meanwhile Law stands in the rubble, chest heaving, blood running down his side. His haki’s fading. And you’re not there.

He’s frozen, staring at the empty space where you’d been just seconds ago.

Gone.

Doflamingo’s laughter still echoes in the trees.

Robin and Usopp are shouting, but Law doesn’t hear them.

He only hears your name.

His hand clenches around Kikoku’s hilt. Now, you are alone and it’s his fault.

You’re still in the palace when the explosion hits.

The walls tremble. A distant boom echoes through the stone. You stumble, heart racing... they’re here.

Luffy. Law.

They’re fighting him.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here, trapped in this golden hell, toyed with like you’re just another one of Doflamingo’s games. But now, the tides are changing.

You can feel it.

Chaos tears through Dressrosa.

Luffy and Law crash through the palace in a storm of fury and fire, slamming into Doflamingo with every ounce of rage they’ve buried for years.

“You really don’t learn, do you?” Doflamingo sneers, flicking blood from his lips “Even together, you can’t kill me.”

Law’s eyes burn gold “We’re not here to kill you.”

Luffy’s fist cracks with Haki “We’re here to end you.”

And for a moment Doflamingo’s smile falters.

Then he sees you.

Dragged there mid-fight, bruised but standing tall, defiant. The guards had tried to hold you back. They failed.

His grin returns.

“Oh, you made it! I was wondering when my little distraction would show up.”

Law’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t” he warns, voice like a blade.

But Doflamingo steps toward you anyway, lifting a hand, threads spiraling through the air.

“You sure you want her in the splash zone, Law?” he says “I could snap her spine before she even blinks.”

You don’t flinch “Try it.”

But Law does move, so fast you barely see it. He’s between you and Doflamingo in a heartbeat, sword drawn, fury etched into every line of his face.

“She has nothing to do with this” he growls.

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Doflamingo chuckles “She has everything to do with this. You think I didn’t see it? Back then?” He gestures vaguely, mockingly “Two kids huddled in the dark, pretending they didn’t care about each other. You think Corazon didn’t notice? Since I couldn't see your face that day, I would love to see it now when I'll take her away from you.”

Law doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

Doflamingo hums “Corazon always was a sentimental idiot. Guess you inherited that too, huh?”

“You don’t get to talk about him” you snap, stepping forward.

Doflamingo’s grin stretches wider “Oh, but I do.”

And then he strikes.

Threads launch at you, impossibly fast. But Luffy is faster.

“Gomu Gomu no Jet Gatling!!”

His fists slam into the threads mid-air, tearing them apart in a blur of Haki and fury. He lands in front of you with a scowl.

“Back off, bird freak.”

You blink “Luffy!”

He throws you a crooked grin “You okay?”

You nod, breathless “Thank you.”

He turns back to Doflamingo “You leave her outta this. If you’re mad at Law, fight him. And stop talking so much, you're annoying.”

Doflamingo’s laugh is harsh “Oh, Strawhat. Playing Cupid too, huh?”

Luffy blinks “Huh? You mean… them?”

He gestures between you and Law, who, despite the blood and bruises, suddenly looks very tense.

Luffy beams “They’re cute!”

“Luffy,” you and Law say in unison “We’re not—!”

Luffy waves a hand “Yeah, yeah. Not in love... Sure, got it.”

Doflamingo cackles.

You want to sink into the floor.

Law just mutters, “Kill me already.”

But there’s no more time to argue. Because Doflamingo lifts his hand and the threads descend.

The palace trembles beneath your feet as the battle rages on.

You’re by Law’s side, ducking threads and deflecting stray attacks, your breath burning in your lungs. Luffy’s fists slam into Doflamingo again and again, but nothing sticks long, he keeps getting back up.

Then Doflamingo grins, dark and wild, and hurls a barrage of strings straight toward you.

You freeze for half a second. And that’s all it takes.

You hear Law shout your name, then “ROOM.”

Your surroundings warp in a flash of light-blue energy.

The world disappears.

When you land, you’re way far from the battlefield. Far from him.

The silence is deafening.

You stumble forward “Law?”

No answer.

Panic claws at your throat. You spin in place, trying to understand how to get back there, fast. But nothing... He cut you out of it.

He teleported you away.

You slam your fist against a stone wall, heart pounding “Damn it, I hate you Trafalgar Law! You better survive this because I need to kill you with my own hands now... UGH!”

Meanwhile, Law’s breath shudders.

Teleporting you drained the last of his energy. His hand drops to his side, fingers trembling.

“Clever,” Doflamingo says, amused “Sending your little girlfriend away. Always the noble one, huh?”

Law says nothing. He just smirks and lets the blade strike.

[starkeys-honey]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐅𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Dumb!Ditzy!Reader x Rafe Cameron <3

౨ৎ

The big house was so quiet it felt like it echoed every time you sighed and today you’d sighed like a hundred times. Maybe more. You were laying on your stomach across the big fluffy pink rug in the living room your legs swaying in the air behind you as you stared at the little baby onesie on your iPad screen. It had frilly little lace sleeves and soft pastel flowers and you could already see it on a little baby with soft cheeks and a big gummy smile and probably the cutest laugh in the world

Your finger hovered over the screen as you whispered to yourself in your syrupy sweet voice

“If I just buy one onesie that doesn’t mean I’m like actually having a baby right it’s just like manifesting or whatever”

You giggled to yourself and tapped the screen and added it to your cart right next to the baby booties and the tiny pacifier with a rhinestone bow. You’d also pinned seventeen nursery ideas earlier and half of them were pink clouds and teddy bears and one had a tiny chandelier and you had bookmarked it twice on accident

That’s how your days usually went lately. You floated around the house in your frilly slippers with your lip gloss always a little too shiny and your brain bouncing between baby names and outfit ideas and what kind of diaper bag you’d get. You’d even practiced holding a pillow like a baby sometimes and talked to it like it was real. You got lonely. Like really lonely. Rafe was always out working or yelling at someone on the phone and even though you had this big beautiful mansion with a walk-in closet bigger than your old apartment it still felt so empty

So of course you wanted a baby. A tiny little person who would need you and love you and cuddle you all day long. You were made to be a mommy you just knew it

But Rafe didn’t think so

It started again that night at dinner. You’d made spaghetti because it was the only thing you didn’t burn too often but you forgot to make garlic bread and also forgot to tell Rafe the noodles were gluten free because they were cute and pink and you liked the box

And Rafe had one bite and set his fork down with that tight-jawed look he always gave you when he was trying not to lose his temper

“Baby we’ve talked about this. You can’t just buy things because they’re cute and not check the label”

You blinked at him fork halfway to your mouth and your lip started to wobble

“But it’s not like it’s poisoned Rafe it’s just little pink noodles and they’re so aesthetic and like I was thinking it’d be so cute if our baby had pink food too like matching lunches”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed

“There’s no baby”

You gasped a little like he slapped you and set your fork down too now suddenly not hungry

“Well not yet but like maybe soon if you weren’t so mean about it all the time” you pouted folding your arms under your chest and looking away dramatically “I’d be such a good mommy Rafe you don’t even KNOW how good I’d be”

He pushed his chair back and stood up running a hand through his hair already pacing and that meant he was really mad

“Babe last week you lost your phone for two hours and it was in the fridge. The fridge”

You gasped again more offended this time

“Well I was putting the soda away and then I had to check if the strawberries were still fresh and I needed to see if my lipstick melted and I just forgot for a little bit!”

“And two days ago you left the bath running and flooded the guest bathroom. Again”

“I was gonna come back but then Legally Blonde was on and I got distracted and also I thought the bubbles would like know when to stop!”

He looked at you like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or scream

“I’m not saying you’ll never be a mom I’m saying you’re not ready right now. I can’t just leave a baby with you and hope you remember not to feed it glitter cereal”

You gasped even louder and slapped a hand to your chest

“Okay first of all glitter cereal is literally edible I saw it on TikTok and second of all I would NEVER forget the baby I’d put it in one of those cute little slings and we’d match outfits every single day and I’d love it SO much and—”

“You’re not listening” he snapped and now he was mad really mad and you flinched just a little “Being a mom isn’t just about buying cute stuff and cuddling something all day. It’s hard work. Real work. And you don’t exactly have the best track record with responsibility”

That stung. And you hated when he talked like that like you were some dumb little girl who couldn’t do anything right and your eyes started to fill with tears even though you were trying really really hard to be strong

“I’m not dumb” you whispered voice shaky “I just get distracted sometimes and I love pretty things and I forget stuff but that doesn’t mean I’d be a bad mommy. I just get lonely. And I want someone who’ll love me and need me back”

Rafe’s face softened a little but then hardened again and he looked away shaking his head

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Not now. Maybe not ever if you can’t prove you’re serious about it”

That hurt more than anything and you stared at him your heart in your throat

“So you don’t wanna have a baby with me. Ever”

“I didn’t say that”

“You basically did”

You stormed off before he could say anything else and cried under your favorite pink blanket until your mascara smudged all over the pillow and you fell asleep clutching your baby Pinterest board like it was your last hope

The next day was even worse. Rafe left early without kissing you goodbye and you barely got out of bed until it was almost four and you had a bowl of marshmallows for lunch and watched baby animal videos on your phone until your eyes hurt

But then around six you heard the front door click open

And then you heard soft little noises

And then you saw Rafe standing in the entryway holding the softest fluffiest tiniest bunny you’d ever seen in your whole life

You blinked slowly in your oversized hoodie

“Am I dreaming or did you actually bring a lil cotton ball into this house”

Rafe chuckled under his breath and walked over holding it out to you

“She’s real. And she’s yours. You want a baby so bad I figured this might be a start. Bunnies are a lot of work. You gotta feed her and clean up after her and learn her moods and take care of her every single day. If you can do that then maybe we can talk about a real baby later. Like eventually. One day”

Your jaw dropped and you squealed grabbing the bunny like she was made of diamonds and immediately snuggled her to your chest

“She’s perfect ohmygod Rafe look at her little ears she’s got spots and her nose wiggles and I’m gonna name her Bemo and she’s our baby now I’m gonna be the best bunny mommy ever I swear on my lip gloss”

Rafe raised an eyebrow

“You sure? This isn’t just about dressing her up and calling her cute names”

“I already picked out six outfits in my head and a bow for every day of the week and she’s gonna have a tea party on Tuesdays and I’m gonna brush her fur every morning like a real princess bunny and she’s gonna sleep in our bed right in the middle and you better not roll over on her Rafe or I’ll cry so hard”

He laughed again and kissed your temple then led you down the hall to a room you hadn’t seen in a while

It was a full-on bunny palace

The floor was covered in soft pink rugs and there were little castle towers and heart-shaped food bowls and a playpen filled with little plush strawberries and everything was the exact shade of pastel pink you loved most

The walls even had bunny decals and Rafe had set up a little sign that said “BEMO’S ROOM” in glittery cursive lights

You burst into happy tears and fell to your knees hugging Bemo close and sniffling

“She’s so lucky I’m her mommy. I’m gonna love her so much and brush her and feed her and talk to her every single day and we’re gonna have matching outfits and ohmygod I wonder if she likes lullabies”

Rafe knelt beside you and wiped your cheeks gently

“Just take care of her baby. That’s all I’m asking. Show me you can do it. And then maybe one day… we’ll talk about adding another little someone to the family. For real”

You sniffled again and nodded so fast your hair bounced

“I promise I’ll be the best. Just you wait Rafe. Mommy’s gonna make you proud”

And that night Bemo slept right in the middle of the bed with you and Rafe and even did a little angry thump when Rafe turned over too fast and you giggled and kissed her tiny ears and whispered

“You’re the beginning of everything Bemo”

[purplesaline]

And if you REALLY want to help dismantle a belief like this, ask the person sincere questions. You need to chip away at the edges of the belief with these questions, not get right to the core of things or it will feel like an attack. OP commenting that it seemed like this person was regarding any deviation as a physical attack was right on point. Our brains don't see a difference between a physical attack and an attack on our beliefs. It reacts the same to both.

"Oh I'd never heard about the dome before! I just heard that God brought endless rains. Where can I learn more about the dome?"

"Was the dome of water kind of like the moon and just orbited the earth until the water fell? Does water take awhile to create? Is that why God made it all ahead of time instead of making it from scratch when he needed it?"

Stuff like that makes the person examine the logic of the story and the sincerity the questions are asked with prevents them from becoming defensive. Once someone gets defensive they can't think rationally anymore and they'll just dig in further.

I can't stress this enough, the questions MUST be asked in good faith, any trace of sarcasm or cynicism will trigger defensiveness. You must go into this process as if the person's belief could be valid and the only thing stopping you from believing it too is a lack of understanding. You're simply seeking to better understand it so you can believe it too. If you even so much as judge them in your own head you risk tipping your hand.

Now the other important part of this is the moment you see them start to feel uncomfortable (usually because they haven't been able to come up with an answer) you need to stop asking questions. Discomfort can easily trigger the fight/flight response because it's a sign that a belief has been threatened (even if it was by the person themselves) and I guarantee they haven't learned distress tolerance skills yet. You just want them to squirm a little bit and then go back to feeling safe. That little kernel of discomfort will slowly wear away at them over time though and that's the goal.

Essentially what asking questions like this does is teach the person how to think critically about their beliefs. If you've asked sincere questions that are completely rational things to ask and the person hasn't been able to provide an answer they'll start asking those types of questions themselves.

When I was getting my associates degree I took a Mythology class that I loved. But one of the girls in class was absolutely off the rails conservative Christian which made things… interesting.

The professor started off the class by being like, “Mythology is stories associated with religion.”

This girl. Haaaated that. She was like, “No, Christianity is true. It’s not mythology.” Mythology was delivered in the same tone as someone trying to spit excrement from their mouth.

The professor raised her eyebrows and said laconically, “Yes, most people believe their religion is the real one, that’s part of it, and the stories surrounding religion are referred to as mythology.”

The girl stewed in a hateful sullen rage. I truly don’t understand why she didn’t drop the class but perhaps it was court mandated education. We all expected her to drop the class but she dug in like a tick and derailed discussions as often as she could.

On a different occasion the professor was drawing a comparison between social constructs like gender. The girl raised her hand. The class hushed to hear her announce, “It’s just a fact that women like domestic work and even though men are awful and stinky we just have to love them anyway. It’s biology, we’re just hardwired like that.”

I was sitting next to my friend a baby gay Jewish girl and our eyes met in mutual hilarity while the professor tried to pretend she hadn’t just been stricken with a stress induced migraine while she steered the class away from that landmine.

The next sticking point was a week later when the professor informed us that many mythologies have overlapping events like floods but these didn’t necessarily happen in such literal terms. It was a metaphorical way to process and understand the world.

This girls hand shot up. I watched the professor exercise extreme self control to keep her expression bland before calling on her.

“The world did flood. And Noah saved all the animals. Before the flood all the water was in a dome outside the earth and then the dome broke and the world flooded. All of it.”

The whole class stared at her as if struggling to comprehend the overlap of her acceptance that the world was round while also firmly believing that there had previously been a barrier that held up all of the earths water before god smashed it in a fit of pique.

She raged under the attention, glaring balefully at our astonished faces.

The professor stared at her blankly, unable to form words to such a bizarre belief. I wanted to ask clarifying questions- what they’d drunk before the dome broke, if there were rivers or lakes prior, or did the dome allow some rain in somehow, but then I really looked at her.

She had the eyes of a feral, cornered animal who regarded any deviation in worldview from her own to be a physical assault on her person. Like the professor, I said nothing, and after a wretchedly long pause class moved on.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: how do the tkdb boys react to being hooked up to the menstrual cramp simulator?

WARNINGS: talk of menstruation, eating troubles in sho's.

COMMENTS: tried to keep in mind that most boys dont have periods on their minds like . most of the time i would assume.

Jin never doubted that you were in pain, but he has no doubt he’s made you work while you have your period. Going through the simulator, he sits there with his back hunched after level six. Once you get him out of the machine, he tells you to take the rest of the day off. The next time he sees you he asks what you need to minimize the pain.

Tohma is as cool as a cucumber until the very last levels. It’s a bit unsatisfying that he doesn’t really give you a reaction, but he does acknowledge that it hurts. Mentions that if you ever need assistance with your cycle, he would be more than happy to help out. It sounds sketchy but...well, that’s up for your interpretation.

Luca will see it through. You can keep upping the levels and he won’t tap out, he will stick to it until the very end. The second you turn it off and he takes off the pads, he’s immediately apologizing. Luca swears up and down that he will do anything to help you out with your period from now on.

Kaito starts flinching and whining after level four. Three, even. He has a low pain tolerance and HATES pain, but you know, he’ll do anything for you. Apologies over and over and taps out officially after level six. He’s sniveling and whining at your feet for the rest of the day.

Alan doesn’t flinch, but you can see him get progressively sadder. He looks at you like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders this whole time. He thanks you after you’ve turned the machine off, saying that he’s glad he understands you better now. Alan is the sweetest ever about it.

Sho is so, so worried about your stomach when you turn on the machine. Like, this already hurts. How do you eat and digest food effectively like this? The higher the levels go the more in pain he looks, and after it’s all said and done he’s asking you if you need him to make the lightest soup known to man so you don’t get sick and puke everywhere. Worrywart.

Leo would ham it up if it was for a camera, but since you promised you weren’t filming (and he likes you enough to believe you), he gives you his...authentic reactions. Whether you believe him or not is up to you. He looks like he’s in pain from about level five...but how much of that can you trust?

Haru is clutching your thighs, knelt in front of you at your feet, apologizing over and over for all the times he called you over when you might have been on your period. Key word: might. Haru just doesn’t want to hurt you! To think, you suffer so much every month...it’s unthinkable. And yes, Haru could withstand all of the levels and more, but you? This amount of pain shouldn’t happen to you.

Towa doesn’t quite understand it, and he’ll get a little grumpy after you put him through all that pain. But once it clicks that you go through that every month, Towa is politely asking you if there’s anything he can do to stop your pain. (And by politely, of course I mean threatening someone.) He needs to protect you! How is he supposed to do that from an unseen threat?

Ren snorts and says it's not that big of a deal at first, but you can tell that he’s in pain after level six. Once it's over, he’ll find ways to pamper you in subtle ways, because now that hurts like a bitch. He won’t say it out loud, he never does. But you can tell by the way his hands were clenched into fists that he was struggling.

Taiga could go one of two ways: he gets sick of it after level eight and yanks it off, getting pissy because you approached him in a bad mood just to put him in more pain, OR he thinks of it as a fun game and describes exactly how he feels to you while lounging on the couch. Tells you he’s proud of you for being such a tough kitty.

Romeo yells at you to get on with it! if you’re taking too long. He doesn’t take kindly to slackers, and his time is precious, so—OW. Romeo hisses through his teeth, wincing at the sudden stab of pain. Is this really how it feels? He demands to know. How could you not tell him your cramps hurt like this!?

Ritsu is as attentive as always, doing prior research beforehand. He comes to you with what he believes cramps may feel like and asks for clarification, only to be hooked up to the machine. He does well for the first half, then starts to furrowed his brow after level seven.  Damn Sinostra and their good pain tolerances!

Subaru is ready and willing to connect with you like this. It’s an honor and a privilege to be someone to you, and so he will do his best to tell you what he honestly thinks. For the first few levels, his expression is mostly blank. The fourth level is when a small gasp escapes his throat and his eyes go wide. Another one who apologizes immediately after you get the machine off of him.

Haku takes it easy, allowing you to hook him up to the simulator. Whatever his princess wants, he’ll get. Something about the way you look at him tells him that you’re getting a kick out of this—so he’ll tell you what he honestly thinks, and then proceed to ask you more questions about your cycle.

Zenji wants nothing more than to understand you and your pain. If you ask him, this is a logical solution! If anything, he asked if there was a way to feel your pain first. Another one who cries when it gets past level four. You’re so strong, he’s going to compose ballads about your bravery!

Edward is a little shit about it. I can’t decide whether he wouldn’t know anything about periods or whether he’d watch random YouTube videos about it because he’s weird. Probably the latter. Assuming he knows, he’d ask you about your symptoms and pain levels WHILE the simulator is going. Once it’s over and he’s given you zero reaction, he tells you he can smell it on you whenever it happens. He’s so weird T0T

Rui will wait on you every month after this. He’s devastated that you have to go through something like this every month, and he can’t even hold you. I’m not even kidding this man will start to CRY. He’s so sad that you have all this pain. It should have been him. WHY WASN’T IT HIM.

Lyca wants to feel what you feel. Literally the meme “it’s uterUS.” If you’re going to go through this pain, he should know how to feel to better help you, obviously. Now, Lyca doesn’t regret that decision, but he does have some words for the fucker who made you have those cramps. What do you mean it just happens!?

Yuri knows how periods work—he has students in Mortkranken and other houses who come to him for products and painkillers. But experiencing it? He’s trying his best to remain composed but will tap out after level seven. Cannot handle that much pain, plus his ego is bruised now. Tell him he did a good job. :(

Jiro stares you dead in the face while you up the levels one after another, searching for any sort of reaction from him. Honestly, Jiro has the highest pain tolerance. He’s the type to ask why you haven’t started it yet when you’re on level seven. I’m sorry T0T

[aqours]

i'm bored so. LCB Sinners ranked on how well they do at a fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant as part of the mission (they have to pretend to be fancy rich people) until it goes horribly wrong

yi sang: he tries pretty well but also he's completely out of his element given his background in S Corp. he's not used to this at all. he ACTS polite and everything but also he drops a fork and still uses it. doesn't immediately draw suspicion but eventually people realize he's a fake rich person. faust: gets through the dinner with no problems, no eyes get drawn to her. don quixote: this is completely depending if it's post canto 7 or not. before she fucks this up quicker than everyone else it takes like ten minutes for this to go wrong. post canto 7 she can mostly get through this but also she fucks up a bit because her good table etiquette is like 300+ years out of date. the LCB can pass it off she's from a different district unaware of the customs here. as long as it's post canto 7 she can get through this. ryoshu: this one is interesting bc it boils down solely to how bored she is or not. she probably wants to watch everyone fumble through this. she can be a fake posh bitch as long as she needs to but the moment she gets bored of all this she's lighting a cigarette and it all immediately falls apart. meursault: is able to get through the dinner with no problems, no eyes get drawn to him, unless there's like some kind of specific etiquette about drinking black coffee instead of regular/white coffee. hong lu: is able to get through the dinner with no problems and no eyes drawn to him with just a little coaching about some foods he's not used to. heathcliff: the LCB has an Underestimating Heathcliff Moment (U.H.M.) before being reminded he was raised by high society people. is extremely in his element and able to keep his composure, calls all the waiters/waitresses sir/ma'm, peak table manners. might even give pointers like "nono- you use the small fork for that one, not the regular one-" ishmael: tries her best for this she really does but she's also really out of her element. she's very used to seafood but not it being so... fancy like this. if you like heathmael then heathcliff helps coach her through the dinner. otherwise she probably blows it with how she eats at some point, like grabbing sashimi with her hands and dunking it in the soy sauce making a splash. without the coaching she blows it and is very embarrassed about it. rodion: she wears that nice dress from her sinner id photo. she tries to act a little stuck up. then she gulps down that nice wine like water and oh god her table manners. the only one who will blow this faster is pre canto 7 don. she wanted to be special and prove she was good as all these stuck up rich people :( sinclair: gets through the dinner with no problems, no eyes get drawn to him. outis: is mostly able to get through this until someone insults dante. while her regular manners are polite for this situation, she's SO FUCKING LOUD i think she blows it without meaning to. gregor: the really unfortunate obvious answer is that he's probably not allowed in the restaurant and is on standby for if hostilities break out. otherwise he's also extremely out of his element and is hoping he can just really quietly drink water and not talk to anyone the whole night. fucks this up immediately if he needs to actually eat. basically he's a more self aware rodion in this situation. dante: is a clock and would have to go out of their way to mess this up. dante food fight truthers rise up

[seishroo]

Hiori from blue lock eating readers ass since we felt like we weren't good enough for him now he has to prove us wrong by eating us out until we're dumb

cw. smut mdni, ass eating, insecurity, dumbification, gun mention, little bit of sadist hiori LOOL

bf!hiori who can’t stand when you belittle yourself in any kind of way. he adores everything about you, even the things you criticize the most about yourself. 

when it came up in conversation that you felt as if you’re out of his league, he stilled beside you, lips parting and mind blanking.

“..ya really think that, hm?”, he asks, his tone low and warm. when you confirmed it with a slow nod of your head, he wasted no time pulling you into his lap to wrap his arms around you. 

despite him giving you sweet words of reassurance and a face full of gentle pecks, you still felt this unease in your stomach. hiori could tell by the look on your face and frowned, tucking a finger under your chin to have you meet his eyes. 

“y’know that ain’t true, sweets”, he whispers, eyes searching yours for any sort of reciprocation. when nothing but uncertainty reflected in those irises of yours, he slowly leaned in, gaze never wavering. “if words can’t convince ya..”, he began, your noses centimeters away from touching, “i’ll have to make ya feel it instead”.

..

“ass up”, the only words you comprehended before you were being bent over the nearest surface, bottoms shoved down with a wet, sloppy tongue diving into your puckered hole. its filthy, erotic, hiori’s eatin you up like a starved man who ain’t seen a breadcrumb in the last decade. your juices coat his chin, sticky and sweet while his tongue circles around the rim. 

“so perfect, all f’me”, hiori mutters to himself as he pushes his face deeper between your globes, tongue-fucking you like a semi-automatic rifle. you throb against his mouth, reaching behind you and tugging on those blue locks. 

“sshhhiiittt, hio..!”, you cry out, his tongue casting fucking spells that you swear make you see stars. he gives your ass a few firm slaps, making you cry out even louder.

“shh, baby”, he coos, sloppily making out with your hole just to make you whine. “jus’ let me take care of ya, ‘kay?”, he mutters before finishing the job, groping your cheeks harder. he was an animal. he could spend the entire day like this, face full of ass, not giving a fuck how sore his jaw may be. nothing’s better than hearing your sweet little mewls while you’re feeling pleasure because of him. only him. 

he was everywhere all at once. you felt every, single, last stroke of his lengthy tongue, digging in every crevice of your entire being, like flashes of heat. you roll your hips closer to his mouth, a needy groan falling from your lips. “pleasepleaseplease”, you whine stupidly before your orgasm rushes through you, blinding almost. hiori slurps up every last bit of your release, leaving no place untouched — face sticky and smeared with you. 

your body went limp as you came down from your peak, hiori’s arm snaked around your waist to stabilize you. “still think yer not enough f'me, pretty?”, he teases with a kiss to the top of your head, more than willing for round two if you still had any doubts.

there was no need for protest.

an. hi babi sorry this took me so long i kept getting too geeked thru the day n sleeping smh hope u like :3

© seishroo | much love ꨄ

[shen-jius-zoloft-prescription]

Shang Qinghua is a man who knows to keep a burner phone on an inside pocket where it won't be found and pulled off him. What does he look like, an amateur? And sure, burner phones don't exist technically in PIDW, but you think he didn't bake in a way to make an alternative?

Again: the man's not an amateur.

Shang Qinghua is a man who knows how to twist his arms from behind himself, in immortal binding cables, to grab that burner phone emergency talisman sewn into the hem of his sleeve. Shang Qinghua is a man who remembers the important phone numbers qi signatures by heart, and can definitely, easily place a phone call tear the necessary sigil on the talisman while tied up in a car trunk storage crate on a wagon, thank you very much.

And once upon a time, it mattered that Shang Qinghua is a man who knows how to open a car trunk from the inside, but storage crates don't come with safety regulation mandated release levers in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

Well, he'd be insulted if they didn't take him seriously enough to make it difficult for him. But still. Ugh.

There are less scorched-earth ways to go about this, but he's a bit peeved by the whole thing, and honestly? It might be good to remind people that he shouldn't be fucked with.

Obviously he can't tip his hand too far, being a pathetic little worm beneath anyone's notice is half of what normally keeps him out of situations like this, so he needs someone else to be the threat while Shang Qinghua still gets the "don't mess with him" effect of it.

So, anyway, he rings Shen Yuan.

Hey, bro, I've been kidnapped, by humans so I don't want to get my king involved, and — no, it's not a joke, listen — there really isn't time to play this with his best friend/built-in alibi, the talisman has a very limited duration with his qi cabled off, so he cuts to the chase.

There's a box under his bed in the Leisure House. He tells Shen Yuan to go get it. He knows Shen Yuan is a smart guy, but he's not exactly the right person when it comes to... well, what he'd be asking of him.

So he tells Shen Yuan, with the last percent of battery wisp of stored qi in the talisman, to take that box to his brother. It's a pretty random request; it's not like Shang Qinghua has anything to do with the Qing Jing peak lord ever, at all, if he can ever help it. Normally, Shen Yuan would just roll his eyes and shrug it off (and leave Shang Qinghua to his kidnappers, not that he'd notice his best friend was actually gone for at least a couple more days) but the whole thing's just weird enough that it piques his curiosity. He makes a brief call to his brother on his summoning pendant, more like a psychic tap on the shoulder.

Of course that's all it takes for Shen Jiu to drop everything he's doing immediately, and the peak lord goes to Shen Yuan faster than an ambulance. He's... unimpressed that the actual reason for his class's interruption is anything to do with Shang Qinghua.

But, dutifully, Shen Yuan hands Shen Jiu the box.

It's got scrolls and papers and folios on every important, influential, wealthy, powerful, superlative-adjective person in the jianghu and mortal spheres. It's all the dirt. On everyone. Criminal activity (mindfully scrubbed of any Airplane-shaped involvements), affairs, embezzlement, the works. From casual lies caught on tape, to life-ruining scandals in 4k.

Everyone important's dirty laundry. And, for good measure, it's also everyone important's loved ones' dirty laundry, too.

Shen Yuan realizes immediately that he might as well have just handed Shen Jiu nuclear codes. This is, decidedly and without a doubt, the absolute worst person in the world to have this information! What the fuck, Airplane-bro?!

There is a sticky note scrap of paper adhered on top of the box:

In case of emergency!

(ﾉ*ФωФ)ﾉ Give them two days to comply.

(less if they're annoying lol)

It does not matter who kidnapped Shang Qinghua.

Because whoever they are, they are assuredly in that box, and they, and everyone they know, and everyone they work with, and everyone they love are about to have their whole worlds torn apart.

As soon as it gets out that Shen Qingqiu has any kind of access to any amount of this information (and it's fairly immediate for Shen Jiu to buy into whatever fucked up game is going on and "let it slip," and if there's anything that every single sect of the jianghu excels at equally, it's gossip that can move faster than the speed of light), the best anyone can hope for is that he does the responsible thing and gives it to Yue Qingyuan; there is no heaven to save you if he decides to use it himself.

Just like that, everyone who suspects they might be in Shang Qinghua's nightmarish Burn Book is immediately joining in on the planet's scummiest, most self-serving volunteer search party team.

(The kidnappers themselves are, of course, scrambling to comply with demands.)

Shang Qinghua is dropped off, still tied, in an alley in a distant city of the borderlands with a bag over his head, only aware of the mayhem inflicted by his box of receipts by virtue of the frantic arguing he overheard from his kidnappers whilst rattling around like a loose coin in the car trunk storage container.

It's not until the next day that Shang Qinghua is back on An Ding and Shen Jiu returns the box.

Shang Qinghua is a man who knows his own damn handwriting, can tell when he's looking at a box full of copies.

[filibusterfrog]

I’ve been thinking about rescuing/adopting a parrot that needs rehoming when I get to the right place in my life to accommodate everything they would need. I've been curious about your experiences with Monty/Eclectus parrots in general and would love to know what your thoughts are about their husbandry if you have the time!

hello!! i do have thoughts on this, i go more in depth on some of my other posts in the '#monty tag' but ill pop some bulletpoints for you under the readmore

pros of ekkies:

-sweet, smart, loving birds as far as everyone seems to report, to me monty is my special boy and i love him more than anything

-are fairly quiet compared to other birds of similar size

-they telegraph what theyre about to do and move slowly so its easy to tell when theyre about to bite or if they need to otherwise be removed from a situation. other medium to large parrots are faster and less predictable ESPECIALLY cockatoos

- may be a pro or a con but they probably dont live as long as a cockatoo or a macaw. supposedly in captivity theyre expected to live to 30 or 40, which means you get plenty of time with them in your life but you wont be burdening anyone who would have to inherit them after you shuffle off this mortal coil

-monty is an excellent talker, though that probably depends on the individual

cons:

-all birds but medium/large birds especially demand a lot of attention. you need to train them set up foraging toys and play with them daily or near to daily

-ekkies subsist best on fresh veg and fruit, (though you can supplement with pellets) so their food costs will be higher

-ekkies have a higher rate of plucking than just about every other type of bird kept as pets. i think african greys may be tied with them for biggest pluckers. even if youre doing everything as right as you can your bird may still pluck because of any number of reasons and it really hurts to see your little guy go through it

-exotic vet bills

-ekkies on the whole do not really like to be scritched though some individuals do. theyre still cuddly in their own way

-bc of the aforementioned fresh diet they have big wet poos and youve gotta be ok to clean that. its water soluble but the smell can Linger

-they are very messy eaters (cute but also sweet potato residue is hard to clean)

theres probably way more, give the tag a geez and have a consider. i love monty, would not rec an ekkie if you do not love to spend time with weird little guys who love you soso much but will do everything in their power to make your life just a little bit harder in a cheeky fun way but also a screaming and crying way

[bihexualandferal]

man, it sucks when you find a new artist/blog that you really like and then you find out who they really are when they post stuff like this. sad :(

Y’know Persimmon, I have family living in a wartorn country too (Venezuela) that nobody seems to know of/care about, and you don’t see me yelling and swearing at people about it. People don’t make those posts about caring for yourself despite horrible things happening around the globe because they’re apathetic to the plight of others. It’s not about racism, either. Idk why you’re choosing to make this into an issue about race when that has nothing to do with it. Plenty of people still post about Palestine all the time. Plenty of people in this site are POC and have families in or around the war zone who are suffering, just like you and your family. Even others who are white (or at least not Middle Eastern) and have no stake in this issue still care, like I do, because nobody should have to suffer the way Palestinians are suffering right now. I promise people of all kinds care, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

The real issue here is: it’s simply impossible to care about every single bad thing going on around the globe all the time. Ever heard of empathy fatigue? Even reading all the horrible headlines without looking at harrowing footage takes a toll on people’s mental health. If you can’t do much to change the outcome, forcing yourself to keep up with all the bad things in the world is exhausting and unhelpful/useless.

It also has to do with how much direct action people can take to fix the issue. A lot of people on this site live in the UK, so they are able to enact some change by voting and such. But not many people here have the power to change what is happening in Palestine except by donating or spreading the word (and a lot of us are too poor to donate). If we could fix it, we would. But that isn’t possible. So all we can do is take care of ourselves as we try to help in whatever small way we can. And it isn’t a bad thing to be a bit “selfish” and focus on caring for your own mental health before anything else. I think you could use a bit more of that self-care yourself tbh.

The point is, you’re attacking the wrong enemy. Obviously, racism exists online and offline, and it is easier for people to care about things that directly impact/relate to them, I won’t deny that. But those people making “take care of yourself” posts in regards to not doom scrolling on certain global issues are not being racist. That’s absurd. Other people care about the issues and people suffering from them that you care about, regardless of their race, even if you can’t see it.

I understand why you’re upset. I would be too if I were you. And again, I understand your and your family’s struggle. I have family in Venezuela who are starving and living in constantly fear under Maduro’s regime. They often do not have access to basic food, water, electricity, and medicine. They are afraid to walk to school or work for fear of being killed in the streets and people looting the clothes and groceries off their bodies. They are afraid to say anything negative about the government, because they could be listening and reading their calls and messages, and if they are caught, they would be kidnapped and tortured to death. And my mother and I cannot even save them because we live in the USA, and under our current hostile and xenophobic administration, they will likely be sent off to a concentration camp in El Salvador if they try to immigrate here.

I never see any posts raising awareness or charity money for Venezuelans. And of course that makes me sad and angry. But this is based on a lack of information and not necessarily racism. I know if others knew about this problem, they would care. And so I talk to them about it, honestly, factually, and without judgement. And I also understand people’s need to back away from the issues for a little bit and care for their own mental health. Whereas making condescending posts and lashing out at people who also have valid points (even if they misunderstood the meaning of your post) is not helping anyone nor accomplishing anything. It just makes you look like an asshole. I hope you reflect on this and act appropriately in the future, because this kind of behavior is very disheartening to see. I truly admire your artwork and have empathy for you and your family’s struggles (immediate and extended).

Wow it's crazy that no one is making any cloying "you deserve to not give a shit about the world ♡ take care of yourself ♡ you deserve to be happy ♡" selfish posts about the callous treatment trans people are receiving in the UK, it's almost like apathy is a doom reserved only for the people being genocided in the global south! Yes both things are bad yes it's obvious that many many white liberals are also white queer people who are often racially and culturally biased and do not have reserves of compassion for oppression they personally cannot identify with! "Me! Me Me me me me!!!!!!"! That's all I hear so often.

This isn't about my trans siblings in the UK, they have my heart, my soul. This is about the people who are selective in who they choose to ally with ^-^

[hellothisisangle]

Relationship Analysis

Prefacing this by admitting I had to rewrite a good chunk of River. He’s notoriously got few quests leading up to the romance side of things. The actual relationship jump is marked with an arrow a bit below, here’s some backstory

↓

V would never willingly work with a cop. They’ve been disillusioned enough by the system and the people who enforce it to build their life on chaos and middle fingers. But the job that lead to River was backed by the kind of money that made V bite their tongue, swallow the “ACAB”, and resist the urge to spit on the guy’s polished boots. Doesn’t mean there wasn’t more than a few off-color statements thrown out there though. River barely rolled his eyes, didn’t instigate. He was a model lawman, like something out of a movie. Actually, too much like a movie. Because when the preliminary investigation of the Peralez’s case [I FOUGHT THE LAW] came to a close and River’s superiors told him to stop pursuing, V could tell this was another one of those NCPD cover-up situations.

“Exactly what I expect from donut munchers. Good thing my client is an independent contract,” V snidely remarked.

“I’ll take this to the top if I have to,” River said with conviction.

So, so virtuous. Then, another distraught call came from the Peralezes [DREAM ON]. They’d had a suspicious break in, needed a professional to look into it. V shows up, and who’s already on-site, all badge-and-honor attitude? River fucking Ward. Again. Definitely not because the NCPD told him to, so what- Out of the goodness of his heart?

“You make it sound like it’s something to be ashamed of,” River sighed.

(…) “Not something you come across in this city,” V pointed out. “And especially not in cops.”

Somehow, V is able to get more information, why River is really doing this. He’s not a stranger to home invasions, lived it first hand, lost both his parents. He doesn’t want to see another family torn apart. River is starting to seem more like a real person than a one-dimensional neon sign that reads, ‘I believe in the law’. If there’s anyone who could get V to even remotely reconsider the idea that not every badge is a pig, it just might be River.

They managed to track down the Peralez’s boogeymen together, although the case involved more victims than just the affluent family who hired them, and seemed to somehow be related to a power with ties to the NCPD. River immediately wants to go whistleblower. He’s talking protective custody, full exposure. V raises an eyebrow. It isn’t only the Peralezes being monitored- strings all across Night City are being pulled. And if River wants to trigger a massacre just to save the few people in front of them, that blood’s on him. On the other hand, if the Peralezes fork over however much they think their lives are worth, V isn’t complaining- V could give a shit about politicians. River, ever the hero, insists he’ll take the information back to the station- see if he can’t orchestrate protection for everyone. Noble, but stupid, V thinks.

Afterwards, V gets a call from a mysterious number- a scrambled voice telling them to detour from this trail they’re following. V attempts to check in with the Peralezes- the line has gone cold. V then contacts River, who sounds a little different over the holo, kind of forced. He requests to meet in person. Chubby Buffalo’s BBQ in The Glen. V already got their pay, they wanted to wipe their hands of this whole thing, but curiosity got the better of them. And what does River have to say? He got canned. Tossed out by a system he believed in. V? They laugh. Double over. Find it darkly poetic. The guy who walked the line, booted the second it became inconvenient.

River doesn’t think it’s so funny. His parents’ murderer that was never brought to justice, the Peralezes, countless other investigations swept under the rug…

“So what’re you gonna do about it?” V asks.

“Become a PI,” River replies.

Fitting. Suits him better. He already owns the long leather trench. Some time later, V and River accomplish [THE HUNT] together. River is offered a position back on the force. To V’s surprise they turn it down.

↓

V is convinced to work a few private cases with River, split the profits, and the more they’re side by side, the more they notice the little details. A familiar broad frame. A voice too caring. A laugh a bit too loud. Awkward. Earnest. The kind of man who tries to look away when V leans close, but can’t help but blush and stiffen. V sees echos they’re not sure what to make of. They push River- how about bending a rule here and there? You ever use handcuffs for something off the books? And River gives. Slowly but surely. He thinks dipping his toe in the darkness to be with V isn’t so terrible. However, V isn’t a toe-dip. They’re a deep-dive into the black. River starts falling, answering texts too quickly, giving in too fast, can’t say “no” to V.

V teases him that his code of ethics had a weak spine. Internally, it catches them off guard. Maybe this is how people are supposed to act when they really care about another person, without expecting something in return and all that. It’s not like V would know. And the look River gives when V says something absolutely filthy with a straight face is kind of irresistible.

V thought they’d enjoy ruining him, pushing him past his limits just to say, “I told you so.” All the while, River’s still polite, still checks, asks, holds back before doing anything impulsive. Makes V want to unravel him completely, to see a raw side. But when it started happening for real, it didn’t feel as good as they imagined. Turns out River likes a grip on his wrists and V isn’t sure they’re in any position to be the one in control. The one to say “love me” when they could be gone tomorrow. Under normal circumstances, V wouldn’t mind stringing someone along. With River, he’s just too genuine. Maybe they like him because he somehow still sees something good in V, or maybe it’s because V’s scared no one else will as much as River. Not even themselves.

[firelilyfox]

In your skin

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: After a mission the two of you have to share a room & at first Bucky gets really mad about it but ... he means well.

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: mention of trauma, weapons, sharing a bed, fluff, heart to heart talk, real sad Bucky

Note: english isn't my mother tongue so sorry in advance :)

____________________________________

It got late real fast after the successful mission in Nairobi. 

The African heat gave way to the cool night, making it way more pleasant to find some sleep soon. Part of the Thunderbolts found shelter in a luxury hotel in the middle of the lively city, but there were almost fully booked so the only two rooms left had to be evenly shared. Yelena, Alexei, Bucky and me. 

„I will not let my daughter sleep in a room with another man“, Alexei barked. „No offense Winter Soldier, I have deeply respect for you. But my daughter will be protected from you manly charme by myself.“ His strong russian accent marking the importance of his protectiveness about Yelena. 

„Alexei I’m a grown woman and can protect myself from stupid men“ Yelena says unimpressed. The four of us were standing in the empty hallway, on each side a closed door and fitting keycards in my hands. I look at them and then up at Bucky. He was easily two heads taller than me with a strong disapproval look on his face, but he kept quiet. He was always the quiet one of the group (besides one or two snarky comments from time to time). „You can sleep with him then if you want“, Yelena adds. 

„Don’t be ridiculous. I will not let you out of my sight with this nasty wound. You are my daughter and I will protect-…“ but Alexei couldn’t finish the sentence because Yelena shut his mouth with her own hand. 

„Got it old man. So its the two of us and the two of you then.“ She pointed at me and at Bucky afterwards. I opened my mouth for approval but got interrupted immediately. 

„No fucking way“, Bucky grumbles.  

Okay. Ouch. That was unnecessary and a bit rude. 

Even the farther-daughter duo frowned in confusion. It was true that Bucky and had a …complicated way of acting around each other for the last couple of months. At first I thought we would be good co-workers. He always kept an eye out for me when I started to train with the Thunderbolts because I didn’t knew my way around and had a tendency to stumble into very unfortunate situations. For example that one time in Norway … ugh I rather not think about that. Nonetheless with time passing by he had become more like … a friend I think. Bucky was always there if I needed him - but never too close. Even a little part of me, that I desperately try to suffocate, wants him to be just … closer sometimes. 

„Do I get to tell my opinion in this?“ I ask a bit annoyed by his sudden rudeness. „I have no problem to stay with you in a room.“ He shoots me a deadly look but that doesn’t scare me off. Not the tiniest bit. No clue what his problem his, but I won’t let him push me away like that. If he has something to say, then he can tell me whilst sharing a god damn room. 

„Great! Its settled then. You two get to - ...“ 

„This isn’t an option“, Bucky interrupts Alexei again and this time he almost exploded. His voice had a much deeper and darker ring to it now. But it didn’t made me flinch. It made me mad. 

„Why does everybody interrupts Alexei all the ti-…“ 

„Well I don’t care. Here.“ I handed Yelena and her father one keycard and kept the other one for Bucky and myself. „I’m done with this conversation. Get in here.“ I tell him and opened the door with a soft clicking sound. 

„Have a pleasant night“, Yelena chuckles and disappeared with Alexei in the room across the hallway. Bucky stands still as a stone without any muscle moving. My rage was overflood by hurt. Was it really that awful to share a room with me?  

„I have no idea why its such a problem for you to stay in a room with me. If it’s because I am a woman then I can assure you it’s more than common in this century for a man and a woman to …“ 

„It’s not because of that. I shared a room with a woman before.“ He says and stepped around me into the hotel room. Paying close attention to our arms not touching by accident. 

I closed the door behind me. „Well good for you I guess.“ A little stab of jealousy hit me. „But if it aint that then why -…“ 

„We should get some sleep.“ And just like that there was another sentence that won’t be finished this evening. Great fucking fun. 

We got changed into our nightgowns and by that i mean that Bucky was still wearing his black shirt and boxer. While i got rid of almost every piece of clothing. In my underwear and a simple tanktop I sat down on the bed beside him. His metal arm flexing a few times he looked lost in thoughts. 

„How does it feel?“ I ask before I could stop myself. 

He frowns. „What do you mean?“ 

„I mean do you really feel everything? Like heat when you burn yourself while cooking or the fabric of a blanket?“ No clue why I was bubbling with stupid questions like that out of the blue. Might be the sight of him in boxers that fried my brain a little bit. I’m thankful he isn’t a mindreader. 

A soft smile lays down on his lips. The first since we entered this room. „Yeah. In Wakanda they have some very advanced techniques and great minds who work on stuff like that. I have not the slightest idea how this works.“ He holds his metal hand with the palm up and looks at me. „But it works.“ 

Without any thoughts I lay my hand in his. I expected the metal to be cold and hard. But somehow it felt warm and … real. Like it is more than just a piece of dead materiel. I moved my fingers along the palm and up to his wrist. It was formed exactly like his other arm. Strong and even the muscles were mirrored to the tiniest detail. Something comes over me and out of pure curiosity my other hand finds his real arm to compare the two of them. 

For a moment Bucky stayed completely still. He was not moving at all and I doubt that he was even breathing normal anymore. „Does it feel the same?“ 

He cleared his throat. „No.“ 

„What’s the difference?“ I look up and almost drown in his blue eyes. His face must’ve come closer. Or did I move in his direction? I don’t recall. All I know is that his nose was only inches away from mine, wich means that his lips were… 

„You should get some sleep. Now.“ Bucky rumbles with a husky voice. Within a second he stood up from the bed and moved to the other side of the room. 

There it was. The hurt from before hits me like a truck. 

„You really find me that repulsive?“ 

He opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it and opened it again. All without saying a single word. Understood. „Will you come back?“ I ask instead. 

He has one hand on the doorknob. „Yes. When you are asleep.“ 

And so I did. I cried myself into a dreamless sleep. Drowning in my own self-pity because the guy I like would rather run away in the middle of the night, than share a bed with me. 

A bright crack tore me out of my slumber and I was wide awake in the matter of seconds. But not because of the thunderstorm outside the window. My fingers were curled around something cold and hard. The silhouette of Bucky was calmly sleeping beside me. My senses knew the feeling of this heavy metal and it wasn’t the arm I felt earlier tonight. 

It was a gun. 

A fucking gun in my hand. 

What? 

„Bucky?“, I whisper. „Bucky wake up!“ My voice pitched high, wich made him wake up instantly. 

„What is it? What happened?“ He asks breathlessly, eyes wide in shock, head snapping from side to side to make out any danger. But the only thing what would fall in that category appeared magically in my hand while I was asleep. 

I hold the gun up and waved it slightly. „Hello? Why do i have your gun in my hand?“ 

„Why are you so certain it’s mine, doll?“ His eyes narrow. I try to pull myself together because I didn’t expect him to call me by his pet name for me. He only used it a couple of times before and only when we were alone. 

„Oh please Bucky! I know your guns by heart. So why is it in this god damn bed?“ I shriek. 

He broke the eye contact and shuffled himself into a sitting position. The thin blanket that we both shared shifted down to his lap. Bucky leaned his back against the headboard and let out a deep sigh. „Just in case.“ 

„I beg you pardon?“ 

„Just in case you need it.“ He still has his eyes closed but I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. 

„James Buchanan Barnes you better cut that shitshow and tell me why you put that thing in my hand“, I say as I sit up, not caring that the blanket completely vanished from my body. 

Bucky turned to finally look at me. His expression were serious at first, but then his eyes dart down to my naked legs and at the waistband of my top that slipped up a bit, showing a small gap of my hips and stomach. I could swear to see his throat move as if he had to swallow … hard. And his face transformed from serious to something much more intense. Was it longing or am I now completely loosing my mind? 

„You are the only person I allow to call me like that“, he says with a tight voice. 

„Cut the crap. Now.“ 

Bucky sighs again. „Fuck. Okay fine. The gun is for emergency. In case you have to take me out.“ 

My heart stops beating for a painfully moment. With widened eyes I look at him. He sits there looking so broken, so serious about what he just confessed to me. His sad sad blue eyes studying me, waiting for a response. I know what his reasons are. He has terrible nightmares. Bad ones from his past and even darker ones made from his guilt. 

„The fuck I will.“ With two quick moves I dissemble the gun in its individual parts. Bucky watches me with disbelieve in his eyes. „I refuse to let you think I would ever do that.“ 

„Maybe you will not have a choice when it becomes bad!“ He tries to grab the metal pieces but I throw them away without a second thought. „When the Winter Soldier takes over I can’t guarantee for anything. He could do …“ 

„I don’t give a shit!“ I bark. „You would never hurt me. I know that in my bones.“ 

He lets his hand sink and land on my knee. It needs a lot of self control to not follow it with my eyes. „You’re right. I would never. But he could.“ 

I lean forward, just a little to make my point clear. „I trust you.“ 

„You shouldn’t.“ His voice was nothing more than a whisper. I could feel it brushing over my cheeks. „I’m a threat.“ 

I cock my head to the side. „Is that the reason why you didn’t want to share a room with me? Because you were scared that you might attack me in your sleep?“ 

He nods. And my heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. His hair falls in strains into his face making him look even more exhausted than ever. I've come to thinking about the fact that his mind had to be constantly in stay alert mode. 

„Do you ever let yourself catch a break, Bucky?“ 

At first he stays completely still. Then a deep, tired sigh. And when he finally looks up to answer he da the saddest smile on his face that I’ve ever laid eyes on. „I don’t think so, doll. Can’t remember.“ 

I reach forward to place my palm above his heart. It beats slow but a little uneven - as if my touch had an effect on him too. „You deserve to feel safe for at least one night. You deserve so much more than that.“ I leaned in his direction, let my body sink against his and gave him the chance to slowly get used to so much skin to skin contact. But he didn’t hesitate as I thought he would do. Instead Bucky pulled me so close that I imagined to morph fully into him. Melt together and finally feel complete. 

His metal arm laid wrapped around me and gave me the support I needed. His other hand placed at the back of my head - fingers tangled up into my hair. I feel his body relax beneath me and a little smile appeared on my lips. 

„Nothing I could do would ever made me deserve you, doll.“ His words rushed my system like a big tidal wave and i shook my head up from his chest to look at him. 

„You don’t have to do anything. Bucky you already own my heart. And you truly deserve it.“ 

He smiled softly. I could feel his hand on my head pulling me closer up to him. I obey happily. „I will take good care of it, doll. I promise to be worthy for you.“ 

„I know because you already are.“ 

Bucky kissed me. His lips were touching mine with such softness I almost cried. Hands so tender and carefully holding me while his mouth claiming my whole consciousness. I leaned into him to feel as much of him as I could. He deepened the kiss and I let out a sigh of relief. I swear I could feel him smile against my lips.

I know I will never get tired of this. Ever.